by Owen Wyn Jones
Charlie wasn’t invited to the premier, of course. Extras never were. But he booked out a row in the local cinema for the opening night and invited his friends and family. He’d appeared in movies before, but this was the big one. Ever since he was a child, Charlie had loved James Bond. He loved the tuxedos, the cars, the beautiful women. Those movies were what made him want to become an actor, a dream he held on to through forty years working in the civil service.
The part was HOMELESS MAN ON STREET. They didn’t say what the film was upfront, but it was obvious enough from the description they shared. Charlie sent in his headshot, and a few weeks later there he was. On the set of the next James Bond.
They gave him a messy haircut and makeup that was supposed to look like mud. His costume was a grey overcoat, distressed to look old and well-worn. In the scene, James Bond and another character walked down a London street while talking about a computer virus that was going to destabilise the global economy. Charlie’s role was to sit in a doorway and reach out a coffee cup as they passed, like he was begging for change. He tried to look really desperate when he lifted the cup, like a real homeless person would be. It was a good role, for an extra, and he was happy with how he played it.
About an hour into the movie, Charlie recognised the street from his scene, and he gripped his wife’s arm.
“This is the scene?” she whispered.
Charlie nodded, and she passed along the message so that all the row were ready to spot him. James Bond walked down the street, right up to the spot where his character was begging…
Then the film cut to a different angle. You could just see the coffee cup he was holding in the corner of the screen, but Charlie’s character was out of the frame.
James Bond stopped, and there was a close-up of him looking concerned about the computer virus. Then the scene ended.
“Did I miss it?” Charlie’s wife whispered, distraught. “Which one were you?”
Charlie shook his head, “Never mind.”
He tried to make a joke about it after the movie was over, but everyone must have known he was really upset about being cut out of the film.
“At least you got to be on the set for a James Bond,” his wife tried to reassure him in bed that night. “That’s got to be pretty special, hasn’t it?”
“Of course,” Charlie said. “You’re right.”
He didn’t say how boring being on a film set really was. Hours of waiting with no clue what was going on, just to do the same thing over and over again. The only people who would talk to you were other extras, and they were always complaining about something. Normally the quality of the lunch.
Charlie reached over to turn out the bedside lamp. He tried to sound positive. Genuine. “Yes, it was like a dream come true.”
Owen Wyn Jones is a new writer from Mid Wales, currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing at Cardiff University.
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