Viva Lewes Issue #137 February 2018

COLUMN
Colin Chapman
Ticket to ride
A stunningly cold, bright winter’s day and I am
on a kind of post-apocalyptic ex-military base,
in North London. It’s late Friday afternoon,
and I've been here since 7.30am. I'm a newbie
film extra. Ah, the joys of retirement.
The call comes. Everyone gets up to go on set.
“Not you,” says the assistant director. “You
wait”. I am, it seems, special. Suitably dressed, in
a station booth, I’m to be selling a ticket to Gary
Oldman (Gary Oldman!) I shiver, not only with
the cold but with star-struck anticipation.
One of the two make-up artistes who now
flank me whispers: “I'm sorry about this, but
the director says that as this is a period piece
it would look odd if someone in uniform (she
touches my sleeve, gently) has a... um… beard.
How would you feel about shaving it off?”
I turn pale. “I've had this for about four
decades, it's not an on-off sort of relationship,”
I say. But the director, apparently, is adamant.
“Basically...” she gets confidential again,
“there's no pressure. You really don't have to do
this... but if you don't we can't have the weekend
off... and we'll give you more money!” I sense
myself nodding. Within nanoseconds they have
shavers in their hands, whip off my beard, take
a hand each and lead me to the set.
I realise that the camera is to film over my
shoulder, towards Gary. My thoughts are slow
but I wonder coldly why I needed to be beardless
if the camera is behind me. I turn towards the
director about to question his judgement but
am immediately cowed by his sheer authority
– I turn back and there is Gary, frowning. Or
maybe he's just in character, I can't tell.
He, Gary, says: “Ticket to Oxford please”, and
I say “One pound ten”. Then he puts his money
on a turny thing. I am supposed to get down
a ticket and swivel it back to him. Easy for a
man with a beard but apparently not for me.
It does not go well. I forget to swivel. I fumble
the ticket. I stumble over my words. Gary's
character acts cool but I can see in his eyes,
he is not a happy man. After three takes the
director says, “Perfect! Let’s all go home!” The
crew cheer. Gary's obviously not convinced. He
fixes me briefly with his actorly eye and slowly
shakes his head. I feel I’ve let him down.
On the train back to Sussex I am cold in places I
haven't felt cold in for decades. I am convinced
people are staring at me. But when I get back
home no-one notices my lack of beard. My wife,
regarding me full on, says: “You look pale. You
look different, what is it? Are you still wearing
make-up?”
Chloë King is back next month
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