STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 18: "THE BLACKLIST"

While shooting an episode of Friends from College in November 2016, I had mentioned to my fellow extra Eugene that there were some series where I just couldn't get hired. Was it my relative lack of experience at the time? My (lack of) hair? Perhaps I needed to get contacts instead of wearing glasses.

Eugene shook his head. "There are some shows that you never get on," he assured me, adding that it was true of everybody.

"So what do I do?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Keep submitting."

And submit I did. While it eventually paid off with some series, others remained elusive. So when a rush call went out early one February morning for The Blacklist, I submitted with the belief that I'd be able to watch Morning Joe without interruption. 

At 7:19 a.m., a text arrived. Was I still available for The Blacklist? And how long would it take to get to the Washington Square Park area?

Roughly an hour later, no longer feeling like a Blacklist rastaquouère, I was sitting in a make-up chair getting prepared for my role as a chemical virus victim.

Now this was a part I could sink my teeth into! "Make me as hideous as you want," I advised the make-up guy. He was happy to comply. Make-up artists love going to town on "victims". 

There were several of us in this scene, each more repellent than the next. And it says a lot about New York that we could all walk three blocks to where we shooting -- the Washington Square Diner, on the corner of West 4th Street and 6th Avenue -- and barely get a reaction from anybody walking in our direction. 

Initially, we were needed only to cross back and forth outside the diner while they filmed the first part of the scene inside -- all the while keeping our repugnant faces hidden from view. Then it was back to holding until our moment came.

It was a sunny but ice-cold morning, much of it spent outside as they set up our shot. What kept me going were the words of the A.D. who caught a glimpse of me earlier: "This guy looks great." 

Planning your next chemical virus outbreak?
Don't forget the Washington Square Diner!

When we were finally asked to step inside, the A.D. hadn't forgotten me. "Come with me," he said, leading me to a booth right behind one where two actors had a brief exchange of dialogue.

There were two parallel aisles where cameramen were going to walk through simultaneously, as a CDC rep announced that the diner was being quarantined, and guys in hazmat suits poured in.  All the while, the cameraman in my aisle would take the P.O.V. of one of the victims walking through the diner.

After the first take, the cameraman pointed at me and said to the A.D., "I want to end on this guy." He then told me to look at him at the end of the shot, explaining that he would tilt the camera and then go out of focus. 

We did four takes. Each time the director called "Cut!", the cameraman and I would laugh -- he, at how cool the shot looked; me, at how much fun this whole thing was. Following the final take, we high-fived.

This was my best gig since shaking Tea Leoni's hand in Madam Secretary. Only this time I was going to be in close-up by my own damn self and looking straight at the camera. I was already picturing ex-girlfriends watching The Blacklist, elbowing their clueless husbands in the gut while yelling, "Oh my God, I know him!" Former friends would jealously scream, "What the hell is Kusinitz doing there?! He isn't an actor! This is bullshit!"

Am I shallow for thinking this way? Oh yes. Yes yes yes. Deeply shallow, if such a thing is possible.

That's the last time I order the tuna melt.

My thoughts of revenge were (somewhat) for naught. Oh, I had my close-up alright, but not at the end of the scene, but closer to the middle. Nor was I looking at the camera. And it was pretty fast -- so much so that unless you knew I was in the shot, it was unlikely you'd recognize me. 

But it was me, alright, taking up the entire screen, looking fairly horrible, my sick expression reflecting the virus coursing through my veins (and face).

It was tempting to keep the make-up on after wrapping, feigning terrible illness, just to see the reaction of my fellow commuters. But we have this "If You See Something, Say Something" thing in New York subways. And people really do say something. I'd hate to have been blacklisted from mass transit.

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