The Best Movie I Was Never In
Half asleep with no idea where I was going, I crossed the 40th Street Bridge in the car I’d borrowed from my mother. It was 5 AM and I was on the way to my first gig as an extra on the set of a movie called The Most Wonderful Time.
Fortunately, there were signs posted everywhere and I easily located the parking lot a block away from the river. It was dark and cold, and the wind sent the chill right through me as I trudged towards a small group of aspiring actors waiting for the shuttle that would carry us to base camp.
We hurried onto the van, jostling bags that contained the three separate outfits we were instructed to bring and ten minutes later, we arrived at the Millvale Community Center. Inside, the giant room looked like a teenager’s messy closet. Clothes, scarves, and hats strewn over long tables. Coats dangling from the backs of chairs. Backpacks and suitcases haphazardly parked.
After I claimed a spot near the bathroom, I enjoyed some hot coffee and a bear claw while I waited for the day to begin. This was all new to me and I had no idea what to expect. I was anxious and stayed on the periphery of the casual conversations going on around me, picking up whatever information I could from those with more experience.
It wasn’t long before one of the production assistants announced that we would be called up in groups of eight to parade past the head of wardrobe in our various outfits. Those that got a nod returned to the main room and the others had to change into their next outfit. This process was repeated until all sixty of us received the stamp of approval.
I was surprised to hear my name called after I’d been told what to wear. “We’d like to use you as a special extra,” said the wardrobe mistress. Seeing the blank look on my face, she added, “Someone who interacts with one of the stars but doesn’t have any lines.”
“Of course!” I answered, excited by the promotion.
My balloon deflated a bit when I discovered the only requirement for the role was that the person had to have large breasts. Evidently mine were gold medal level that day. I was asked to bring back my other outfits so they could decide what worked best. Nobody liked what I’d brought in any combination, and they began to search through their limited inventory for a suitable outfit.
I'd only been fitted for costumes twice in my whole life and neither was a good experience. I was the largest person both times and finding something that fit turned into a fiasco. I waited anxiously for them to return and when I saw them heading toward me empty-handed, I knew they hadn't found anything. They had me try on my other two outfits again, took pictures and texted them to the director, who promptly responded with an order to find something else.
Eventually we landed on an ugly Christmas sweater, and I was hurried out the door with a group of my fellow extras and walked the two blocks to the holding pen near the diner where my scene would be filmed. We all piled into the building next to the restaurant where they had set up plenty of chairs and plenty of snacks and drinks.
Not long after I got there, I was summoned to the set in the diner. This tiny space was stuffed with cameras, boom mics, sound equipment and about twenty crew members. I was immediately ushered to the kitchen where the make-up artist had set up.
I sat in front of a makeshift vanity between the grill and fryer where she applied foundation, powder, mascara, and blush and sprayed my hair stiff before I was escorted to a table in the middle of the restaurant. I waited anxiously while the crew finished setting up and testing the equipment. Jessie Nelson, the director, came over and introduced herself, which was nothing like what I’d read movie sets were like.
“How do you feel about resting your breasts on the table?” she asked. “It’s part of a joke one of the actors makes. Are you comfortable with that?” I nodded and practiced various placements and positions while we chatted for a few minutes. “When I give you the signal, you’ll wave the waitress down to refill your coffee, but don’t talk to her.”
“Absolutely,” I said, secretly hoping they’d change their minds and give me a line.
“Let me know if you have any questions,” she called as she headed to the door to greet Amanda Seyfried and Alan Arkin.
Alan Arkin?!
The three of them talked for a bit, then he took his place in a booth at the window. The room was suddenly silent. A young woman wearing a headset yelled out the scene number and “take one!” and clapped the arm on the slate. Jessie called “Action!” and Amanda Seyfried, in her aqua waitress uniform, approached Alan’s table with a coffee pot. Their conversation was heartfelt and honest, even though I watched them do it a dozen times.
They shot several scenes that morning, but not mine, so I drank in the action around me for a couple of hours as the boom guy lowered the mic, the director reset and called “Action!” and the lighting was adjusted to keep up with the shifting clouds. There was an issue with the machines blowing snow around outside the window, which added to the time it took to film.
We broke for lunch, and I headed back to the community center with the others who had been on a set in a different location down the street. It was made clear we were not to speak to the talent even if our hair was on fire and as extras, we were the last to go through the catering line. I averted my eyes and focused on the chicken piccata on my Styrofoam plate as I headed to a table and sat down.
When I finally looked up halfway through my lunch, I realized I was sitting next to John Goodman. “No matter what, do not speak to the talent” echoed in my head. I debated for a moment whether it was worth it to be fired just to tell him how much I loved his work. While I was lost in thought, Alan Arkin sat down across from him.
I could hardly contain myself.
They joked around for a bit but after John ate his last bite, he departed quietly, leaving Alan to finish his lunch alone. I kept my eyes down, but I was freaking out inside.
“How are you today?” Alan Arkin asked. I looked up, bewildered, and pointed to myself. He nodded.
“I’m doing good,” I smiled. “How about you?”
“It’s a wonderful day,” he smiled as he put a forkful of salad in his mouth.
Minutes later, we were called to the other end of the room and given the schedule for the rest of the day. I was to head back to the diner and finish my scene while the others were to return to the set a block away from the diner.
After my makeup and hair were refreshed, I spent what felt like an eternity placing my breasts on the table and moving them around like chess pieces according to Jessie’s instructions. Inside I giggled like a toddler. Me and my breasts were going to be on the big screen!
After it wrapped, the movie ran into some hiccups and the release was delayed. When it finally opened in November of 2015, it had been renamed Love, The Coopers.
Everyone who took part was invited, along with a guest, to the Pittsburgh opening. My mom and I waited in the enormous line, along with my fellow extras and actors, to enter the theater for over an hour. I didn’t care. I was in a movie!
As we finally approached the doors, I heard someone call my name. It was the director, Jessie Nelson (who would go on to write the book for The Waitress).
“I’m so glad I found you!” she smiled. “I have some bad news.”
You guessed it. My breasts and I ended up the cutting room floor after the final edit.
Was I disappointed? Of course. But I’d have been devastated, and embarrassed, if a Hollywood director, whom I’d met only once, hadn’t had the thoughtfulness and generosity to hunt me down to let me know beforehand.
It’s a gesture for which I will always be grateful. Even if I, and the girls, didn’t make the cut.
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