On the first time I realised I was masking on set
Shadowing
After I finished my BA in Film Studies, I returned to Madrid to continue my studies and started working on short films, hoping to make it to IMDb (and I did!).
The first time I placed a foot on a professional film set was as a second assistant director apprentice for a short film shot in the then-abandoned Casino Taoro in Tenerife.
I remember how nervous, inadequate and awkward I felt during that one week of shooting. I wanted to prove myself worthy, but the red flags that only made sense so many years later were already fluttering away. I had found the quietest and furthest possible toilets to try to have teeny-tiny breaks whenever, like most other members of my species, I needed to use the toilet. I must have often needed it more than any average human, as I remember being told off several times about how often I did.
I was already overwhelmed by the unhealthy levels of tension and the chaotic environment of a crew working under high pressure - a director/producer/protagonist scenario; need I say more? It probably wasn’t all that chaotic, now that I think of it, but shifts in mood in senior crew members, with voices being raised and people being shouted at… there was a generally unpleasant vibe in the air. I, naively, had no idea that “the film” was this larger-than-life character from a Mizayaki movie. A black oozing mass that must annihilate anything in its way to come to life, regardless of any human tribulations. In essence, I believed that taking a quick pause for my unavoidable human physiological needs was nothing to be ashamed of.
At the time, and until I subjected myself to the wonders of Isotretinoin in my early thirties, I suffered from acne. Surprise, surprise. I was a twenty-year-old with low self-esteem who, only days earlier, had found an unexpected bout of sturdiness to end a convoluted and toxic long-term relationship, which, of course, only worsened the ongoing skin breakout. During the shoot, when I took those ludicrous amounts of holy toilet breaks, I often also tried to cover my spots with a stick of concealer I carried in my bumbag. My acne was pretty bad at that point, making me feel self-conscious in a situation in which I was meant to display my strength of character. This made me feel even more vulnerable in the face of the producer’s nasty disposition. I already felt he had taken issue with me, maybe because the fact I was sleeping on his living room couch and had to bear witness to him and his girlfriend having loud sex every night made him feel awkward, so he deflected this negativity onto me.
There was an incident from that week that has stuck with me for life. I had just laid out the tables to help serve lunch. Instead of sitting down to eat the lukewarm meaty soup (because dietary requirements were mere indulgences back then), I ran to the toilet directly opposite the dining area. It was then that the producer/director/star saw me hastily dabbing concealer on my face in front of the bathroom mirror. Someone had left the door to the corridor half open when he happened to walk by on his way to lunch. When I sat back down at the table, he loudly informed the assistant director I was shadowing, in a disdained tone “I just saw your so-called apprentice applying make-up in the bathroom. Doesn’t she have anything better to do!?”. He more than achieved his intention to humiliate me in front of the whole crew despite me having done whatever I chose to do in the said bathroom during my legal lunch break. Well… as legal as it can be for an unpaid apprentice sleeping on a living room couch.
I was a wreck.
My boss later gave me a good scolding and a severe chat about professionalism and about how I had let him down when he had put me forward for this “opportunity”.
At the time, I had no voice to confront the bully producer; worse, I thought I was in the wrong. It was my first job in film, and my confidence had already become a little smaller.
Jokingly revealing my inner feelings in the creepy hotel lobby - most of the pimples cleverly disguised.
Another highlight of this experience involved the niece of said producer/director/star, who also joined the shoot for a few days to learn the craft. We couldn’t be more different: she was tall, confident and assertive. She was untouchable. One morning, I commented on how astonishingly earlier than their call time, actors were showing up - around 60 to 45 minutes ahead of schedule. It was meant to be an upbeat remark - a compliment.
Not my brightest moment, I know. I am incredibly awkward, and small talk doesn't come naturally. Everyone else seemed to have something amiable or funny to say along with their greeting. I wanted to appear friendly, too, but I had no clue how to, so I said the first thing that ran through my head. She called me out on discouraging the cast from arriving early and displayed a lot of saviour faire in the business. She had a point, and I have always felt grateful for her insight, even if it was delivered in a not-so-nice tone. It marked the first time I realised I was consciously (and clumsily) trying to blend in in a work environment. This wasn’t like when a friend hugged me tight, and I stood tensely with my arms closely stretched parallel to my body, not knowing what I was supposed to do in return. In those cases, I could be myself, and my friends gently joked about me being stiff as a log.
In essence, I was masking.
There is one silver lining to this story. On the last day of the shoot, my boss allowed me to explore the building for an hour while discussing business with the producer/director/star. I had been nagging him all week, so he finally gave in, feigning reluctance, because he was overriding health and safety concerns, but it was the Wild West in those days for good and evil.
Here are some pictures I took with my crappy digital camera. I was ecstatic to finally have some time alone to breathe and explore, which I honestly found a more enjoyable experience than any minute of the rest of that week.
