[Monday's
raw notes][Tuesday's raw notes]
[Wednesday's raw notes][Thursday's
raw notes][Friday's raw notes]
[Photos from the set]
By Bill Peschel
The Herald of Rock Hill, South Carolina
(Published Nov. 22, 1999)
When
I had charged at a dead run to the top of the hill for the fifth time
in full Continental Army regalia, my 12-pound musket a lead bar in
my hands, I didn't know if I was going to throw up or fall over. Fortunately
for the audience that will watch "The Patriot" next year,
I kept myself from doing neither.
It was
my fourth day as an extra on the production. I had applied along with
several thousand others at Winthrop University back in the early summer.
Last Monday, they called. Can I come to work Tuesday morning?
So I did,
and what followed was the most intense experience of my life. Through
14-hour workdays that began at 4 a.m., I marched, fought and died
again and again on a field in southwest York County as a soldier in
the Continental Army, refighting the Battle of Cowpens and doing my
part for freedom, for Mel Gibson and for the director, Roland Emmerich.
This is a diary of one scene in the life of an extra on "The
Patriot."
It was
the second scene of the day. We're on flat lands at the bottom of
a steep grassy slope. At this point in the battle, the British Army
had routed the local militia led by Mel Gibson. They retreated over
the hill, and fall to the ground under our guns, and together we fire
back, killing most of their pursuers, then everyone charges up the
hill to rout the enemy. The battle may take several minutes on the
screen, but weeks to shoot.
We spent
the last three days on the militia retreat and our counter fire. Now
we're setting up to film the charge up the hill. Cameras are placed
to our right all the way up the hill, but most of them will be focused
on Mel, who has to fight five British soldiers as he leads the charge.
We are lined up in two rows, and placed behind us are more rows of
JROTC students drafted from Northwestern and Rock Hill high schools.
Then
we wait. And wait. And wait.
Mel comes
down the hill with his body double, Lance. They're dressed identically
in brown pants, white shirts and brown vests. With the militia dressed
completely in browns and black, they stand out easily, even from our
vantage point.
With five
stuntmen dressed as British soldiers, they rehearse how Mel will lead
the charge. Leading the militia and swinging his Brown Bess, he's
to take out all five and then pistol a sixth in front of the last
camera. Getting this right takes time. The soldiers will die obligingly
and Mel has a rubber musket to swing, but they will be coming at him
quickly. As soon as he clocks one, he has to back swing to catch the
second, move into position to meet the third, and so on, all while
running uphill. It takes six rehearsals at half-speed to get it right.
Even between takes, he runs through it again and again. This is the
hard work of a movie star.
We receive
our marching orders, and our timing has to be as impeccable as Mel's.
The Brits have to die gloriously, but not too quickly. There must
be opposition all the way up. The militia have to stay behind Mel,
move to the right toward the cameras and pass beyond to the top. We
have to run, but not so fast that we pass them. Our three flag bearers
will set the pace. We're to stay behind them until we reach the spot
where Mel kills his last enemy, then we're to cut loose and run.
Next comes
the safety check. All steel bayonets are sheathed and ones made of
rubber are handed out. The officers on horseback are given rubber
sabers. The muskets are left unloaded, and we're warned to keep the
butts up to keep from cold-cocking anyone on the ground.
On the
field, the propmen distribute dummies of dead British soldiers. Up
near the top of the hill, I spot several horses lying peacefully.
I thought it was quite a good trick for a horse to learn, until someone
pointed out that they were fake as well.
We rehearse
three times and adjustments in our position are made between each
take. Like war, movie making consists of long bouts of boredom punctuated
by minutes of action.
Finally,
we're ready to film. The militia is ordered to kneel in loose order.
The Continental Army's lines are straightened. "Picture up,"
is heard; the camera operators are watching us through their viewfinders.
The assistant directors, propmen and everybody else clear the field,
except for one man standing in front of the militia with a smoke pot.
We shoulder arms and we wait as the machinery grinds into motion.
Seconds pass, leaving us hanging while the director waits for the
right moment.
Then:
"Speed!"
"Sound!"
The man
with the smoke pot runs to the side of the line away from the cameras,
then back. A thick curtain of white smoke trails behind him and thins.
"Rolling!"
Clacks
can be heard. Before each camera, a man is filmed slapping a clapboard
that will be used in editing to synchronize the soundtrack with the
picture.
"X
mark." Clack.
"Y
mark." Clack.
"XB
mark." Clack.
From
at the bottom of the hill, we hear more commands and instructions,
followed by the one that gets us rolling.
"Action!"
A roar
goes up. Mel leaps and yells "Charge!" The militia follows.
"Bayonet
. . . charge!"
We slap
our muskets down into position and shout, "Huzzah!"
"Forward,
march!"
We start
at a walk, then after ten paces hell breaks loose. There's no time
for thought. We scream and pound up the hill.
A British
soldier left standing after the militia passes engages the officer
ahead of me. He pushes to the left. I pass him. I keep an eye on the
color bearers, but also on the bodies on the ground. It's an obstacle
course and difficult to keep your footing. When we pass Mel, he's
on the ground pistoling the last man and we're free. We kick up the
slope and over the top, screaming ourselves hoarse until we hear,
"Cut! Cut! Cut! CUT!"
Everybody's
happy with the scene, but we charge up the hill two more times. Water
is passed out in between takes, then peanut butter sandwiches. The
second take ended well, but we broke formation before the command
was given.
By the
third take, our sixth trip up the hill, I was in pain. One knee is
throbbing, and my stomach hurts. Midway up the slope, I step on a
soldier's leg and fall on my face. I'm told later that Mel dropped
his pistol in the grass and couldn't find it. But that's showbiz.
Time to break for lunch.
My four
days as an extra on "The Patriot" was a brief, intense experience.
In that brief span, I had become extremely attached to the production.
Even as an extra, the low man on the totem pole of the cast, the movie
still depended, in a very small measure, on the way I handled myself.
I had to shoot, march and charge like a trained Continental Army soldier,
make it all look good for the camera, and I nothing else I've ever
done would have such an effect on so many people.
That's
why they call it the magic of Hollywood.
All material is ©2000 Bill Peschel unless otherwise
noted.
