Extra, Extra

My Background Moment in Nouvelle Vague

It’s not everyday that one is asked to appear in a Richard Linklater movie. The moment arrived for me in Spring 2024. My husband and I had relocated to Paris where he was producing Linklater’s Nouvelle Vague. The comedy drama - which is now streaming on Netflix - explores the making of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless. After I was offered the chance to be an extra in a pivotal scene - when Guillaume Marbeck’s Godard asks Zoe Deutch’s Jean Seberg to portray an aspiring journalist, Patricia Franchini, the female lead in Breathless, his first feature film - I accepted, figuring that I was somewhat equipped to tackle the job.

The first time I saw Breathless proved life-changing. I was studying film at the University of Western Ontario, in London, Ontario, Canada. The winter afternoon on which my class gathered to watch it was cold, snowy and dark. I had already seen color-saturated fairytale Paris movies starring Audrey Hepburn including Funny Face, Paris When It Sizzles and Sabrina. But I was deeply moved by how Godard portrayed his actors making mischief in the French capital and the countryside in a realistic, sensual manner. A scene in Nouvelle Vague relates how the auteur director innovated a technique to help achieve this, by asking his DoP, Raoul Coutard (Matthieu Penchinat) to utilize Ilford filmstock, which was normally used for still photography, yet served to enhance the “reportage” look of Breathless.

While Godard’s radical technique entranced me, Seberg’s genuine insouciance also proved inspirational. Three years after I watched Jean-Paul Belmondo’s Michel Poiccard accompany Seberg’s Patricia strolling down the Champs-Élysées - as she hollered: “New York Herald Tribune…” I was working as a fashion reporter in Paris, flaunting Agnès b. and enjoying the occasional dalliance with completely inappropriate French men.

Before I landed in Paris - I also had the chance to portray Patricia in a short film my university class produced as a Breathless homage. The opportunity proved to be one of my life moments where I just completely went for broke and stopped at nothing to get the part.

Today - a full thirty-six years (gulp) after my film professor held forth from his lectern casting the production, I can’t recall why I missed raising my hand when he was assigning Patricia. I sat at the back of the class. In any case, when I discovered that a beautiful and diligent student - who sat up front - landed the role, I just wasn’t having it. I swiftly raised my hand, interjected - stating something along the lines of: “We have to back up!” I moved to a desk closer to the front and stated: “I am playing Patricia.” That was that.

Decades later, there I was on the Paris Métro making my way to my Nouvelle Vague wardrobe fitting. The scene in which I was set to appear was a party celebrating the birthday of Godard and Seberg’s mutual friend. Richard Linklater was shooting the festivities at Maison Prunier. The fabled Paris seafood restaurant is an Art Deco landmark famed for its shimmering turquoise mosaic exterior and luxe interiors, including gilded black marble walls. Pascaline Chavanne - the film’s costume designer - was working with Chanel on the wardrobe for Nouvelle Vague’s female leads, including Deutch as well as Alix Bénézech, who was cast as Juliette Gréco. My look - a cream colored skirt suit, handbag and shoes - had seen better days. Understandably. The production’s budget was modest. Yet its neutral hue and classic silhouette felt like 1960 to me and was perfect for blending into the background.

The fitting lasted about five minutes. I was keen to talk to Pascaline because, prior to Nouvelle Vague, the three-time César Award winner had costumed Becoming Karl Lagerfeld (Hulu) and was gearing up to dress Angelina Jolie for Alice Winocour’s Paris Fashion Week drama, Couture.

Showing me around the costume shop, she removed from storage one of her César-winning wardrobes - of which she seemed most proud - namely, the period finery she produced for Roman Polanski’s 2019 Dreyfus affair drama, J’Accuse.

A week later, the suit was on and I was crossing busy Arc de Triomphe. Before reaching Prunier, I had to stop nearby for hair and makeup. The building where it was all being done was packed with crew members, the cast and extras. Paolo Luka Noé - who immortalized Seberg’s husband/manager, François Moreuil - was studying his lines. Once my makeup was done and after someone introduced me to the key hairstylist, Franck-Pascal Alquinet, I was directed to one of his team members. Then everything went wrong.

The hairstylist shaped my chin-length mane into a matronly up-do. Think: mother of the bride rather than 16th arrondissement retro chic. When it comes to relying on a professional whose services involve manual craftsmanship - be it a housekeeper, a nail technician or a hairstylist - I’ve always had the best results when I “leave-it-to-the-professional.” It’s one of my mantras. That’s probably why I didn’t stop the stylist and suggest that she apply a tiny little edge when sweeping back and parting my hair.

I’m not a particularly vain person but the strong feelings I have about my hair stem from the experience I gleaned early on in my journalism career when I veered off the fashion reporting path and worked as a beauty editor for British Cosmopolitan and Frank, a short-lived magazine Nick Logan’s publishing company, Wagadon, conceived in the nineties as a rival to Bazaar and Vogue.

Aside from all the amazing free skincare I amassed - as well as an impressive perfume collection - the best thing about the job was having some of the world’s finest hairstylists and colorists care for my tresses. The experience taught me that fantastic hair - and changing it up every so often - means that as one advances in age, there’s no need for Botox, filler or plastic surgery. In addition, I also discovered that the great hairstylists are the beauty industry’s sculptors, whom I treat with reverence and gratitude.

For over a decade my hair was cut and colored at John Frieda’s Mayfair salon. It remains one of the greats and at one point Ivana Trump, Bianca Jagger and I frequented the same stylist, Luca Collina. He had suggested that I might consider styling my hair in a similar way to Inès de la Fressange. After I arrived in Paris, I found her stylist, Delphine Courteille and became a client at her salon, which is situated in a courtyard behind Hotel Costes. As I made my way to Maison Prunier for my on-camera moment, I was wondering to myself why I hadn’t visited Delphine that morning.

After gathering with the extras (below), Richard Linklater positioned me directly behind the birthday girl who opened the scene by standing before a large, candle-laden cake as the crowd around her sang “Joyeux anniversaire” in unison. I blew an early take, bursting into song before all the others.

“Coupé!” bellowed the First AD.

He marched forward and politely advised me about exactly when to sing. There I was all over again, at the back of my university class not paying attention. This time, I moved on silently, lipsyncing my way through the remaining takes. Between them when I adjusted my position - moving evermore into the background - I noticed that one of the male extras briskly sidled in to fill my former position, which was completely fine with me.

Because I hadn’t actually done any homework - figuring that turning up and standing around was what was required to animate a film scene’s background - meant that I was a terrible extra. Those with whom I was surrounded were seasoned professionals who were accustomed to working long hours for the likes of Netflix France. They were extremely gifted at moving their lips, guffawing silently and exchanging knowing glances in the subtlest of ways. They also knew how to do it all over and over and over again, effortlessly.

I’m grateful for the experience and I love Nouvelle Vague. But as I walked home, long past midnight in freezing cold Paris, all I could think about was my mantra: “Leave it to the professionals.”