My screen debut (04/08/09)

Yes, my friends, it’s true. The time has finally come when the rest of the world has been forced to recognize my prolific acting talents. After all these years of labouring in the shadows, an unrecognized genius, an unsung hero, I have been catapulted onto the world stage. The moment has finally come for international stardom…

Well. Sort of. If, by ‘prolific acting talents’ you mean, ‘not being able to act in any way, yet agreeing to do it just for the larks,’ and by ‘world stage’ you mean, ‘the world of Bangladeshi tele-film’, then you might be slightly closer to the position I found myself in this week.

I was in the VSO office one day, beavering away as usual, when Martin, the administrative assistant and general saviour of VSO, came in and asked if I had a minute. Of course I had a minute, I always have a minute for Martin, so off I went. He introduced me to a very beautiful and glamorous friend of his, whose husband is a famous writer-director in Bangladeshi showbiz. This woman had a proposal for me: her husband was currently shooting a movie for Eid (an Islamic holiday, which has roughly the same status as Christmas does in the UK, and is around 22nd September this year), and was in need of a bideshi to do a bit-part. I was intrigued, of course, but explained that I have absolutely NO acting skills whatsoever. It would be no big deal, she assured me – a couple of lines, nothing more, it’d only be three or so hours on the set. And so I agreed to go to her home the next day for iftar, to take a look at the script and make my decision.

On seeing the script, I immediately had some reservations. Not about the content or the character – I was to play an official in the Germany, but more on that later – but about the ‘couple of lines.’ I only saw my section of the script, because the rest was in Bangla, but it was five full pages of dialogue long. Four separate scenes, three a couple of minutes long and one about seven minutes long. Again, I tried to protest: I don’t have any acting experience past GCSE drama, and even then I was at best unremarkable, and at worst, pretty rubbish. However, they only heard ‘drama GCSE’ and that was it: they were convinced I would be the next Kate Winslet.

Quashing my nerves and skepticism about my ability to do what they were asking, I agreed to do it. Why not? I was flattered to be asked, of course, but mainly dead curious to have a peek at the world of Bangladeshi telefilm. I’d seen several of these telefilms – they’re inescapable on buses and at other people’s houses – and generally found them a bit of a hoot. The acting is generally a bit clichéd anyway, so I thought, what the hell? The worst that would happen is that I’d show up, be clearly so awful that they’d have to politely ask me to leave and find someone else with a modicum of talent.

And that’s how I found myself on a Saturday morning, sitting in a makeup artist’s chair, having bright orange foundation swabbed onto my face and my eyebrows drawn on in what appeared to be charcoal. Given that it was Saturday morning, I was also obviously doing battle with a fairly serious hangover and about two hours of sleep (with my English sense of timekeeping, when the director said, we’ll be you up at 9am, I thought he actually meant he’d pick me up at nine. At 10am, I was still swigging oral rehydration salts and cursing Bangladesh).

There were a lot of people there that morning, makeup artists, camera men, lighting and sound technicians, and the usual proliferation of designation-less assistants (and bar the extremely beautiful lead actress, myself and the director’s wife, they were all men. Apparently it’s because of the late hours – women can’t do it because it’s not safe. The actresses’ mothers all showed up at dusk so they could chaperone.) I was introduced to everyone, then promptly forgot everyone’s names and spent them rest of the day calling them all bhai or apa. The lead actors – hero and heroine they call them here – were both very good looking and perfectly polite, although I got the impression they thought of me as nothing but a young upstart. With my hangover face on, I wanted to slip through a crack in the floor when the heroine emerged from the changing room in the most beautiful sari I’ve ever seen, looking glossy and radiant.

First things first, I got whisked out to go and buy appropriate clothes. They’d asked my to bring formal office wear to be used as a costume, so I’d had to explain that all I have are shalwar kameez. So off we went on the most extravagant shopping spree I’ve ever witnessed in Bangladesh. Money was no object, clearly, as it was insisted I needed a different pair of earrings for every scene, despite the fact they’d already decided I’d be wearing my hair down. Shame the director’s idea of what constitutes formal officer wear had to include synthetic shirts in four drab colours (brown and maroon, for instance!), and high heeled shoes with diamante bows on them. I decided not to ask any questions and just do as I was told.

The actual filming wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. I’d spent the previous day lounging beside the Bagha pool, learning my lines, so at least I didn’t have to worry about that. I got horribly nervous at first, however, and it took a couple of takes before I relaxed enough to not look as if my face was made out of wood. But then it was fine. I just completely forgot that the camera was there, and the nerves went away. Still, it was amazing how many different angles they have to shoot it from, and how many times you have to say the same things in exactly the same way.

The next day, I had to go back again after work, to film the final scene. My character was a ball-busting customs official, who suspects the hero of foul play when he’s applying for a visa to visit Germany. The previous scenes were all supposed to be at the German embassy, as the hapless fool tries different ways to persuade me to give him a visa. The final scene, however, is when I visit him at his home (shot in a beautiful apartment in Gulshan). I’m visiting because I don’t believe he really has a wife, and find out that he’s actually arranged a contract marriage in order to get a visa (apparently, a fairly common practice). So the scene involves such classic lines as “I’m sorry, sir, but you have to face the law” and (to the police) “Take him away!”

No, I didn’t get paid and yes, there was lots of frustrating waiting around with nothing to do, but it was a lark! I don’t think I’ve got a future in Dhallywood (Bangladeshi Bollywood), or anywhere else that would involve acting (although the director did ask if he could call me again if he needed another bideshi), but I’m glad I did it this time. Certainly makes a change from life as a volunteer!

On a final note – the film is showing on Eid day, in about 3 weeks, and yes I will most definitely get a copy and you can all see what I look like with charcoaled eyebrows and a bright orange face.