The Naked Pensioner - clothed, after a fashion
The great advantage of not wearing clothes is that at least it spares you the minefield that is wardrobe, says Erminette, as she reveals that clothed jobs have their own perils
Extras supply their own outfits, unless something more elaborate in the realms of period or fantasy is required. More elaborate in the sense of unusual, rather than attractive, in my case at least – I once had a stuffed bird sewn to my hair in a film about Jack the Ripper, and, in another, waist length blonde extensions attached to my already long hair were combined with a blonde moustache…
But being fitted for costume too can be a hazard, especially for the more generously proportioned of us, as there seems to be a profound belief that until very recently anyone over a size ten stayed at home wrapped in a blanket because they just didn’t make dresses that big. Or hats. Or shoes.
Fortunately I tend to be cast as a low-life character so costumes can be made up from various oddments (“Try the pregnant lady’s skirt from that horror film…”) combined with stretchy woolly hats.
But even my stout heart sinks at the words “You’re used to tight lacing aren’t you?” as someone attempts to strap the quart that is me into the pint-pot which is the corset they have found for me.
Even the young and slender can suffer from the curse of the corset. As we queued for wardrobe after a long hot day in Edwardian costume we stripped where we stood, arriving with our stays in one hand and our shoes in the other. It was that or death.
But for modern films you are often asked to bring the statutory three outfits: one formal, business look, two smart-casual so that wardrobe can choose. This is more difficult than it sounds: the camera is picky – it doesn’t like white, and it’s not too fond of black so unless it’s specifically asked for, no white and no black – or dark colours that the camera will “see as black”.
No bright colours either because the background is meant to be just that – background. And never, never anything with a logo. You can also be asked not to bring anything in a particular colour, which is really bad news if blue is out, because that can mean no jeans.
Some people come along with neatly packed cases on wheels. Indeed, some people are rumoured to have them ready packed, in case they get an unexpected call. Men bring suits packed in those long limp covers. I tend to bring a plastic carrier bag. Usually when I have meticulously packed (stuffed into the said bag): one business skirt and jacket - all right, they’re black, but show me a business suit that isn’t - One neutral T-shirt with neutral skirt and a dress, wardrobe will then look at the jeans and plain top combo I have come in and say “You’re fine.” This is my most hopeful scenario. Somehow I don’t seem to be terribly good at ordinary clothes. Ask me for a silver Regency ball gown – no problem (I wore mine to Stringfellow’s once…), or a full and authentic Victorian dress with bustle – I’m ready. I also do appearances as a Queen Victoria look-alike, which has the major advantage that it can be worn with trainers because nothing shows under that skirt. Yet somehow, that “passer-by” look tends to elude me.
Most embarrassingly, I once turned up with a bag full of clothes intended to express eccentricity “You are trying to look normal and not quite getting it right.” I was told.
I went into wardrobe.
“You’re fine,” they said.
“What?”
“We like it. It’s good.”
I was still wearing my usual clothes…
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