‘Let’s go again, please’ are the words every actor fears

If you’ve never visited a film location to see a movie being shot, you may have a skewed vision of what the job must be like. For many, our only view of this seemingly glamorous world is through the prism of watching the finished product at the cinema, or tuning in to the occasional awards ceremony at which beautiful people in gorgeous clothes walk serenely down red carpets and make gushing acceptance speeches.

But the reality is markedly different. I speak from personal experience having just enjoyed (if that’s the right word) a week spent filming a role for a new TV series, a period costume drama shot on location in a disused country house on the outskirts of London. And whatever adjectives may be employed to describe the regime of filming, glamorous it ain’t.

Each day began just before 5am with my alarm clock summoning me to life after a few hours snatched sleep after my previous day’s exertions. Almost all of my scenes were “first up”, filming parlance for the opening scene of an absurdly ambitious schedule and thus by 5.45am I’d be in a minicab on my way to the set.

In the film world, time is money and the producers simply can’t afford an entire crew standing around twiddling their thumbs in the cold because a vital actor has missed his train or is still out- side his house trying to coax his old VW Golf into life.

By the time I arrived at 6.30am the crew had already been hard at work on set for over an hour, setting up the cameras and scenery in preparation to commence shooting.

In reality, the location base where I was deposited – the hub of the operation where the administration trailers, make up and wardrobe trucks and catering wagons are parked up – was not next to the house itself, but some miles away. In our case, the car park of a nearby hypermarket. I was soon picking my way between parked cars and pools of stagnant water in search of a cup of tepid coffee and a croissant while wearing period costume.

Filming always began prompt- ly at 8am. Some days I was lucky and the scene would be an interior, allowing some protection from the elements. If, however, it was a street scene, my blearyeyed colleagues and I were condemned to endure the vagaries of the British weather.

The difficulty of trying to remember words and moves in sub- zero temperatures while clad only in a tricorn hat, buckle shoes and a thin tabard cannot be exaggerated. Even when I managed to get it right, we were frequently thwarted by the roar of jet engines overhead or the hum of rush-hour traffic on a nearby motorway. And even when we got a clean take, the continuity girl would spot a rogue watch on an actor’s hand or a discarded polystyrene cup in the corner of the shot. “OK, let’s go again, please”, would come the edict from the director. And so our tortuous progress would continue towards lunch.

Eventually we’d break, offering a chance to return inside to warm perished limbs and shovel down a hot meal. After gorging on stew or sausage and mash, there might be time for a quick nap or a chance to catch up on my emails, before returning to the make up truck to wipe any traces of gravy from my chafed lips and struggle back into costume and wigs. At which point we’d return to set, and the whole process would begin again. Only when the director announced “That’s a wrap” soon after 8pm, could we all relax, get back into our day clothes and head for home.

My five days on the project were soon over. But for many on the project, this was a regime they’d endured since early June and will continue to do so well into next month.

I finished my brief stint feeling a renewed sense of admiration for those individuals, both in front of and behind the lens, who are prepared to put themselves through this punishing ordeal simply to pursue their dream.

So next time you see those shiny, happy people clutching their shiny, happy awards, remember what they went through to achieve their brief moment in the sun.