A Set to Behold: Aniston in The Bounty

Jennifer Aniston

The holding area for actors on a closed movie set is comparable to the park bench occupancy next to Forrest Gump. Once people claim their seats in the holding area of this decadent casino, every box of chocolates opens for the movie The Bounty starring Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler(300, PS, I Love You).

Radioman, a Hollywood icon whose life story inspired the lead character in The Fisher King is here on set with his working papers. A former homeless man, Radioman's ubiquitous character is a welcomed background staple for motion pictures. I entertain the faint memory of Radioman attending the posh Oscars alongside the actor who played him on film, Robin Williams. It looks like another culture clash as I observe Radioman’s beard catch scrambled egg morsels while sitting on the floor of the Taj Majal.

Queen Laqueefa, a burlesque dancer whose extraordinary Kegel control can manipulate inserted objects, spouts her vaginal feats to any actor who will listen. After a decisive wardrobe change, Laqueefa is wearing about as much fabric found in a hand towel for her aptly cast part as a streetwalker on the boardwalk. As far as I can gauge, the props department never equipped her.

There is a four foot something actor here from the Bronx who would look undersized as a horse jockey. He could play a child in this movie if they close shaved him. Another actor strikingly resembles Doogie Howser. An actress, whom Harrison Ford actually said reminded him of Carrie Fisher, is here as an extra. As I sit in holding, I actively wonder their degree of dilemma resembling another actor verses my getting chosen for a scene resembling myself.

On the set, we film as fillers for a boardwalk scene for most of the day. Eventually, the returning rain pattern chases us indoors for interior scenes. I’m standing near sultry Jennifer Aniston at the bottom of the escalators underneath the Taj Majal's signature chandeliers. There is extended down time as the crew methodically sets up this scene by the escalators.

Hundreds of fans held precariously behind yellow caution tape implore freestanding extras to autograph casino chips, cocktail napkins and even bare flesh because they think we might become household names. I imagine the lampoon of myself photo shopped out of thousands of pictures after computer upload or my worthless scribbled signature rubbed off under scolding hotel tap water the morning after. Sharpie markers pass amongst the crowd as much as Visine drops does on the set. Actors hear the word “wrap” in the fifteenth hour.

Just when I am ready to leave set, the first AD pulls me aside and tells me that playback footage prominently captured me behind Aniston so I am invited back the next day to finish filming the scene. Alarmingly, I’m so deliriously tired that I do not remember much of the hour ride home in solitude with my Bose speakers blaring to keep me awake.

After a blink of an eye nap in my bed, an abbreviated shift spent at the day job, and a return commute, I’m back the next day on set in Atlantic City. I meet a new regime of actors but I sit for several hours before I am used. About two hundred actors take their turn filming scenes over umpteen hours. Along the way, the acting world loses Farrah Fawcett but the show must go on. I digress to thinking of this sex symbol’s iconic bathing suit poster hanging on my bedroom wall. I inconceivably dismiss Jennifer Aniston as cameras roll with the Fawcett running in my resonating mind. In between takes and production stops, I use my cell phone to access the Internet where I discover rumors swirling that Angelina Jolie is sending Jennifer Aniston nasty text messages to leave Brad Pitt alone. I cast a surreal look over to Jennifer Aniston for evidential proof but nothing is happening on my watch.

Cutting through my tastefully seasoned prime rib during break, actor Jeff Goldblum is reported dead. Sometime later, many actors report difficulty being able to connect to the flooded wireless Internet. A boisterous female crewmember stands on a folding chair and tragically confirms the death of Michael Jackson. Sadly, nobody asks about actor Jeff Goldblum anymore. I don’t remember Goldblum having any serious character issues to demote his sudden death this far south of the Jackson headliner.

Back on the set with live actors, lady luck and the right wardrobe place me next to the hero table to shoot the next scene at a craps table. A spiked haired actor nicknames me mobster Frankie Brown Eyes because of my sparkling gold on black sequin casino garb. I play craps as the camera films Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler's point of view, both of whom are directly across from me. I don’t know how to play craps but my pantomime acting is enough realism with the camera rolling. My thoughts are fleeting, however. I have trouble concentrating due to sleep deprivation. In this game of craps, I could be called the fader right about now. I misread the next roll of the dice in the scene because I am admiring Jennifer Aniston's flawless features….The dealer's voice pierces my eardrum as he claims the casino has the advantage in this game. I beg to disagree. What a set to behold.