Coming Soon to Theaters?

Yesterday, a man posted a notice on the all-purpose expat listserv Cairo Scholars that a friend was looking for foreign extras to appear in Egyptian TV series. Ever since I met the British and Syrian-Kurdish girls who did this for a living at my first bizarre Cairo expat party back in June, I had been waiting for my big break. My roommate Sarah confirmed that she was also down for an adventure, so I e-mailed the recruiter, Gamal. He requested our photos, and confirmed that he was excited to meet us because he has an American and an Indian roommate. I asked what this TV series was. No response. (Were we unwittingly signing ourselves up for an Egyptian porno? We hoped not.) We agreed to meet Gamal anyway, on a street in Mohandiseen. He walked us to an apartment building nearby, but our fears were allayed when we saw the sign that read Clakeet Casting Agency (or, alternatively, Clakeet Casting Agince). People of various shapes, sizes, and ethnic origins were gathered in the small waiting room. On one wall was a giant collage of Egyptian film posters, ranging from the hilarious classic Hassan wa Markos to the rather more melodramatic (it seemed) Gonoun el Hobb ("Crazy Love"). On the other wall were dozens of mug shots of (mostly foreign female) recruits, pasted into the image of a film reel. Sarah, Miriam, and I were called immediately into a side room, where a wiry man in a Castro-style hat was waiting behind a camera. Beside him (his assistant?) was a thirty-something woman in a tight black miniskirt with long, black tresses. I was first to be interviewed, suddenly feeling pretty dumpy in my jeans and bulky red sweater: we weren't expecting to make an appearance on camera. First in English, I recited my name, age, and height for the camera. Then the cameraman asked me to let my hair down and do a slow turn. I obliged. I posed with one profile, then the other. Then I repeated the procedure in Arabic.

When that was done, Gamal escorted me one room over. Three middle-aged casting bigshots were waiting. Two, the round ones, just sipped their Nescafe and watched. One sat behind a desk and scribbled my information once again, once again switching languages to test me. How long would I be in Egypt? What languages did I speak? Within five minutes, I was sent on my way. When my Indian roommate wasn't called, Gamal mumbled something about needing blondes. Strange, I'm not blonde either -- but I could be I suppose. Not much older than us perhaps, Gamal took our numbers and promised to call if any parts came up. We could be silent extras for 250 LE a day -- or, there was a faint chance, cast in a speaking role in an Egyptian drama. Until then, I can only dream.