Agents of short-change

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio version of this blog story click here.]

Almost all of us have felt this frustration at some stage. You get what you think is a good deal at the time but later you discover it could have been so much better.

'You do the work, we'll take the majority of the pay.' 'Great!'

In most cases, brooding over it is of little help. What's done is done and all that. Take whatever learnings there are from it and move on. Nonetheless, it's often difficult not to think about what could have been.

Now, if the loss was clearly due to one's lack of diligence, there's usually little sympathy for the "victim". For example, when you buy a product in one shop only to see it at a cheaper price in another. The additional costs incurred here are simply down to the purchaser not shopping around.

Fair pay?

There are occasions, though, when at least the appearance of something more sinister is at play, when we believe, or indeed realise, we've been had, been taken advantage of.

One party acts in good faith and expects the other to do likewise. In Rewarding the reckless, I wrote about the risks I take in lending money to some barrio buddies. I have to take them at their word that they'll pay me back. They could just renege and I'd have practically no legal route to get the money back.

Here, it's not a case of money lent but rather somebody else taking more than their fair share of pay for what can loosely be described as teamwork.

And it's back to the business we call show for this latest, um, episode. Yep, I'm still being lured by that siren call.

This time, it's not the actual production team that has raised my ire. It's those third parties, the necessary evils that are the agencies. Well, I say 'necessary' as for somebody in my position, a very occasional "super extra", they seem practically unavoidable.

'This agency took over 60 per cent of the pay the production company forked out for my character.'

These agencies do, of course, serve a purpose. Production companies are happy to outsource the finding of suitable extras and the like, particularly when we're talking about films/series that shoot at various locations and require many additional bodies in scenes.

Thus, like any middleman, agencies take their cut of the pay, a finder's fee. There's nothing shocking about that.

What has shocked me, however, is the extent of that finder's fee at one particular agency I worked with a few weeks back. This crowd took over 60 per cent of the pay the production company forked out for my character. The breakdown: I got 750,000 pesos; the production company paid the agency 2,000,000 pesos.

Now, it must be said, I did agree with the agency to do the work for 800,000 pesos, a fine day's wages in Colombia, just a few hundred-thousand pesos off the monthly minimum wage (my getting just 750,000 was due to taxes, so I was informed. I found this odd as other agencies have always told me what the net-pay figure will be).

Sign and move on

So, I can't really have any complaints. What's more, it was in a somewhat strange manner that I found out about the agency's exorbitant finder's fee.

Had I not received a contract to sign — after I'd done and got paid for the work, I hasten to add — I would have never known that my role was priced at 2,000,000 pesos.

I think it's the first time I've been pressured into signing a contract after I both did and got paid for the work in question. Does one not normally sign a contract before engaging in employment? That the agency was very anxious that I signed suggests its payment from the production company depended on my signature.

Ignorance would have been bliss for me in all this. As stated, I was relatively happy with the initial payment offered to me. The casus belli was seeing what the production company was actually paying for my character.

The lesson to be learnt here is to ask for a contract before anything is agreed upon, particularly if it's not payment in cash on the day. In my experience, having the latter arrangement is usually less hassle.

As for the contract in question here, did I sign it? Call me a softy, but considering I'd been paid and the likelihood of getting more was near zero, I did. In fact, the agency in question is still putting me forward for work, for now in any case.

Sometimes it's just better to cut the losses and focus on the gains.
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Enticing extras: The siren call of our times

@wwaycorrigan

[Listen to an audio version of this blog entry here.]

In today's rapidly changing world, the doctrinaires amongst us tend to suffer the most. Adaptability and flexibility generally trump the dogmatic approach.

With that in mind, whilst some of you may view yours truly as a contrarian and stubborn, I am willing to change my position on issues should the circumstances dictate or in light of irrefutable evidence that rubbishes opposing views.

A day in the life of an extra. At times it leaves one longing to watch paint dry.

Extra special

Thus, while I may have sworn to myself a few years ago that I'd never go back to ordinary extras work, lack of a steady income in uncertain times saw me renege on that promise. The "healing" hand of time and the steady fading of bad memories also played their part.

I hadn't done extras work for about four years so, in many ways, there was almost a novelty in the invitation to return. It's also important to note that the last couple of times I was on set I actually had minor speaking roles, a whole different ball game to being a partially seen (but not heard) extra.

Nonetheless, the warning signs of what was to come were there before I even fully committed to the gig.

'You have to be there at 5 am sharp.'
'Really, 5 am sharp? Is that the actual time or is that Colombian time? I'm a punctual person, so if you say a time I shall arrive at that time.'

However, experience tells me that arriving at the appointed hour for such things results in nothing more than a lot of standing around waiting for the people who count to show up.

'No, no. We're starting at 5 am. There's a covid-19 antigen test to take and if you're late, you won't be allowed in.'

I took the agency girl at her word. The "novel" covid factor made me think that perhaps now things had to start that bit earlier. New normal and all that.

Yet, off-setting this was the requirement to bring with me two outfit options. Previously, the wardrobe department tended to dress one accordingly, a slow enough process of course, especially when there is a good number of extras involved. This time, however, I was asked to bring an executive-style suit and something slightly less formal.

'After hours of waiting and countless replies of 'ahorita' to questions of when we'll next be needed — 'ahorita' being the Colombian word to mean anytime between now and never — we weren't filmed again.'

I shrugged off my annoyance at having really no other viable option but to take a hated taxi to arrive on time — the location being at the other end of Bogotá to my residence, 20 km away — and agreed to make my grand return as an extra. The fairly reasonable pay also played its part in my decision.

In fairness, arriving on time, the agency coordinator was waiting at the entrance. After filling out countless forms, we — the other couple of punctual extras and I — went for our rapid covid test. Breakfast was then served. Things were proceeding rather smoothly.

Fed and watered, we were sent to the wardrobe department to check our attire. My European companion and I, both of us given the aforementioned formal dress instruction, were told we were overdressed. The scene we were going to be in was a working-class London neighbourhood, so we needed to look more informal. Basically, how I dress every day if only I'd been given the proper information the night before. I don't like to drag across Bogotá the only three-piece suit I have for no good reason.

Once suitably attired, we returned to what the production team called 'base camp' — a partially covered parking lot serving as our eating and waiting quarters. Filming was taking place across the street, in a quaint, semi-enclosed pedestrianised area of the city centre.

The McDonald's effect

The standard, tedious yo-yoing then commenced.

'Come on guys, quickly, you're needed on set ... Stand there ... No, actually sit over there ... Walk over here ... Stop there ... Wait a minute ... OK, go back to base camp.'

At 11 am, my companion and I were actually used in a scene, wandering down a "London" street as a Swat team pulls up and rushes past us. After four or five takes, we were told that was it. Lunch was then served.

I asked those who had the appearance of authority if we would be used again and I was told we would. The thing is, there are many on set who like to think they have some sort of power but, in reality, they're mere minions. They tell you one thing with force only for this to be overruled by a superior moments later. In their defence, it often seems that even those truly calling the shots are playing it by ear.

'The experience becomes at best a somniferous sojourn, at worst an ire-inducing inferno.'

In any case, after hours of waiting and countless replies of 'ahorita' to questions of when we'll next be needed — 'ahorita' being the Colombian word to mean anytime between now and never — we weren't filmed again.

It was 8 pm when they finally told us we were done, nine hours after our one-and-only scene.

No doubt some will ask what's the fuss about? Isn't getting paid, fed and watered for practically doing nothing great? In theory, yes.

Yet, for me anyway, it's the sense of not being in control of your immediate time and surroundings. One is completely at the mercy of others with no indication of what you might be doing and when you may be asked to do it. There's also the vapidity of it all.

The whole atmosphere creates a sort of toxic tiredness. Any initial enthusiasm quickly ebbs away. The experience becomes at best a somniferous sojourn, at worst an ire-inducing inferno. A day on set isn't complete without at least one extra lashing out at a coordinator, not just verbally but even physically at times.

The number of extras involved plays an important role in these tumults. Fewer bodies about generally reduce the propensity to lash out. The production team is more likely to treat the hired help as human beings when there aren't many of them hanging around.

Nonetheless, anyone who does extras work with regularity either has low self-esteem or is in desperate need of the cash. I'm certainly not in the former category but sort of in the latter. Put it this way, I could tolerate it once or twice a week right now.

As a frustrated friend reflected, it's like eating at McDonald's. You get lured into returning, thinking the experience will be more fulfilling this time. Not even halfway through, though, you're disillusioned, even angry with yourself for having fallen for the tripe yet again.

That's it. Never again. Until the next time that is.
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Rediscovering the joie de vivre

Back in late 2007, during my first full-time radio job, the general manager of the station in question, a recently-appointed Portuguese man, took to me one side and said, "Brendan, you've lost your joie de vivre."

While he mightn't have been totally correct that at 22 years of age I wasn't happy with life in general, I was certainly dissatisfied with some, largely work-related aspects, and this obviously showed in my behaviour. Like many, I wear my heart on my sleeve.

Contemplating the future. The answers lie within ...

In many ways, that period marked the beginning of a new departure. In a few months I had left that radio station to take up an ill-fated editor position at another one. Before 2008 was out, I'd my backpack in tow, embarking on a 10-month adventure that took me around South America, New Zealand, Australia and parts of South-East Asia.

A return to broadcasting and Ireland followed, before, once again, wanderlust took over. South America was calling. After an initial three-month stint in Santiago de Chile, it was Colombia that became the base in late 2011. That's pretty much how it has been since.

Of course, starting off in a new country from scratch, that is to say moving without a job already secured or any clear plan, makes things a little more difficult. It takes time to get established. 

What's more, in many developing countries such as Colombia, working freelance in an unstable sector and earning the local currency means it's not easy to get into a comfortable situation financially speaking.

Personally, the first two to three years here had enough adventure and excitement, as well as a trickle of cash flowing in, to keep me relatively content. Heck, there was even (and still is, minus the same excitement) the odd TV 'super extra' gigs. The joie de vivre was there.

However, in the last couple of years, this has been on the wane. Again, the root cause seems more job related than anything else. The accidental teacher has become tired with his lot. 

The mediocrity has gone on a few years too many truth be told. On that score, the ante has been upped of late to find something more fulfilling, whatever that may be and wherever that may take me.

It must be pointed out that it's not exactly the location that I've grown tired of; Colombia and even Bogotá itself still excite. However, once you become mired in one important element, even if it is not exactly place specific, it can be difficult to focus on the many other positives. The grey cloud darkens all.

That notwithstanding, another, not-insignificant aspect that isn't exactly a roaring success is in the dating game (yes, here we go yet again).

The Colombia, nay Bogotá, I feel compatible with, at home in, is the tienda, what you might call more campesino/country style of life. Now, this isn't just from a price perspective, as has been explained before.

Unfortunately, in terms of most of the Colombianas I've been attracted to and tried to have something with, going out in such places is anathema to them. The ridiculously overpriced, fancier but fake locations are anathema to me. Plus, as someone who likes to try to be honest from the get-go, it tends to work against you here.

Yes, I've wasted time and money with too many interesadas, but it's generally the nature of the fauna in these parts.

Unlike the work situation, the above is more a problem of place, an incompatibility of sorts (but not in all cases, it's just 'compatibility' has been harder to find of late; you could say I've become more stubborn, not less!).

Looking at it all together, it's not that things aren't working or the joie de vivre is gone, it's just that it's not going exactly how I'd like. Of course, many people live their whole lives that way, a reluctant acceptance of their lot.

As long as you're still breathing, though, there's always time to change and explore other options. For a singleton without children to care for, this is even more so the case.
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