Extra! Extra! Extra!
Would you like to earn a bit extra as a bit-actor?
Ever entertain the idea, working as an extra for some pocket money?
You can’t do worse, take my unsolicited word for it.
But first, a word about the word “calefare” used for “an extra” in these parts.
It originates from Hong Kong, Cantonese, ke-le-fe for minor actor or background actor.
Which in turn has its roots in the English “carefree”.
Carefree SilverStreakers naturally will be cast automatically as uncles and aunties, or elevated to grandparents even.
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My calefare experience
Ahem. I have “acted” in Triple Nine (the police procedural on Ch 5) and a couple of sitcoms also on Channel 5.
And in the movies, yes, an Eric Khoo film, to boot. One Leg Kicking.
Ooh, how can I forget, I was in a two-hander indie short film, in the role of long-suffering wife to Vernon Cornelius who played the husband, set in a flower shop.
It was written and directed by a young lawyer, or law student. And screened on Channel 5.
I remember only how I wanted to squeeze the life out of, or terminate, the playwright/director. Because he, in quest of the perfect shot according to him, made us do take after take after take after take, with no thought for anyone other than the perceived artiste he fancied himself to be.
To be fair, it screened to some success.
My friends laughed themselves silly. Probably at my wardrobe, an aunty ensemble loaned from Marks & Spencer.
I cried. When I signed a sheaf of documents for the fee. $80.
Which is double what one receives from Channel 5.
Yes, the princely figure of $40 is the rate for calefare on Caldecott Hill (pre-2000).
How I became a calefare
I worked in Production 5, editing English drama scripts.
And have nil, zero acting chops experience. I have no interest in that field of entertainment.
But because of accessibility to cheap labour, casting would pop their head round my corner to ask if I could help them out, in the part of some aunty or other.
And so I would find myself, in a turquoise sheaf of a dress, printed with bright sunflowers, running away from the villain of the episode (Triple Nine) until I reached a dead end in the carpark (Caldecott Hill).
As the coppers & detectives (Lim Yu Beng, James Lye or was it Robin Leong) chatted over my dead body lying on the tarmac, I could think only of one thing: Please don’t shower me with your spittle as you three speak over me.
Not the end. Enroute home – it was too late to change out of costume – I ran into a stylish friend who without batting a false lash said, “I like your taste in clothes.”
In One Leg Kicking, we were made up to look like KISS (the rock band). It was Eric Khoo‘s first comedy, and had folk like Moe Alkaff and Siva Choy in it.
So that was fun.
Less fun were the rules. You would get one bento box lunch for the day’s shoot.
You were given a small bottle of water, you inked your name on it, because there would not be a second bottle. You know, extra.
And, heng ah! We got $80, eighty bucks for this full-length feature.
Don’t ask, what the story was. We act only, never ask questions one.
You would be bussed for location shoot, and you could change, in the bus, or where the bus parked, find a fast food joint and use its toilets.
I wonder if Tom Cruise or Meg Ryan started out like this…?
There would be script assistants – or gaffers – who’d come up to you, and say unfold a tissue paper on which rested a fake moustache.
"You are playing the girlfriend of this old man, and you have like a moustache..."
That was the clincher, I decided to retreat from such a close-up and faded from my career as a calefare.
Until the day I had a phone call from a casting company, engaged in the Singapore leg for Crazy Rich Asians.
It was a walk-on part, but after auditions (I was carefree that day) they decided I could be a hotel guest, and would have couple lines at front desk.
Then came the unglam part.
You would have to provide your own wardrobe, which had to be fancy threads. It would be a long day-to-night shoot, sorry, no rest areas, yes, there was a bento box lunch and maybe two small bottles of water (or bring your own).
You would be paid the king’s ransom of $100.
You can make a wild guess what I said.
“Thank you but no thanks because I don’t want to steal Michelle Yeoh’s scenes.”
