The pernicious pull of the black hole that is film & TV

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'Don't bite the hand that feeds you.'

It makes a lot of sense. Damage the relationship with those who give you sustenance, in whatever form, and hardship is likely to ensue.

Cognitive dissonance: Brendan 'Wrong Way' Corrigan gets miked up for a minor TV series role.

Sometimes, however, we may be doing both ourselves and society at large a favour by not only biting that gifting hand but devouring the whole body.

A harming hand

Imagine if, in 1941, Blondi had consumed the hands, head and heart of her loving master. OK, contemplating counterfactual histories opens the door to numerous alternative probabilities but surely a world that rid itself of Adolf Hitler in the early 1940s would be a better place today. Surely.

A world without showbiz, though, would be a culturally poorer place, and a whole lot duller, wouldn't it?

Whatever one's opinion, the film and TV industry has become so entrenched in our daily lives that few can envisage a normal, nay liveable, life without it.

And seeing how this industry has been one of my most reliable forms of income over the last number of years, I more than most shouldn't be nefariously nibbling at its paying palms.

Nonetheless, I've called out its inconsistencies and inequalities before. For example, see, Enticing extras: The siren call of our times and Agents of short-change.

Flights of fancy

This time, I'm focusing on the film world's substantial carbon footprint.

It's something that I'm adding to as I write these lines, having been flown, twice, over 1000 km north of Bogotá to Santa Marta, whence I was chauffeured about 90 km east to the Caribbean coast town of Palomino to play a minor role in a new Spanish production.

Those flights, particularly the mid-filming return to Bogotá for four nights, really got me thinking about the excessive energy needs and waste for which this industry is responsible.

From a mere budgeting perspective — who cares about financial prudence these days, eh? — had the production company given me the cost of that return flight back to Bogotá, I could have used the money more wisely, and reduced my carbon footprint in the process, by staying in one of Palomino's budget hotels/hostels until I was needed on-set again.

I've seen private rooms advertised for 30,000 COP per night. That's decent value in a town that has become quite touristy over the last few years. It was more tranquil and less trodden when I first visited in 2013 (see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2013/08/palomino-and-cabo-de-la-vela-lighter.html).

For the record, rooms at the beachfront hotel resort where the production company put me up, Hukumeizi, range from about 300,000 to 600,000 COP per night.

'Viewed from a distance, the film and TV industry may appear full of stars. Yet, up close, it's more like a big black hole.'

As a relevant aside considering the theme of this piece, Hukumeizi's claim that some of its rooms are ecological is rather questionable. The bathrooms in said ecological rooms are so lacking in natural light that one has to turn on the artificial lights during the day to see properly. What's more, the hotel's policy appears to be to force guests into buying water from small plastic bottles. How ecologically benign that is!

Coming back to those flights, I was just one of over a dozen such Colombian-based actors — I'm using the label actor lightly for me here — who were flown back to their base mid-filming.

In addition to our transport to and from Santa Marta's airport, another van was used to carry our luggage. Keep those carbon emissions flowing, folks!

This is not to mention all the flights to and from Spain transporting both equipment and personnel.

Hungry stars

Then there's the filming of the series itself. It involved over 300 staff, all of whom had to be fed and watered — 300 ml plastic water bottles being the preference on set — and most, apart from locally sourced extras, had to be housed.

Add in the not-very-natural make-up used to mimic everyday dirt — a lot was needed for a series set in the 1490s, as this is — plus the chemicals used to remove this make-up, and the waste tab becomes considerable.

And one must ask, all this for what? What net benefit does it give to humanity?

OK, for me it has provided a badly needed income and a rather surreal, pleasurable experience. And I imagine that when the series airs, millions will enjoy it.

But surely the energy expended in this production could be put to a more beneficial use for both humanity and the environment in general.

There's also the argument that such high-cost productions give little back to the viewer. They're flashy and slick yet not very fine or stimulating. Easy on the eye but with little educational value. Some, however, view such opinions as arrogant and ignorant. It's a nuanced debate.

Voracious vanity

Whatever one's thoughts on the end product, it cannot be denied that it comes at a huge cost on many levels. A Time magazine article published in March 2024 says that large productions such as Barbie or Oppenheimer can emit up to 3,370 tonnes of CO2 equivalents, enough to power 656 homes for a year. One assumes that's referring to homes in high-income nations.

Advancements in artificial intelligence should help production companies reduce these costs while still delivering visually impressive content. AI can be a positive force, in some areas.

As for the living, breathing thespian talent, there's always live theatre to separate the true actors from the pretenders. There are no second takes — never mind third, fourth or fifth ones — once the curtain's up.

So society at large could do worse than appreciate more so the live stage rather than the big and small screens.

For viewed from a distance, the film and TV industry may appear full of stars. Yet, up close, it's more like a big black hole.

Having been pulled into it, I can see its voracious vanity. Yes, it occasionally feeds me. But at what price?
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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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