...in my ongoing experiment to see just what sort of headline gets my virtual soapbox the most attention.
Well, nothing else could possibly explain the outlandish amount of make up I was forced to wear yesterday. More make up than Courtney Love trying to hide a black eye on a night out on the red carpet. Oh that saucy slapper!
Actually there was a very good reason. I was cast as a band member (who'da thunk it) in a French fromage commercial. The make up was simply a distraction so you wouldn't recognise me. I lie. Again. The apparently brilliant, world class image consultant, wardrobe specialist in charge of making us look as authentic and scary as possible, in keeping with the script, fell a little short of the mark. Merely typing "heavy metal okes image" into Google isn't going to result in any sort of credible set of cohesive pictures from which to work. For starters, the brief we were given was a single paper on which they combined full on Abbath/Gaahl blood soaked corpse paint, bullet belt-era Sepultura, and an old Polaroid of Ozzy in a leotard and various other mismatched and completely disparate versions of what makes a metal guy look like a metal guy.
Thankfully, after hours of sitting around in the idyllic surroundings of the wedding venue/farm, I had it pretty easy compared to the rest. They made me look like a scowling panda with a few extra, but entirely superfluous dots and let me be in my leathers and a tshirt. The guy cast as the guitarist was made up to be a direct copy of Brandon Lee's character from The Crow, which is about as scary as marshmallows wrapped in candy floss. The drummer was made to look like some evil version of Flash at an underground ComicCon and our fearless leader and vocalist was fucked with for hours. I couldn't help letting a chuckle escape every now and then. For starters, we'd already been through a day of "wardrobe" in which we were fucked around for many unnecessary hours, but at least he looked super fucking cool as a result. Not so much this time. Never mind that they had to reinvent his make up 3 times, but they genuinely thought it was a good idea to forego the ankle length tailored black coat they had originally okayed in favour of a leopard print spandex pant and a tshirt from Markhams. And a Harry Potter tattoo on his arm. Perhaps it was their way of getting him angry so that his character would do well in the filming...
Besides that, these so called industry experts, in all their glorious wisdom, decided last minute to inform us that we were expected to make something up on the spot and perform it through the PA at this "wedding". Fair enough, after the initial incredulity, we realise we're supposed to be professionals, and we learn the guitarist's band's one song and sommer bang out a spare riff in case. Thank the Gods I manage to convince the director that everyone else is an idiotic pillock and it would be better for all concerned if we just mime along to a tune so we can all at least be filmed in synch. So there we were, a motley crew of the most unlikely looking metal okes banging it out to 'Hit The Lights', much to the collective horror of all the extras tannies sitting in the audience. There were a few disdainful noses out of joint, I don't mind bragging a little. And there were some moments of great enjoyment sprinkled throughout the entire day as well, not least of which was when I looked around between shaking my Timotei locks around to see the singer had fallen on his butt!
All in all, though, I can summarise the experience as follows. We walk off set and drummer guy says in a tone of voice that suggests his own views rather strongly "Will you ever do this again?" to which I reply heartily "Hell, no!"
I'll spare you the details of the make up removal and the last bits of "hurry up and wait", but we all got home safely in the wee hours of this morning. I finally managed to get a brush through my hair and go and buy some make up remover. There's a first time for everything. Now we wait for the proverbial "fat cash"... I think I'll buy myself something nice.
NGDG: Some days you cry 'jaysus an begorrah, ders blut in me stool oim sure as deadt!' Other days you're less panicked, more together, and you remember you've been eating cranberries.
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