The second time I worked on The Sopranos was the day after Memorial Day, May 31, 2005. I remember this very clearly because that was the day JW Pepper changed over computer systems, from the AS400 to Prelude. Prelude is so damn convoluted in the way it does things, takes so many more keystrokes to perform a function than the old system did, and likes to have you repeat an action not once but several times, it makes Windows XP look simple. Needless to say no one liked the new system very much, and I never did learn to like it, even up to the day I got fired. With the AS400, my hands never hurt, even during busy season. I did so much more typing with Prelude that I now have constant pain in my fingers. During busy season the pain went up to my forearms. They never did wake up and got something that really worked simply, but they modified the hell out of this program that was billed as something that we wouldn’t have to change. Anyway, I was scheduled to be off that day, but they wanted me to come in and “take one for the team”. Reluctantly I agreed, homosexual metaphors running through my head. The Friday before that I got a call from Gail who said, “Call Grant Wilfrey, you’re working on The Sopranos.” I tried not to smile to broadly when I told my bosses that I had a change of plans, but I failed miserably.
There was one thing that almost lost me the job. The scene to be shot was at a funeral and I needed a dark suit. At the time I didn’t have one, but I needed a new suit anyway. The casting people almost told me no, but I talked them into it. I called Gail back, told her what happened and she said, “You want me to find you a suit?” I said sure and hung up. She called back about twenty minutes later and said “It called to me.” She found at a thrift store a three-piece navy blue pinstripe suit with two pair of pants for $20. It needed some minor alterations so I could do the shoot and would need major alterations later, but it would work. My wife does miracles on a regular basis.
According to the directions on the casting director’s answering machine, there was to be a spot where we’d leave our cars and take a shuttle to the set. I got to the pick-up point on time, but there wasn’t anyone around. No one answered at Wifley’s either. After about a half hour I drove directly to set, hoping I didn’t screw myself over too badly. They didn’t tell me to go home, (“and why was Mike Russo late?” I heard a PA yell on a walkie. “Because I went where the casting office sent me!” was my reply.) , but I missed the chance for some extra money as a stand in, something that wasn’t mentioned when I booked the gig.
Anyway, it went well enough. Wardrobe approved me in two seconds, so I was fine. The scene was at a funeral home in Jersey, and all of the locals were out to see their favorite characters. Holding was a parlor downstairs in the home, and it was kind of funny passing by the locals with their cameras, getting excited as we got close, and looking a bit disappointed when they realized that none of us were the stars they were hoping to see. Among the regulars who were there that day were Michael Imperioli, Tony Sirico and Robert Iler. Robert Funaro, whose character had killed himself the episode before, was lying in a coffin in the viewing room. It was cool seeing all of those guys, but the musician in me was much more impressed by being near Bruce Springsteen’s long time friend and guitarist, Miami Steve Van Zandt. Outside I was fairly cool and professional, but inside I’m kowtowing in his direction, chanting “Miami Steve Van Zandt! Miami Steve Van Zandt!” I mentioned this to my friend Kelly, who is a huge Springsteen fan, and she basically thanked me for not acting like a fanboy.
The scene went fairly well, but it did have its share of difficulties. First of all, despite the fact that it was a fairly hot day, the air conditioning stayed off during shooting because it was too noisy. Poor Robert Funaro was sweating like crazy in the coffin, so much so that his back was drenched and his heavily gelled hair stuck straight back when he came up, looking like it was frozen in a breeze. The floors creaked, too, so when Michael Imperioli moved from one spot to another you heard this giant CRREEAAK follow him. They cut that sound from the final print so you don’t hear it, and the dialog is snappier as well. Robert Iler was telling us about the candid snaps that were on a piece of poster board near the coffin. They were shot at the beach and it looked like a summer day, but Bob said that they were shot in February and that everyone was freezing that day. One extreme or the other, I guess.
I had three bits that I did that day, two of which you can see. The first one is when a little old lady is shown crying at the coffin. As she crosses you see two people sitting in the front row of the viewing room, and behind them is a woman with her back to the camera (her name’s Carol) and me. Carol’s head covers the lower right portion of my face, but I’m there. Carol, whom I found out went to New England Conservatory about the time that I was at Berklee, kept saying to me “I hope thy only show my ass; I wanna work again!” Well, she got her wish. I’m also shown escorting a little old lady into the next room, and I was also sitting with another young lady in the viewing room. When we broke for lunch, Carol, myself and a guy who was also a realtor, ate together and swapped stories. I told her that I had said to that last person I was with “You’re the third girl I’ve been with today!” To which Carol replied, “Yeah, I felt like such a bouton, going from you to him to him!” By the way, there was only one pasta dish for lunch. By the time we wrapped I was drained from the heat. I got cheap Jersey gas, loosened my shirt and tie and went home. Still, even a bad day on the set beats a good day at the office, especially with Prelude waiting for me at my desk.
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