Posted by Kimberlieo at ac97d743.ipt.aol.com on July 18, 2003 at 19:53:07:
As you all know from the previous pieces I’ve written on the subject, being an extra never seems to come easily. Well, this time was no exception.
To begin with, notice was typically short.
Upon arriving home on Wednesday night I was immediately assailed by my wonderful roommate, Kimberlie, saying that Kevin Smith was looking for people to show up the following evening at Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash in order to film a segment of “Roadside Attractions”, would I like to go, and by the way, hello and how was your day? This was all said with such speed and gusto (all except for the last bit, which was tacked on with a sort of if-I-must-but-I’m-not-really-interested politeness) that it took my brain a few moments to process the stream of sound into identifiable words. My internal Kimberlie interpreter had no sooner begun its translation than she hit me with the next part. She and a couple of people that she knows from the View Askew Board had decided to attend, and to make a day of it, doing the whole View Askew tour, which included—and here she launched into a list of incomprehensible babble of which the only thing I could make out was “Quick Stop Mini Mart”—and she’d like to leave at 11:00 a.m. As my brain continued its frantic bid to filter sense from that which she’d just thrown at me, she stood watching me eagerly, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“Ummm,” I replied, in a desperate attempt to bide time while the Kimberlie interpreter finished its job.
'Let’s see. Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash: a comic book store owned by Kevin Smith. “Roadside
Attractions”: a recurring bit that Kevin Smith does for the “Tonight Show”, in which he tours America and
reports back to Jay Leno on the interesting Roadside Attractions that he’s managed to find. The View Askew
Board: a part of the View Askew website, where rabid fans of Kevin Smith can post messages to each other all
the day long, and usually do. View Askew: the name of Kevin Smith’s production company. Quick Stop Mini
Mart: the setting—and therefore the location of filming—for Kevin Smith’s first movie, Clerks. The rest,'
added the interpreter apologetically, 'is beyond my understanding. However, in conclusion, this would seem
to be some sort of background job with a Kevin Smith related road tour preceding it.'
Right!
“Ahhhh,” I continued helpfully, as my mind quickly turned to formulating an appropriate response.
'Okay. You enjoy doing the background bit, and would love to accept Kimberlie’s invitation, but you need to
get Alfonso’s permission to take off work. You’ll have to give him a call to find out if it’s all right
before you can agree to go.'
I reached for my purse to get Alfonso’s number, saying, “Well, I’ll have to call my boss and . . .”
'Hang on. You haven’t got Alfonso’s phone number. You gave away your phone list to Dr. Uboh today,
remember? His was outdated and you told him to take yours, that you’d make yourself a new one in the
morning.'
“Oh, wait!”
'Don’t forget, too, that you have a load of stuff for Dr. Uboh to sign, which didn’t get done yesterday since
he left early. You also need to give him the weekly sample summary so that he can do his report.'
“Uhhhh.”
'You could always go in to work in the morning, ask for the day off, spend an hour getting everything done
that you need to and still make it home by ten, which would give you plenty of time to change your clothes,
get breakfast, and pack any essentials you might need for the trip.'
I quickly relayed this plan to Kimberlie, who seemed frighteningly happy with it, and so it was set.
I reported for work the next day and immediately informed my boss that I’d like to leave in about an hour if that was all right with him, which it was, but he seemed to think that I was a complete nutso for having come to work at all, then. Suddenly my well thought-out plan seemed completely ludicrous. What had I been thinking? Why hadn’t I just called in at 8:00 and asked for the day off? I could easily have told Alfonso where the papers and the summary were located and he could have given them to Dr. Uboh.
“Ummm.”
'Oh, for goodness’ sake! You didn’t know for sure if you could get the day off, you didn’t want to trouble
Alfonso with trying to follow your directions to locate the appropriate files, and in the end, this will save
you having to use an hour of your vacation time!'
“I . . .”
'And be sure you make it sound good!'
“Ahem. I didn’t want to simply assume that you could do without me today. And I had a few things that I wanted to take care of anyway. I don’t like to leave things hanging, if I can help it, and you have enough on your plate without having to take up the slack for me, now don’t you?”
'Oh, well done! Doesn’t he look happy now?'
At 9:00 a.m., I headed for home, and was ready to go by eleven, as agreed.
“Oh, no!” Kimberlie said, as if rebuking me for thinking anything so ridiculous. “We won’t be leaving until noon. We’re not supposed to meet Chris until 1:00, and he’s only an hour away.” Of course. I felt somehow silly for having thought anything so ridiculous.
Noon came, and we went, first picking up Chris in Bristol, then we headed across the border and after two more hours on the road, we met up with Kimberlie’s other friend, Randall, at a diner in Red Bank.
After a late lunch, the four of us walked over to The Stash. It was within the confines of this shop that I began to realize that this wasn't going to be just another background job. While I happily wandered the length of one wall, stopping now and again to peruse the pages of one of the many comic books lining the shelves, Kimberlie and her friends went their own way to do whatever it is that the hard core Kevin Smith fans do. I caught glimpses of them occasionally. There they were, looking over memorabilia from one of Kevin’s many movies. Then later, I spotted them playing some sort of Jay and Silent Bob video game. Kimberlie once pulled me away from the pages of an *Alpha Flight* story to introduce me to Gramps, a Kevin Smith fan who has gained his own fan following for—as far as I can tell—being a Kevin Smith fan. Still later, I found my traveling companions at the counter, talking animatedly to a man in a green shirt. I soon learned that the man had had a small part in one of Kevin’s movies. Suddenly I felt out of my depth. I could be an extra, sure, but could I hold my own surrounded by the insane worshipers of all things Kevin Smith? These people had a culture and language all their own. I began to wonder nervously why Kimberlie had really invited me. Horrifying thoughts exploded in my head. Perhaps they needed a sacrifice. They certainly wouldn’t use one of their own, would they? But what about a member’s gullible roommate? Sure. Why not?
Turning quickly away from the counter, I found myself facing a bloody and gruesome sight. Before me was proudly displayed the metal torso of a suit of armour, two feathery stubs—shorn angel wings—protruding from the back, the whole of it covered in gore.
I nearly fainted.
"It's a prop from *Dogma* you twit!" the rational part of my brain yelled at the other part that had decided fleeing would be better than fainting and had accordingly bunched the muscles in my legs to do just that. The formerly panicked portion of my brain realized the truth in what had just been shouted at it and immediately released its hold on my legs. I gave an odd little jerk, which I hoped no one had noticed, but just in case they had, I did my best to appear as if I simply hadn't noticed the huge display in front of me and had merely come close to bumping into it. That shouldn't be too difficult to believe. You all know quite well how oblivious I can be (ocean? what ocean? where? I don’t see an ocean), and I really hadn't noticed it the first time I'd passed it by.
I staggered away from the others and headed towards the back of the store where I could once again take refuge in the pages of a comic book.
Eventually, Kimberlie collected me and the two of us left The Stash to wander some of the nearby shops. As we walked, Kimberlie occasionally fed me tidbits of Kevin Smith trivia. I barely remember any of it. There was something about where he'd begun his career, how he'd gotten his start, and other places in the area where he'd filmed pieces of one of his movies. This, I quickly realized, was just another aspect of Smith’s fans. They know a great deal about his life and his rise to fame and they seem to find it endlessly fascinating. I did my best to take in what Kimberlie was telling me, but none of it included anything like vomiting in front of royalty, dodging bullets, or being jostled awake in the early morning hours by the violent eruption of a nearby volcano. And, well, let's face it—all things considered, I suppose my criteria for “interesting” is a bit more stringent than most people's.
We returned to The Stash at about 5:30 and settled on an outside bench with the collection of fans that had formed in our absence. It was to my delight that I soon noticed someone that I had worked with on the four day long *Jersey Girl* job and I quickly struck up a conversation with him. As we fondly compared notes and recounted bits of the experience we'd been through together, I found myself starting to relax. Suddenly I was feeling more like an extra again. But it wasn't long until someone asked my new companion what name he posted under on the board and I found myself quickly reminded that I was an outsider to these people and knew very little of their world, indeed. Thoughts of sacrifice once again danced through my mind and I fell silent, trying not to draw attention to myself and hoping to thereby preserve my life.
And so we waited, and the wait was long. Now, keep in mind that the background jobs I've done before have trained me well in the art of waiting, but this was different. Normally I sit with my nose buried in a book, passively waiting to be called to do my job, trooping back and forth between filming and holding like any trained monkey could do. This time, though, I felt strangely unsettled, as if I was an intruder and any moment I would be caught and arrested for trespassing. Six o' clock, the hour when shooting was scheduled to begin, passed uneventfully. Word came that the time had been pushed back to 7:30.
I sat as if in a daze, listening to the conversations floating around me. Someone to my left was reliving an episode of the “Clerks” cartoon. Someone to my right was talking about Kevin Smith’s role in the *Daredevil* movie. Another person was reminiscing about the first time they’d met Jason Lee. I tuned into this latest conversation.
Fan A: "I was fifteen the first time I met Jason Lee."
Fan B: "How many of them have you met?"
Fan A: "All of them, except for Affleck."
To my amazement I realized that actors like Jason Lee and Ben Affleck, who have both been in numerous Kevin Smith projects as well as several things that Smith has had nothing to do with at all, are still merely considered another part of the Kevin Smith world. The perception that this group has of these actors is nothing like that of the rest of the world's. And for the first time, I really started to wonder—what is it with this guy? I’d never seen anything close to the kind of fandom he inspired short of the whole Star Trek franchise. But this was just one guy! While Trekkies enthuse about all things Star Trek, this includes five television series, a slew of movies, loads of novels and hundreds of actors. Kevin Smith fans enthuse about—well, Kevin Smith. Okay, they also incorporate their enthusiasm to encompass anyone and anything he touches—sort of like the whole Midas thing, but not nearly as deadly—but it’s still all about one man! "Why?" I wondered.
But nothing I overheard gave me any sort of an answer to that question
It was 8:00 when Kevin finally showed up, and the crowd burst into applause. Enthusiastically joining in, I laughed at the idea that we were all clapping more because he had finally shown up rather than because he was KEVIN SMITH! Then I remembered exactly whom I was surrounded by and realized that I was probably quite wrong about that. I immediately altered the tone of my applause to something more appreciative as a few beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.
He wasted no time in getting to work, and the crew began filming the intro for the piece. It only took four or five takes, which—in my admittedly limited experience—isn't bad. Then he moved inside and the lot of us began to shuffle in after him. No sooner had I made it to the entrance, however, than the crowd stopped up short leaving me halfway in the door. It turns out that he was filming another small bit and the masses, rather than continue farther into the store and possibly miss a bit of Kevin greatness, had stopped where they were in order to watch. A moment later, someone on the crew yelled for the door to be closed. And in this moment I made a near-fatal error. Someone to my left reached out to close the door and I had only a second to either tuck my heels in out of the way, or leap outside before the door closed. The maddeningly polite part of my brain decided it would be best to stay inside, especially as there were many people still outside who were disappointed to miss out on the scene being filmed. The maddeningly polite part of my brain is going to get me killed one day.
I was now squashed between the door and a large, immobile wall of people. The rational part of my mind had teamed up with the panicky part and kept screaming for me to open the door and escape to someplace where there might be a bit of oxygen to breathe. The polite part of my brain pointed out quite firmly that there was filming going on and that if I opened the door, I might ruin the scene. "Therefore," it concluded, "I’ll be taking over control of the body and we will be staying put."
This time, of course, it took Kevin about a dozen tries to get the scene right, partly because he kept flubbing his lines and partly because the crowd kept giggling at his antics, even when told by the crew not to react. "Kevin should tell them," I thought. They’d obey him, I’d bet on it!" Twisting my head around, I gazed longingly out of the door behind me and waited breathlessly—since there wasn’t much of anything left to breathe—for the scene to be over.
Finally, the word was given to open the door and move everyone inside. I reached behind me and gratefully gave the door a shove. Someone else opened it the rest of the way and I happily sucked in a lungful of fresh air before I was once again crushed, this time between two unforgiving walls of people. But a few feet later, the pressure eased as people began to fan out across the width of the store. One of the crewmembers started directing people to move farther back and more to our left if we wanted to be in the coming shot. I tried to move farther back, but it was impossible because the crowd was trying hard to press to the left and apparently no one was interested in moving back. I edged to my right a bit, but was eventually stopped by others shuffling in the opposite direction. I finally took refuge between a very tall man and the display case holding the bloody armour. I knew I wouldn’t be in the shot, but by now I really didn’t care. I know all of you really like to see me do my blurry face in the background bit, but all I wanted at this point was to make it to the back of the store, find myself a nice comic to read, and wait until it was all over. Being unable to accomplish this, however, I did my best to summon some amount of enthusiasm for the job I’d come for and forced myself to at least yell, “We’re fans!” along with the rest of the crowd when so cued.
When shooting on this particular segment was finally finished, we were once again instructed to move back, and once again, the crowd didn’t budge. Then someone mentioned that [the Great and Mighty] Kevin [Smith] needed to move around to the front of the counter and everyone quickly began to move to give him (the Great and Mighty Kevin Smith) room. I saw an opening appear behind me and dove through it, rather more maniacally than I probably should have. As the crowd continued to shift, I found it possible now to wind my way through them and finally broke out the back and headed into the rear of the store with a handful of other people who also seemed to find breathing preferable to watching Kevin Smith’s every move. I wandered along until I saw an *X-Men Legends* comic, plucked it off of the shelf and dropped cross-legged to the floor where I happily began to read.
I kept one ear open for any further instructions from the crew, and soon after heard Kevin yelling, “Give me the money! Give me all of it! Now! Right now!” I found myself chuckling. He really was much funnier when I wasn’t having the life crushed out of me.
I hadn’t gotten far in my reading, however, when I heard a call for everyone to move to the center of the store. With a sigh of regret, I put the book back and strolled towards the spot where the rest were now congregating. As I am an intelligent being and can be taught, however, I took my time, waited until the press and shuffle had settled and then stepped into the very back of the crowd. We were given instructions to once again shout, “We’re fans!” on cue, which I did, but once again I was well out of sight of the camera and not bothered by this at all. (Okay, I felt a slight twinge of guilt that you would all be watching for me but wouldn’t see me, but I told myself that I could just assure you not to bother and everything would be all right. I was positive—well, almost positive—that you’d rather I live through the experience than die trying to get on film.)
Once that was done, our next direction was to grab as much merchandise as we could and start making a lot of noise. We were told that if we couldn’t think of anything to say, that we should just say “rutabaga” and that would work just fine. Our cue came and people started grabbing madly for merchandise. I plucked an action figure from the wall beside me and suddenly a path towards the camera opened. There was a brief war inside me as one part urged me to take the opportunity and make for it, while another part of me just wanted to wander around in tiny circles where I was, mumbling, “rutabaga, rutabaga.” Then I thought of you, my family and friends—particularly the Jewish ones. I could just hear it. “We never get to see you anymore. The only chance we have these days is if you manage to get on camera in one of your background jobs. And here you had a perfect opportunity, but you had to wander around in circles out of sight, talking about rutabagas!” In the split second that this thought occurred to me, a combination of guilt and panic spurred me to action and I surged towards the front, grabbing another action figure from the wall as I went and yelling, “I want these! Can I have these?”
Someone yelled, “cut,” and I slumped inwardly, thinking that I’d done my best, taken my shot and now I could at least tell you I tried. I put the action figures back on the wall and retired to my spot behind the crowd again.
As it happened, that was the end of that scene and there was just one more to film. I went back to the *X-Men* comic while I waited for further instructions. The final scene, it turned out, was to be shot in the back of the store, around a large sci-fi car containing life-sized Bluntman and Chronic figures. (This is another Jay and Silent Bob thing—it’s their comic book superhero personas.) I was once again towards the back, but I did manage to get a spot leaning right up against the car, probably because it was about two feet away from where I’d been sitting on the floor. It was actually quite a relief that I didn’t have to walk far or fight a crowd. I was having extreme difficulty summoning any kind of enthusiasm by now. Generally, as an extra, I get to hear lots of lectures on how not to be enthused about the celebrities I’m supposed to work with. I’ve actually become quite good at it. So this ‘love Kevin Smith’ fest was something I was completely unprepared for and quite frankly was beginning to resent being tricked into. Then we were given our line for the last segment. We were to yell at Kevin that we weren’t fans anymore and call him a hack. 'Well, that’s all right then. I can do that.' Suddenly feeling a bit brighter about the whole situation, I happily joined in the fun and we even got to say it two or three times before they finally got a take that they liked. It was very therapeutic. And then it was over.
Kevin announced that he’d be sticking around to sign things for people. I had no doubt that Kimberlie and her friends would be jumping in line, so I went back to my comic book with a feeling of intense relief. As it turns out, I’d supplied you with not one, but two chances to see me in the bit. I’d done my best, survived the Smith-madness, and now all I wanted to do was read until it was time to go.
I lost myself in the pages of comic book angst (it’s always nice to see someone else suffer), blissfully unaware of the commotion surrounding me. Only two interruptions served to part me from my favourite band of persecuted mutants. The first occurred when I vaguely noticed a pair of blue jean-clad knees drop to the floor in front of me. I glanced up and there was Kimberlie, proudly displaying the copy of a *Clerks* DVD that (the Great and Mighty) Kevin (Smith) had signed for her. She then produced a stream of sound that my interpreter explained as a recreation of the conversation she’d had with (the Great and Mighty) Kevin (Smith) when she had given him the DVD to sign.
Kimberlie: "I’m KimberlieO from the board."
(The Great and Mighty) Kevin (Smith): "That’s i-e-o, right?"
Kimberlie: (Surprised and delighted) "You remember that?"
(The Great and Mighty) Kevin (Smith): "I pay attention."
I was about to make the oohing and aahing noises appropriate to the occasion, but with a speed worthy of Quicksilver (or the Flash for you DC fans) she was gone again.
The second disruption occurred some undetermined amount of time later. I heard Kimberlie’s voice, and she seemed to be discussing my stint in *Jersey Girl*. Realizing that I was being talked about, I dragged myself out of the land of mutants and glanced up to find Kimberlie and (the Great and Mighty) Kevin (Smith) standing approximately ten feet away, gazing down at me. She was asking him, based on my location in the room during the filming of *Jersey Girl*, whether or not I would be seen in the film. He looked at me and assured me that, based on my location, I would indeed be seen. I then had a very brief conversation with him (which I’m afraid I can’t repeat since it concerned things I swore not to reveal back when I was doing the job—remember the threat of those rabid movie executives?) and then he went back to chatting with Kimberlie.
I almost went back to reading, but suddenly realized that I had just been presented with a unique opportunity. I took a moment to study this man (the Great and Mighty Kevin Smith) to see if I could get an answer to that earlier question: What is it with this guy? I’m sad to say I had absolutely no luck figuring it out. Looking him over, I came to several conclusions at once. He wasn’t exactly a snappy dresser. There was no impressive aura of wealth or power about him. He sounded no more nor less literary than most of the people I hang out with. In fact, he would have fit in quite well with any of the geeks that I grew up with as friends.
We left not long after, grabbed some dinner and made the long drive home. Kimberlie jumped on the View Askew board almost as soon as we walked in the door. In no time at all, she was updating the other fans hungry for news of what had gone down. I changed into my nightgown and started the get-ready-for-bed routine. As I went about my business, Kimberlie would occasionally stop what she was doing and we would repeat the same conversation that we’d already had more than once that night.
Kimberlie: "I talked to Kevin Smith!"
Me: "Yes, you did!" (Ooh!)
Kimberlie: "He knew who I was!"
Me: "Yes, he did!" (Aah!)
Kimberlie: "And you got to talk to him, too!"
Me: "Yes, I did." (Ohh!)
Kimberlie: "And Ming knew where I was from!"
Okay, that one stumped me a bit since I had no idea who Ming was or why that was exciting. But it was no use asking. Doubtless he was someone else who had been touched in some way by Kevin Smith and had thus become a part of the Kevin Smith world.
I said my prayers (Thank you, Lord, for getting me through the day alive and relatively sane) and then climbed into bed. Though it was already one o’ clock in the morning and I knew I had to be up at five-thirty, still I lay awake, staring into the darkness and trying to piece together why Kevin Smith inspired such fanatic loyalty. I replayed the brief conversation I had had with him and tried desperately to summon the same sort of giddy excitement I had witnessed in others so many times over the course of the day. But it wouldn’t come and I was left feeling somehow cheated—almost resentful.
It was just that he was so much like any one of the crowd of people that I’ve always hung around with, call us what you will. Geeks, weirdoes—it all comes down to the same thing. We are the role-players, the comic book collectors, the devourers of so many forms of science fiction and fantasy. And we each have our own brand of off-beat creativity, be it as musician, writer, actor, artist—whatever—or a combination of said talents. The only difference I could see is that Kevin Smith has been blessed enough to actually use his zany abilities quite successfully.
And then I thought, well maybe that’s it! Maybe it’s just as simple as the fact that one of us made it big. And if there are those among us who want to go along for the ride, it seems that Mr. Kevin Smith is quite willing to take them. As evidenced by Kimberlie’s conversation with him, he knows his fans, he talks to them like they’re his buddies and is forever putting them on film, including them in his world as much as he can. And I was right all along—he’s not a snappy dresser. There is no impressive aura of wealth or power about him. He doesn’t sound any more or any less literary than most of us. He is one of us.
And maybe what I had witnessed that day wasn’t so much fanatic adoration as it was pride. Maybe. Maybe not. But having stumbled upon this possible reason for what I had been experiencing for the past thirteen hours, I somehow felt much happier.
Does that mean that I will now become a part of this Kevin Smith world? No. But at least it makes a bit more sense to me now. And by the time I finally dropped off to sleep, I was content that though this hadn’t turned out to be just another background job, it had, in the end, been an interesting day. The sort of interesting that didn’t include getting sick, being shot at, or dealing with Mother Nature’s wrath.
I think I like that!