Mr E movie man
It was sort of by accident that he became involved. Through a friend of a friend who needed someone, needed a few someones, a few anyones to fill the shot behind some someones. Mr E had always fancied himself a bit of a star (he had a face for film) and all that seemed required was a free day on Monday and an understanding of a Scottish reel. Well he had danced across the highlands and Monday… he could call in sick. So accident it might have been but he knew he had always been fated to end up in front of a camera.
He was sent to a north London costumier and reading through the details of his allocated role he was delighted to discover that Mr E would be dressed as a soldier and he straightened his spine, but slumped a little when he continued to read that the others were too tall for that part… the short soldier? But bright berry red of his jacket in the warehouse mirror made him forget his height disadvantage. He worried that his jacket and trousers had been to war and back without him; that his face reviewed the only medals he could have won were on sports day not battle fields. He tried to ask for side burns but a face like yours can’t pull them off… so they were pulled off his face.
As the dawn broke on the morning of filming Mr E made his way to the bus that took the sleepy 21st century youths an hour out of London and 160 years back in time. He watched while waists were squeezed by corsets and skirts swelled with petticoats; flowing curls were pinned up in place and jacket tails brushed down.
Before the professionals were brought to take their places the scene was practised and repositioned and the curtains were closed to hide the daylight as the feigned evening’s candles were lit. By about take 4 Mr E felt bold and (taking a chance) he decided to improvise… as he stepped right-left-right past a camera he thought he would wink at the lense – a salute that only he could point out to his closest fans – but he mistook the moment, lost the hand of his partner and closed both his eyes. Damn, he muttered as he par-du-Basqued, instead of teasing I just look like I am sneezing…
When they saw him slipping (trying to be smooth) the make-up artists dashed forwards to stick him to the floor with hair spray on his shoe. The smell of the spray and the candles naked flames made his collar feel tight; burning up the dance floor was just an expression wasn’t it? And he wished he were a big enough star to have some one cool him down with a pocket fan.
Watch out for him if you see the film: you might miss him if you blink, if you see him give a wink…