I had to wear a fake moustache, last week. I was reenacting a 19th century shipwreck, and joked that 'no wonder everyone drowned - they were dragged down by their walruses.' The thing that fcked me off about the moustache, was that it was glued on - it feels gross, and I had to scrub it off my skin, afterwards. I had a Victorian stiff, upper lip from it.
I hate chemicals on my skin, I used to have a major phobia of poisoning myself with chemicals, and it's a hangover from that. It also makes eating and drinking difficult, THAT makes me meeewwwdy.
Anyway, the stylists were being a bit coontish about it. After 8 hours it started peeling off, during a night scene where you couldn't see my face. They re-glued it for Africa, despite my protests that you couldn't see it, anyway.
The next morning I turned up to the shoot and they were pissed because I had forgotten to return the moustache to them, when it wrapped at 1am - I was meant to go home at 7pm. Kudos to them, though, for finding it in the pocket of the burgundy robe I'd been wearing. I was going to be swimming / drowning, and to make sure it didn't come off in the water. Ideally they would have surgically attached it to me. I asked them if I could stick it on with double sided tape? 'No.' They said they were really 'fcking' angry because if I'd lost the moustache, there'd be no continuity in the shots. Given I was on $15/hr, I felt like walking - 'continuity this!' (biff) - but of course, I didn't. I didn't even say 'I'm not being a Diva, I just don't like shit being stuck to my face.' I just pouted, under my 'stache.
Out in the sea, I had to show terror at the prospect of drowning. I was scared of the water splashing onto the moustache and going into my mouth. Combined with the anger of having to wear it, I think you'll find my performance quite convincing.
The moustache police relaxed a bit over the day. When she was removing it once, she said 'you must really hate me' - I kept my mouth shut, because I didn't want her to glue in it. She also said that she could tell my skin wasn't reacting well to the glue. Finally, in my third scene, she agreed to double-sided tape it - usually one of my favourite things in the world. But halfway through the scene, in which I am just holding my head in my hands, gazing out to sea, the moustache started flapping in the wind. And I got glued again, third time that day, gah! At the end of that scene she let me remove my own moustache, I peeled the double sided tape off gingerly, like how I'd danced across the barnacled rocks in the 'clamboring on-shore' scene.
They told me I should have been told to grow a moustache. Some of my co-stars actually thought it was real.
I was thinking of writing a complaint letter about the stylist, in which I would accuse of both the most and least serious crime - being charmless. She had bad style, otherwise: I was swimming in hired clothes (19th century garb) in the sea, and I asked her what I could do to look after them, afterwards. She said, 'I don't care about the clothes, just the moustache.' What stylist says they don't care about the couture?
On reflection, who's divassima, in this Battle of the Divas? Me, with my arcane chemical phobia? It's very particular, and strongly felt, I admit. Or her, who gives a fake moustache, and her job, more respect than the person forced to wear it? That's the real issue - being made to do something I didn't want to do, by a diva who wasn't going to share the stage with any other divas.
Anyway, I thought of a nickname for divas, just add '-iah' as a suffix. As in like Mariah, you're on fire. Her diva name is Mirandiah.