THE EARLY SHOW. PT. 41

The first and third movies here have been part of my collection for a while; I figured it was time to give them another spin before deciding if they were ready for the glue factory. And, if you're wondering, I've decided to keep them for a future go-round with the optional commentary. It's hard to let go of the nearest and dearest in your life.

BEHIND THE DOOR (1919): If Howard Hawks' theory holds true -- that a movie should
have three great scenes and no bad ones -- Behind the Door is 2/3 of the way there.  Otto Krug, a former captain turned taxidermist, enlists in the military when war is declared on Germany. As usual (in movies, anyway), his bride Alice sneaks onboard his ship, which is soon torpedoed by a German sub. When Alice is kidnapped by the sub's commander, Krug spends the rest of the war in hot pursuit.

There's a bit more I've left out, such as a subplot involving Alice's miserly banker of a father who wants to marry her off to his assistant, and the anti-German bias Krug feels from his neighbors, neither of which has anything to do with the main story; Behind the Door could actually have been an hour instead of its current 70. (A few more minutes of missing footage are covered by stills and recreated intertitles.) But then it wouldn't have been a Paramount Artcraft Special. 

Yet what works definitely qualifies as great. The first is a brutal, ugly fight between the townsfolks and the German-American Krug, where director Irvin Willat seems to have said, "OK, boys, just beat the shit out of each other until I say 'Cut'." They might not be really bleeding, but it isn't for lack of trying. The second involves Krug learning Alice's fate from the captured German sub commander. If the flashback establishing the a gang rape doesn't make you gasp, perhaps the sight of her dead body being shot out of a torpedo launcher might do the trick. And if not that, well, there's always Krug preparing to put his taxidermy tools to good use on the bad kraut. 

Much of Behind the Door's dramatic acting is of the fist-pounding-in-the-hand variety (literally, in the case of the banker). The grandiloquently-named Hobart Bosworth, though, plays Krug in Behind the Door's violent finale in a fascinating way, his seething anger initially masked by a boys-will-be-boys response when learning Alice's awful fate. Comedian-turned-dramatic actor Wallace Beery is the commander, who describes his terrible deeds with the delight of the devil himself. Despite its (unnecessary) ethereal finale involving Krug and Alice reuniting in the afterlife, Behind the Door will likely surprise and shock any present-day viewer. 

BONUS POINTS: As with other restored silents, the original tinting heightens both the drama and poignancy at the right moments.

THE BAT WHISPERS (1930): By 1930, there had been a half-decade's spate of "old dark house" mysteries that mixed chills with laughs. Some went from stage to film and, like The Gorilla and The Cat and the Canary, remain entertaining. 

Then there's The Bat Whispers, which focuses too much on the alleged laughs to the detriment of the story involving hidden embezzled funds and a murderous caped criminal known as The Bat (supposedly the inspiration for Batman), who has promised find the money before the police have a chance to stop him. The perpetually-scowling Detective Anderson, something of a nasty piece of work himself, accuses the half-dozen or so suspects of being in on the crime as he tries (somewhat ineffectually) to solve it before the Bat strikes again. If only he tried to solve the problem of Lizzie the housemaid, whose constant "funny" frightened screams ruin whatever suspense The Bat Whispers has to offer. 

Outside of Fisheye favorite Chester Morris (as Anderson), just about the only entertainment value here is technical. The Bat Whispers was shot on the 65mm widescreen Magnifilm -- pretty much identical to Grandeur used for the previously-discussed The Big Trail the same year. (Both were also shot on regular 35mm for "normal" screenings.) But unlike The Big Trail, where the process worked well with the location shooting, Magnifilm only makes what we're watching resemble a filmed stage play. Perhaps aware of the problem, director Roland West jazzes things up from time to time with astonishingly fluid camerawork and dramatic lighting. usually in close-ups of Morris.

It would be easy to assume Morris was imitating Clark Gable, what with the thin moustache and the near-identical delivery -- only Gable was still working as an extra in 1930. Morris actually often seems to be acting in a different movie from everyone else in The Bat Whispers, which, by its end, tips its hand simply due to attrition -- just how often is a certain character offscreen during crucial moments? And while we're asking questions, why didn't The Bat knock off Lizzie the screaming housemaid when he had the chance?

BONUS POINTS: In a rather charming endpiece, a theater curtain closes after the final scene. When it re-opens, Chester Morris approaches the camera to request that viewers not give away the ending. 

MAMBA (1930): The setting is German East Africa, 1913. German and British troops, a year away from being at war with one another, occupy a village. Not yet enemies, they are united in friendship, good beer, Picadilly Cigarettes, and their disgust for Aguste "Mamba" Bolte, a wealth yet slovenly businessman who makes Jabba the Hutt look like Tyrone Power. Desperate for both respect and love, Bolte kids himself into thinking he's getting both when marrying Helen, a young woman whose father has pimped her out in exchange for a loan. The only thing preventing Helen from jumping out of the nearest baobab tree is Karl von Roden, a handsome German soldier who's fallen verliebt with her. But just as their affair blossoms, Karl is called away when war is declared. Lucky for her Bolte is drafted. Even luckier he's killed by natives no longer willing  to put up with colonialism. Unluckier, though, is that she and other solider wives are trapped in a fort under siege by said natives. But nothing will stop a certain handsome German soldier from rescuing her -- even if it takes the British troops to rescue him first.

Yet another 1930 release where the technology was the big draw, Mamba was (deep breath) the first dramatic, non-musical feature shot in two-strip Technicolor. And all this from the humble Poverty Row studio Tiffany-Stahl! Yet it's for all these reasons and more that Mamba likely makes for a difficult watch for many people today. The two-strip Technicolor, with its prominent reds and greens, looks strange to modern eyes. The sound is as far from Dolby as Tanzania is from Burbank. Every cliche that Hollywood of a century ago could use regarding Africans is on display. (And speaking of cliche, what is it about German soldiers with their facial scars and monocles?) 

But all these possible snags pale when compared to Jean Hersholt as Aguste Bolte. Seemingly the precursor to Charles Laughton's nearly identical role in White Woman, Hersholt -- or at least his character -- lacks the latter's dark wit. He is simply, as von Roden describes him, a pig on two feet, whose body odor drifts from the screen and sweat permeates the film nitrate. One is relieved when the tables finally turn on him. His performance in Mamba will make you think twice the next time the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian award is given at the next Oscar ceremony.

A big hit when its $2 ticket in New York is the equivalent of $37 today, Mamba is unexpectedly poignant as well. You know early on that the deep friendship between the British and German troops will come to an end in the final reel or two thanks to the machinations of their governments. And when the Brits take over the German command at the climax (killing natives a-plenty in the process), the stiff-upper lip Major Cromwell refuses to take von Roden prisoner, instead sharing his Picadilly cigarettes as in the old days. It almost erases the foul memory of Jean Hersholt's title character.

BONUS POINTS: One of the native children is allegedly played by Matthew Beard, better known as Stymie from the Our Gang comedies.

MURDER, HE SAYS (1945):  Pollster Pete Marshall is looking for a colleague gone missing in the Ozarks. The Fleagle family, consisting of Mamie, her second husband Mr. Johnson, her twin sons Mert and Bert, and slow-witted daughter Elany are the murderous culprits. As they try to pry the secret hiding place of the money from a bank robbery pulled by a cousin from the dying Grandma, they hold Marshall hostage with the idea of killing him, too. The cousin's daughter Claire swings by pretending to be in on the robbery, but actually wants proof of her father's innocence. With only a nonsense song provided by Grandma providing clues, Marshall and Elany search the dilapidated house for the loot -- when the real bank robbing sidekick Bonnie shows up to get her share.

With a throughline like that, Murder, He Says -- the strangest (and most daring) studio comedy of its time -- is a mix of Arsenic and Old Lace and Last House on the Left. And I didn't even get to Mr. Johnson's liquid radium that makes people and animals glow in the dark -- and if they take too much, kills them as it did Marshall's colleague. Death hangs over the movie as much as any horror movie, with idiot twins Mert and Bert continually trying to kill Marshall, and Mamie threatening to do the same with Grandma. (We never see the dead pollster but we know the body's there somewhere.) The only reason the studio was able to get this passed the censors must have been because it was too absurd to take seriously.

The Fleagle family portrayers deserve a couple of mentions Marjorie Main is in proto-Ma Kettle mode, only with a knife usually a few inches from Marshall's throat, while Peter Whitney is excellent as the shotgun-carrying twins (the split screen used when they're on screen together is aces as well), as is Jean Heather as the beyond-creepy Elany. 

The most surprising performance comes from Fred MacMurray as Marshall. With an endless supply of pratfalls, double-takes, and wacky delivery, it's remarkable this is the same guy who did such a superb dramatic job in the classic noir Double Indemnity the year before. For a role that seemed tailor-made for fellow Paramount player Bob Hope, MacMurray is that much better for being such an unexpected choice. Although Murder, He Says misses the "classic" mark by a few points -- especially with an endless climactic chase scene through hidden hallways leading to a silly bit with a hay thrasher, it nevertheless has fans galore who consider it one of the all-time great laugh-getters. But it's worth watching once to see what moviemakers could get away with in 1945...and seeing Fred MacMurray briefly glow in the dark.

BONUS POINTS: The melody of the nonsense song featuring the hidden money stash clue is identical to the theme of NPR's All Things Considered. I wonder if the estates of the original composers ever considered suing for plagiarism. 

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DOUBT THAT, DOUTHAT

 I don't break news. Whenever a news-related item hits this otherwise wacky blog, it's due to taking advantage of someone else's reporting. What I do is re-report, as I'm about to do here. 

Initially, I wasn't even sure it would be necessary, since it seemed to be the kind of thing that real news outlets would pick up on, if only after the fact. Instead, it was pointed out by someone on X named Mark Elliot, and was picked up on by Richard Friedman's Showbiz 4II site. As far as I can see, it's been ignored by everyone else.

Elliot noticed something interesting regarding Ross Douthat's New York Times op-ed piece which went up the morning after the Walz-Vance debate:

Take a second look at the date highlighted in yellow. Douthat wrote this piece on September 25 -- a full week before the debate. Or to put it another way, America's most respected newspaper (or at least used to be) has no problem with one of its columnists reviewing an important political debate which happened several days into the future. 

Is the paper of record ashamed of Douthat's sleight of hand? Apparently not, since the original date code can still be found by clicking on Opinion | Vance’s Dominant Debate Performance Shows Why He’s Trump’s Running Mate - The New York Times (nytimes.com)

Mark Elliot isn't a journalist -- in fact, he describes himself on X simply as a Longtime New Yorker. And most of what Richard Friedman reports on is, as you could guess by his site's name, show business. Yet these are the guys who, respectively, pointed out and passed along the kind of thing that has cost music critics their jobs regarding concerts they hadn't actually seen. Meanwhile, Ross Douthat is still gainfully employed.

So the next time someone tells you Fox News is in the bag for Donald Trump, remind them that at least those people waited to hear what his VP choice had to say before sucking up to him. 

And if the Times is looking for an investigative reporter, there's a longtime New Yorker who's probably up for the job.

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SPAM SCAM CLAM

Lately, I've received a few emails from folks wanting to infect either my computer or my life. I can tell the senders got the information from a recent leak due to capital letters I occasionally use on other sites. 

One of them follows. A quick copy and paste on Google proved there were plenty of others, men and women, who received the identical email (other than the demanded ransom, which changed from person to person). I've X'ed out my address and phone number; I've also added my own comments in red from time to time. 

KEVIN KUSINITZ, 

I know that calling XXXXXXXXX or visiting XXXXXXXX would be a convenient way to talk to you if you don't cooperate. Don't even try to hide from this. You have no idea what I'm capable of in NEW YORK. (Alright, don't holler, don't holler!)

It's important you pay attention to this message right now. Take a moment to chill, breathe, and analyze it thoroughly.' (You appear to have added a period and apostrophe in lieu of an exclamation mark. Better brush up on your punctuation.) Cause we're about to discuss a deal between you and me, and I don't play games. (Considering I can't reply, I'd say you were doing the discussing.) You do not know me but I know you and right now, you are thinking how, right? (Actually, I already know you bought my contact info off the dark web.)

Well, you've been a bit careless lately, clicking through those girlie videos and venturing into the darker corners of cyberspace. ("Girlie?" What is this, the 1930s?) I installed a Malware on a porn website and you accessed it to watch(know what I mean?). ("Accessed it to watch" would make a good song title.) And when you got busy watching our videos, your smartphone started working as a RDP (Remote Device) which provided me total access to your system. ("An RDP" if you please.) I can look at everything on your screen, flick on your cam and mic, and you wouldn't even suspect a thing. (If I were to do what you claim, I'd have one of the slidey things over the camera lens, but I don't so you didn't.) Oh, and I've got access to all your emails, contacts, and social media accounts too. (If by social media accounts you mean this blog, thank you for being one more reader!)

Been keeping tabs on your pathetic life for a while now. (OK, I grant you it's pathetic.) It's just your bad luck that I noticed your misdemeanor. (Do parking tickets count? Because I have more than one.) I gave in more days than I probably should have looking into your life. (I told you it was pathetic!) Extracted quite a bit of juicy info from your system. and I've seen it all. (You mean the stuff about Vitaphone movies? If so, how long did it take you to fall asleep?) Yeah, Yeah, I've got footage of you doing filthy things in your room (nice setup, by the way). (The only part of the room you'd see is my bed backboard, when I check my email after an afternoon nap, but thanks for the compliment.) I then developed videos and screenshots where on one side of the screen, there's whatever garbage you were playing, and on the other half, it is you doing filthy things. With just a click, I can send this filth to all of your contacts. (A couple of things to unpack. First, you develop film, not video. Second, while I don't clean the apartment was well as my wife, I'd hardly call it filthy.)

Your confusion is clear, but don't expect sympathy. (Oh, expecting sympathy from anybody is long gone.) As a family man, I am willing to wipe the slate clean, and let you continue with your life and wipe your slate clean. (You appear to be wiping the slate clean twice. Can you clean the phone screen while you're at it?) I will provide you two options. Alternative one is to turn a deaf ear my email. (I believe you mean "blind eye".) Let me tell you what is going to happen if you take this path. I will send your video to all of your contacts. The video is lit, and I can't even fathom the embarrasement you'll endure when your colleagues, friends, and fam watch it. ("Embarrasement"? Don't you have spellcheck?) But hey, that's life, ain't it? (The correct word would be "isn't". First punctuation, then spelling, then grammar!) Don't be playing the victim here. (Whatever happened to the days when people would simply say "Don't play the victim here"? Why does everybody think they're the next P. Diddy?)

Wiser second option is to pay me, and be confidential about it. We will call this my “confidentiality charges”. (What's wrong with "blackmail"? More to the point!) Lets see what will happen when you select this way out. (You could've used your previously errant apostrophe on "Lets"). Your filthy secret remains private. (Thank you for not alerting my wife that I'm dropping even more money on old movies she'll never deign to watch.) I'll wipe everything clean once you come through with the payment. You will make the payment through Bitcoins only. (I dunno; I trust Bitcoin even less than I do you.) I want you to know I'm aiming for a win-win here. I am a man of my words. (Well, if I can't trust a scammer, who can I trust? And it's "word".)

Amount to be sent: $2000 (Hey, why did you demand only $1450 from others on your hitlist? Who do you think I am, Rockefeller?)

BTC ADDRESS IS: 1AS9v9A9Hc9f75rJSWuh9LYDhHbVMnL4H5 (This means bupkis to me, so I guess I'm in trouble.)

Once you pay up, you'll sleep like a baby. (I didn't sleep like a baby when I was a baby.) I keep my word. (Thank you for taking the "s" out of "words" this time.)

Important: You now have one day to make the payment and I will only accept Bitcoins (I have a specific pixel in this email, and at this moment I know that you've read this mail). (Had I known this ahead of time, I would have deleted it before reading. But I couldn't resist opening it, so muy bad.) My system will catch that Bitcoin payment and wipe out all the dirt I got on you. ("Have on me", Mr. English Teacher.) Don't even think about replying to this or negotiating, it's pointless. The email and wallet are custom-made for you, untraceable. (I would love a custom-made wallet.) If I catch that you've shared or discussed this mail with anyone else, the video will instantly start getting sent to your contacts. (Does that include talking to anybody in person?) And don't even think about turning off your phone or resetting it to factory settings. (Serious question: how do you know what I'm thinking?) It's pointless. I don't make mistakes, KEVIN. (Again with the CAPS. Dead giveaway.)

Nice locality btw (I have to admit, it's almost clever that you got the photo from Google Street Maps. But the scaffolding on the right was taken down at least three years ago. Keep up with the times, my man!)

Honestly, those online tips about covering your camera

aren't as useless as they seem. (That's why I have them on my laptop and Kindle. The only reason I don't have it on the phone is because it kept falling off in my pocket.) I am waiting for my payment.. (Keep waiting. And why two periods instead of one?)

***************************

TURKISH DAFFY

"Where's Kev?"

You know I'm getting old when, yesterday, I didn't bother walking five minutes in the rain to watch Eric Adams meet the press outside Gracie Mansion. Hell, I couldn't be bothered getting off the couch to get a decent photo of the TV for MSNBC's coverage.

Our Mayor pulled the usual accused politician routine by trotting out his passel of friends and "faith leaders". After declaring his innocence, he was followed by 10 or 15 minutes of several of his pals defending him while hiding safely behind them. The MSNBC panel showed their interest in what they had to say by talking over them until the Mayor returned. Unlike the news folks, a small group of black protesters loudly demanding that he quit his job pronto had no such qualms about drowning him out.

"As you can see, the names of DeSantis and
Abbott are nowhere to be found."

Perhaps the protesters knew what had already been repeated on all the networks: the Department of Justice doesn't just hand out indictments like free passes to the Scientology Center. The feds have the goods on whoever's on their sites. Adams' claim that this is a set up by the Biden administration for his complaints about the "migrant problem" doesn't hold water. Otherwise, the Governors of Texas and Florida would have had their cellphones confiscated by now. 

This could be a suite at the Marriott in Omaha.

Something Adams should explain is how and why he started taking those first class trips to Turkey and stayed in the finest suites at the St.Regis-Marriott Istanbul Hotel as far back as 2017 when he was the Borough President of Brooklyn. Even at the then-annual salary of $179,200, those were fairly pricey vacays.

While I'm sure Istanbul is an interesting place to visit, cities like Rome, Paris, and London can cater to his all his vegan needs. I guess those tourist hotspots didn't have people willing to make illegal campaign contributions or skip the safety measures at their consulates in New York.

Forecast for Eric Adams: clouds for the
foreseeable future with 100% chance of ridicule.

As with the legal problems that drove Eliot Spitzer and Andrew Cuomo out of office, Eric Adams will have these indictments hanging over his head until he's unemployed one way or the other. At 7:00 this morning, news crews had set up outside Gracie Mansion for another full day of coverage, with even the WCBS "weather lab" getting into the act. Hope the free stuffed grape leaves and baklava were worth it, Mr. Mayor.

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OBSERVATIONS ON A CROOKED MAYOR

Adams might have been only the second black Mayor of New York -- but he's the first to be indicted by the Department of Justice! That counts for something.

I'm guessing nobody had Turkey, illegal campaign funds, and Mayoral race on their bingo card.

And speaking of Turkey, isn't it a relief to have a country other than Russia, China, and Iran interfering with our elections?

Adams might have campaigned on ending crime -- but he didn't say anything about his own, right? No judging!

This should allow the New York Post to come up with a headline like DISGRACIE MANSION, or creating a photo of the Mayor and the other indicted members of his administration looking like the Aadams Family. C'mon, even people who voted for him would get a chuckle out of that! 

Adams is blaming Biden for this mess, so that should put to rest the idea that Democrats are out to protect themselves. 

Unlike a certain other former New York Mayor, Adams won't have cheap hair dye dripping down his face at his next press conference.

No annoying debate prep for a second term.

Best of all, this event proves that vegans should drop their holier-than-thou attitude toward us carnivores. Here's hoping the jailhouse has tofu, Mr. (Almost Former) Mayor!

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ADVICE TO FUTURE CAMPAIGN MANAGERS

 Tie your candidates to a chair, then show them this video on a continuous 5-minute loop:

Then get into their face and say, "For the love of all that is holy, DO NOT SAY THIS!"

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GOING UNDERGROUND

 Due to circumstances beyond my (current) control, I'm taking time off from the blog. I have no idea when I'll return. I wouldn't be surprised if it was next week for a brief piece before going dark again for a while.

Thank you for reading, and for leaving kind comments. And, once in a while, non-kind comments as well. At least it meant someone else was reading this thing, too. 

I'll leave the sign-off to Ben Bernie:

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STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 66: BEHIND THE SCENES

 Having not worked in three months, I'm starting to wonder if my days as background have come to an end. So while taking photos like many of the ones below is against the rules, I'm at the point where I ask myself, What are they going to do -- fire me?

Productions with period wardrobe divide the changing rooms into men and women. However, if you're providing your own everyday choices, you change in little tents like these. Usually, they like what I bring. But when I need to change in these tiny tents, it always feels like it takes twice as long as it does when I'm home. Size matters.

Some TV shows have fans that keep track of where location filming is being done, and often take pictures of us when we're on a break. While working on And Just Like That, I took pictures of them. None of the background take it seriously because we know damn well these people are waiting for Sarah Jessica Parker come out and wave hello. But an extra can dream, can't he?

A still-existing sign at the former Arthur Kill Correctional Facility, where I worked on The Crowded Room.  I find the idea of telling prisoners not to use profanity to be pretty funny.

Even if the skies aren't overcast, these big lights are still used to illuminate the filming going on inside buildings. Ever wonder why those home reno shows on HGTV seem to have blinding sunlight pouring through the windows? Now you know: it isn't sunlight.

Just because the scene takes place in a bedroom doesn't mean it's a real bedroom. I don't know if this set was part of the production I worked on. Maybe if you've watched enough TV, you could tell me what it's from. If you look hard, you might be able to see tree branches outside the left window. Scroll to the next photo to see what it looks like on the other side.

Yes, it's true what they say: show business is phony baloney. Or, in this case, phony baloney trees. But it looks like the real deal even in hi-def. The magic of television!

A shot of the outside of a large New York apartment set. I can't even guess how much the electric bills for studios run. ConEd must thank God for the New York TV and movie industries.

Unless filming is done inside a real apartment, house or office, the image of the building across the street is a very large photo like the one here. I don't think the enlargement is done at CVS.

As we wrap up our behind-the-scenes tour, I feel it my duty to remind you there's a lot of hanging around between takes as you're waiting to be called for your turn to shine. 

And even when you're working in a fancy Long Island home like the one here, there's only so much oohing and ahhing you do before reading a book or scrolling through your phone or catching some snooze time. If the idea of sitting around like this for up to hours at a time before it's you do 20 takes of a scene is appealing, then background work is for you! 

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LAUGH IT UP, BRO

 A link to my latest contribution for Next Avenue, which makes two in as many weeks. Remind me to keep up the good work:

The Last Laugh | Next Avenue

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STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 65: MORE NEVER BEFORE SEEN!

Five more selfies when I didn't make the final cut. Should I take such treatment personally? Hell, yes!

MANIFEST (9/11/18): "Hospital Patient".  Arrived at 12:37 p.m. at Silvercup Studios, wrapped at 9:58 p.m. Never got out of holding. My only memory is admiring the faux airplane used in another episode on an adjoining set. 

If you wonder why these shows hire more people than they need, it's often because the producers have to justify the weekly budget they've been given. Now you know the rest of the story.

THE DEUCE (2/28/19): "Diehard Porn Fan". Casting agents and directors ask the same question when hiring extras: Does

this person look the part? That's how I got this gig. (One of my colleagues thought I looked like a sleazy lawyer, but to each his own.) The scene took place at a 1980s porn convention, so I wore my authentic '80s tie along with my other personal wardrobe. 

The production built a convention set at Resorts World Casino in Queens; I was there from 7:26 a.m. to 10:48 p.m. A 40ish Jamaican woman and I pretended to be a couple, believing it would catch the director's eye. We were wrong. But now I know to submit to any production looking for a diehard porn fan, so some good came of the experience.

THE SURVIVOR (5/29/19): "1950s Coney Island Pedestrian". Arrived at 6:15 a.m.  via transportation provided by the production, wrapped about 13 hours later, home at 8:39 p.m. One of my colleagues came straight from an overnight shoot; by early afternoon, he was literally asleep on his feet. That's dedication!

Directed by Barry Levinson (my second of three gigs with him at the helm), and starring Ben Foster, who quite understandably got pissed off at a really annoying freelance paparazzo who turns up at every location shoot in town. I really like the outfit they gave me. Damn shame you can't see me in the movie.

EXTRAPOLATIONS (10/16-17/2021): "Congregant". Filmed on Staten Island at
Broadway Stages, formerly the Arthur Kill Correctional Facility. Extrapolations was an Apple anthology miniseries taking place in 2047 when climate change has forever changed the way humans live. This episode took place in Florida, when flooding from the Atlantic Ocean is seeping into buildings like the synagogue where our scene took place. (It was constructed on a soundstage on the property, not in the former prison itself.) 

The set was flooded with a few inches of water; everyone wore tall green boots. Sitting directly in front of me in the pew was Judd Hirsch, while David Schwimmer sat the opposite end. A Broadway actress whose name I can't recall introduced herself to the young woman to my left and to me. She was very friendly, totally unassuming. That's how you know who the real stars are. 

The wardrobe, provided by the production, was supposed to be similar to 1990s fashions, because I guess people in 2047 would be into the retro look. To me, I vaguely resemble Nick Lowe on a windy day. When the episode of Extrapolations aired, the camera tracked along the first two rows; it was edited so that the shot ended just before it got to me. Two days of climate change for nothing! Except two paychecks. 

RIPLEY (5/10/22): "Early 1960s Upscale Businessman." That is some killer wardrobe. Early call time, though. I left home at 4:12 a.m. to get to holding (Altman Building on West 18th) by 5:30 a.m. We were driven to East 44th Street at 8:33 a.m., where a handful of us walked back and forth past Brooks Brothers for two and a half hours before being wrapped. The star, Andrew Scott, was probably there, but I don't remember, since I wouldn't have recognized him. 

Two years later, it landed on Netflix. Great series. But all that was left of our scene was a shot of the back of somebody's head (not mine) walking past the Brooks Brothers sign. You should've seen me head to toe in that trench coat, suit, scarf, and fedora. Probably the most upscale of all my upscale looks.

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STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT 64: NEVER BEFORE SEEN!

Once in a while, my Android phone puts together a series of photos that are connected in some way or another. Many of them feature me in costume in productions where I can't be clearly seen or didn't make the final cut. Five of them follow, along with the titles and official character descriptions.

HOMELAND (9/26/16) "Prison Guard". The worst case of miscasting since John Wayne as Genghis Kahn in The Conqueror. What little memory I have of this gig isn't worth passing on, other than I was directed to escort a prisoner down a hallway away from the camera. Gee, I wonder why. 

Future appearances on Homeland were the more appropriate "Onlooker" or "Protester". During one of the latter gigs, I accidentally bopped Claire Danes on the top of her noggin as she snaked through the crowd. The next take, she let me know I was there by running her hand on my hip, which remains one of the highlights of my background work. Maybe my life.

SHELTER (March, 2017): "Stampede Victim". This was promoted by NBC as a "television event", meaning a mini-series that was to air over five consecutive evenings. The premise was 24 hours in the last functioning Brooklyn hospital during a Category-5 hurricane and a mass shooting on the LIRR. I was one of the bloodied and bruised characters in the shooting. The set was a former psych hospital-turned-senior daycare center in New Jersey. 

Most of the extras started work on the pilot episode on a Wednesday, when we learned the show was already one day over schedule. Within a couple of hours of the chaotic filming, many of us knew Shelter (which was also known as Mt. Ararat and at least one other temporary title) would never get picked up. And we were right! Our scheduled five-day shoot went on for nine; I bowed out after the eighth as the ridiculously long hours were making me literally sick. Still, I'm sorry Shelter didn't get picked up -- background would have worked three to five days a week for the series' entire shooting schedule.

THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL (8/17/17): "1950s Upscale Businessman". My fifth gig on Maisel sticks in my memory for wearing authentic 1950s woolen clothes for a Christmas scene shot on a hot, humid August night. It would have been worth it if I had actually been on camera rather than just hanging around outside in midtown until roughly two in the morning. 

I went home feeling like crap and woke up feeling like shit. Risking future work on Maisel, I called in sick for what was supposed to have been the second of a two-night shoot. Still, they continued to hire me for the series' entire run, when I had much better luck in future episodes. 

ESCAPE AT DANNEMORA (12/18/2017): "Prisoner". Director Bill Stiller chose the extras, and asked us to come in for an inspection before he made his final decision. We lined up at the production office in downtown Broadway, where he looked at each of us up and down, up close and personal. When we showed up for work the following week, Stiller shook hands all around. Background played trustees; part of the set was the prison kitchen where some of us worked. 

The prison set at Astoria Studios looked quite authentic, right down to the props in our cells. After shooting our scene, I sat on a flight of stairs directly behind Stiller as he directed Benicio del Toro and Paul Dano; having been doing extra work for just over a year, it was a heady experience. But not so heady that I didn't start to feel tired and, in a bold move, walked into my cell and took a nap. When I awoke, Stiller was still filming the same scene. I don't know what episode I worked on, but look for a tall guy making soup at a stove with his back to the camera way, way, way in the background. Good luck.

MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN (3/9/18): "1950s Town Hall Attendee" giving grief to a character based on Robert Moses, played by Alec Baldwin, who didn't disappoint (make of that what you will). Willem Dafoe was in the scene, too, which was pretty cool. I was sitting fairly close to him as he shook hands with Baldwin before filming began; it seemed to be the first time they ever met.

Directed by Edward Norton, this scene was supposed to have ended around 1:00 a.m.; instead, most of us wrapped at 4:45 a.m. as the filming continued after we left. To add insult to injury, I was just out of camera range in the final cut. At least I got to work on what was considered by the people who were there as a legendary shoot. Again, make of that what you will.

Part 2 of "Never Before Seen!" to follow...

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STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 63: AIME LEON DORE NEW BALANCE COMMERCIAL

My second commercial was shot on May 8, 2024, only the sixth gig since the end of the writers and actors strikes last year. At least it provided me three different opportunities to be seen, although it helps to hit pause on two of them.

Before going on, perhaps it's necessary to explain just what Aime Leon Dore is. According to Currant Magazine, Aimé Leon Dore was founded in 2014 by Teddy Santis, who, without any background in fashion, started an urban menswear line in Queens, New York. With his Greek background, his love for 90s hiphop and urban culture, he created a streetwear line that would later be known as an elevated and urban preppy streetwear brand. 

Of course, it didn't stop me from
modeling one of his caps.

The closest I am to "urban" is living in Manhattan. And as for preppy, all you need to know is that I look terrible in Polo shirts. So naturally I would be cast in an Aime Leon Dore commercial... as a bodega customer, wedding guest, and some guy watching a pick-up basketball game. Anything but "urban preppy". Otherwise, nobody would buy his stuff.

All of my scenes were shot in the West Village within blocks of each other, from 10:30 a.m. to 8:40 p.m. on a beautiful spring day. The background was mostly young, hip people, with a handful of geezers like me. We provided "color", I suppose, while the kids were what were supposed to bring the customers. And for what the New Balance sneakers are going for, I hope they have well-paying jobs.

The first scene we filmed was at the West 4th Street Courts, where three of us old folks watched a pick-up basketball game featuring players from their 20s to early 50s. It was far more fun and exciting than the few Knicks game I caught at Madison Square Garden in the past. The guys were giving it all they had; I often had to duck as the ball went flying toward us. I can be seen -- barely -- a few different times here. This was two hours well spent, and one of the most fun gigs I've had that didn't involve mid-century wardrobe.

I had better luck in the wedding scene. The a.d. told the "guests" to go over the top in our glee, and by God over the top I went, throwing confetti like I was being paid to -- which, as I think about it, I was. Not much else to say, other than it was filmed at a church whose name I can't recall, and that this was a good-looking couple. And, brother, they knew it.

The final scene we shot, which comes earlier than the other two in the final cut, was filmed in a bodega. We're all pretending to watch something on the store's TV. I thought it was supposed to be a game, but in the finished product it was an Aime commercial. I'm in the back row, third from the left, wearing the Aime Dore Leon baseball cap. The guy in the white AIME jacket in the middle reacts strongly to the commercial, while we respond with a subtle side-eye. Mine is so subtle that it doesn't look I'm doing anything unless you look really carefully. Not that you'd necessarily want to.

And no, I wasn't allowed to keep the Aime Dore Leon hat.

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The commercial as it's seen on YouTube: