I trained as an actor and I've been unemployed as an actor on many major movies so it's only natural for me to be asked about the state of the South African film industry. Only one answer makes sense: "There aren't enough movies!" By which of course I mean, "There aren't enough movies with ME in them!"
Too many South African feature films have showcased the splendours of Table Mountain, burning sunsets and Kim Basinger's breasts, but they haven't yet made a lens wide-angled enough to encompass 'ME'. Who could forget my portrayal of 'Evil Game Ranger #2' in the epic Americans Save Africa? The breathtaking simplicity with which I said my line, "Yeah, Boss, let's take them apart." would have moved you to tears. (The director seemed to be crying.) Unfortunately it was cut from the eventual straight to video release in favour of a lingering shot of some low rent plastic surgeon's cover version of the great Basinger's noombies. Why? Who knows? The ways of movies are mysterious indeed, but here are some of the secrets I've learned.
An actor has a unique position on set. It's called 'the bottom of the food chain.' Everybody else has a job to do while actors pass their time memorizing one line and pathetically trying to chat up the make-up artist. This doesn't endear us to the crew. Note to other actors: A crew member is generally anyone wearing Hi-Tec boots, denim shorts revealing more arse-cleavage than an Edenvale plumber and a tool belt well hung with "stuff" that I'm not qualified to describe. But there will always be a mini-maglite plus a late model Leatherman.
Crew can actually be very friendly, but actors may want to refrain from doing their Drama School yoga stretches when the bloke with the big tape measure is trying to set the distance between you and the lense. I've discovered that when he refers to a lowly actor as "the talent", he's actually saying, "Fuck you!" Mind you, he seems to have a way of calling the director of photography "Sir" that implies the same thing, so I could be mistaken.
Crew also wear cancerously brown tans and torn T-shirts, printed with the titles of movies they've worked on before. Actors know the names of these flicks, because we auditioned for them and didn't get cast. We console ourselves that they have really silly sounding job titles. "Dolly Grip" sounds camp every time, no matter how big your Leatherman is. Also, all pieces of equipment on a film set have special names to distinguish them from objects in the real world. Weirdly though, nobody has any sense of humour about these technical terms except for the endlessly hilarious puns on the only word that rhymes with "gaffer."
Then there's the director. Don't think of him as crew. He's actually a better actor than any you'll ever meet, because, not only does he pretend to be in control, but he'll even convince you that he gives a damn about your research into schizophrenia for the role of 'Evil Game Ranger #2'. In short, he's your link to the ART of the whole process, and talking to him has all the warmth and joy of hugging a runaway combine harvester.
Eventually it's time to say your line to the American movie star. This is the best part of the day and the reason you've spent two weeks in the bush. Unfortunately, the star may not actually be on set, so you'll probably end up giving your most heartfelt performance to a pile of elephant droppings that marks the spot where he/she would be standing if they could be coaxed out of their caravan. That's it. Job done. Time for lunch.
Darwin's laws of the jungle play themselves out perfectly in film set lunchtime queues. Crew eats first. Period. I'm pretty sure that it's an inside joke amongst the tanned types on set to snigger at some assistant's-junior-grip's-boy's-runner or whatever as he tries to herd a few straggling actors to the front of the line, only for them all to emerge out of the resulting scrum with Hi-Tec track marks all over their faces.
Certainly the American stars are the only actors I've ever seen who can stride confidently to the front of a meal queue. This is because of etiquette on set that is reinforced by the pleasure of watching them confront 'mielie pap' for the very first time. Eventually some of them even get to like it! (Picture the scene: Right now, somewhere in a ridiculously expensive Hollywood restaurant a baffled waitron is asking, 'I'm sorry. You want what, Ms Basinger?')
I guess it's comforting to know that our film industry is as baffling and indestructible as mielie pap. Maybe that could be the subject of an international movie... with ME in it... I AM mielie pap!
See you at the movies,
Al
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