Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T L Y M O N T A N A M A G A Z I N E • S P R I N G 2 0 2 1 26 table not just once, but over and over and over. Another take, then another, and another until the actor's head has been slammed into the blackjack table a dozen times. I look on with a combination of amusement and horror. "People, back to one!" the Big Director yells. I emerge from behind the pillar on the casino floor and find my way back to my keno machine. "Masks on!" the Big Director booms. By this point I have my routine down. Several hair stylists and makeup people immediately descend on the actor playing the drunk gambler, quickly working their magic on his face and tousled hair. The woman who took photos of the chip stacks earlier directs her assistants to reset them for another take. "You were great," Marcus says through his dust mask, as though I'd managed to impress him somehow with my casual walking for the past two hours. "I bet they'll put that shot in the episode." "Thanks," I say. "Masks off!" the Big Direc- tor yells again. I remove my mask and crumple it into my pants pocket. "Rolling!" he says. A few tense seconds pass. "Background!" All the extras begin silently moving. I cash out my keno ticket, stand up in feigned frustration, and start my designated route. There's a lot of people moving in a lot of dif- ferent directions, so our routes are never exactly the same twice to keep from bumping into each other. The walk has to look natural so the scene appears dy- namic. After reaching the pillar for the umpteenth time, I stand hidden behind it with several other extras. We watch the se- curity detail enter the lobby on cue and make their way across the casino floor. They pass in front of the pillar empty of casino patrons. They look very serious. The scene unfolds as it has all morning, ending with the drunk gambler getting his head slammed into the table, his chips gathered into a hat, and himself forcibly dragged away by the casino's muscle. "Cut!" the Big Director says. "Masks on!" After a while, suddenly, it feels like Groundhog Day to me, and my punishment in purgatory is to cross the same casino floor and see the exact same groups of Vegas-dressed bros, old couples, young couples, flirty Gel Guy, Old Button Masher, barflies, cocktail waitresses, the overweight man in camouflage cargo shorts who's now wearing a generic T-shirt, and lots of tourists holding drinks. This is my punishment for eternity, this hellish loop with very few variations. But I also feel sympathy for everybody who's stuck here in purgatory with me—we're all suffering togeth- er. I especially feel for the actor getting his head slammed into the blackjack table. That's not a good way to spend eternity. At least it's not me, so there's some comfort in knowing that. Finally, around two o'clock in the afternoon, we're sent back to the green room. "You're all done," the extras director says. We were expected to block off the entire day, at least until six, but the Big Director got the film he wanted. "Go ahead and bring up your paperwork and we'll sign you off." Another line immedi- ately forms. Unfortunately, Kevin Costner never materializes on the set. People seem disappointed by this. But there's always anoth- er chance, they tell each other while standing in line. In the casino green room, I patiently wait my turn in line. Finally, I get signed off, which guarantees me roughly two hundred and forty dollars before taxes for five hours of work. Not a bad day. Afterward, searching for my parked car in the dirt field, I keep thinking I should have taken up the free breakfast offer. Now I have to go looking for lunch. A RUMOR GETS PASSED AROUND THAT KEVIN COSTNER WILL BE ON THE SET LATER.

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