Blair's Britain might make a song and dance about how egalitarian it is, but there's at least one sector of society where a rigid class system remains resolutely intact. Film and television sets are largely organised along the lines of a feudal society: stars and directors are like royalty; producers are the wealthy land barons; runners, best boys and the bloke who carries the rigging are mere peasants; and below all of them are the extras. The extras are the stuff that falls out of the arse of a peasant's donkey on the way to market. Or at least that's the way they're often treated. Many of them are highly trained professionals or captains of industry who've found themselves between jobs. Some are trained, experienced actors. But within the bubble of a film set they're often treated with less respect than the hot beverages. Literally. "I got a good idea of where I stood in the pecking order on one of my first TV jobs," says Robert, a 45-year-old extra from Essex. "The set was being packed up and an assistant director was ticking off a list of everything that had to be returned to base. She worked down her list starting with the director, getting right down to the tea and coffee. After that came the extras."
Former publican Ray took up being a film extra after he retired in his early 60s. He relishes the varied nature of the work but is under no illusions as to his on-set status. "The general attitude was once summed up neatly by a very famous British director," says Ray. "He pointed at a large group of extras on one of his sets and said to an assistant, 'I want you to split that lot up into two groups: put the prats on one side and the tossers on the other.' The extras fell into stunned silence until one of them put up his hand and said to the director: 'Excuse me but I'm not a prat,' to which the director replied, 'Well get over there with the tossers then!'"
Faceless, anonymous and ostensibly inanimate, the humble extra is the cruelly ignored, ugly stepchild of the film industry. Later this year, however, their existence will finally receive some recognition when Ricky Gervais unveils his new sitcom, Extras. Advance rumours suggest that this will do little to glorify the profession, portraying its practitioners as frustrated, bored and bitter. In real life, some of them probably are. But most seem the happy-go-lucky type. After all, if your working day consists of standing around in freezing temperatures being ritually abused by snot-nosed assistant directors, a carefree outlook comes in handy. Like that shown by Ken, a London based extra in his 60s, while filming the re-enactment of a famous ship disaster. "None of the stuntmen wanted to get into the water because it was too cold so I volunteered," he says. "I took the precaution of buying a wetsuit from Lillywhites and putting it on under my costume for insulation. But when they called action and I jumped in, the suit got filled with water and I sank under the surface. I was actually drowning and trying to call out for help to the crew but all they would do was give me the thumbs up because I was giving such a realistic performance."
So other than the discomfort and ritual abuse, what's in it for the extras? Financially, not a great deal. "A basic day's pay - what we call a flat chip - is about 70 quid for nine hours with a one-hour lunch break," explains Ray. "But this can get topped up in various ways. If you have to do a couple of wardrobe changes, have a haircut or get wet you'll get about an extra 10 quid. Then there's overtime and, if you're really lucky, you might get bumped up for a walk-on or small talking part."
Within the extras community, walk-on roles are precious currency. "I sat just behind Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts in the cinema scene in Notting Hill," says Jane, a 30-year-old extra from Cheltenham who uses extra work to pay the bills while trying to cultivate a longer-term career in the media. "Last Easter I was picked to play Jamie Oliver's cousin in the Sainsbury's commercial and 18 months ago I was the body double for an actress on Holby City. I had to do all the scenes on the operating table covered in fake blood. That was loads of fun, especially as Art Malik had to find my pulse."
Some shows are more fruitful than others. "I've never done an episode of Dream Team [Sky One's racy football drama] without being given a line," says Ray. "Recently they handed me the part of a football executive from Real Madrid. It wasn't until I was standing on set that they told me my line was in Spanish. I told them I was an east London Jew and that they'd probably picked the wrong bloke."
But even the "special payments" that such roles provide fail to earn an extra much more than £150 a day. Even the busiest extras (some are registered with up to 20 agencies) consider themselves lucky to get a couple of days' work per week. "You can't exactly make a career out of it," says Robert. "You need another source of income but the problem is you need to be available at all times in case your agency rings. So it's hard to balance the work with a separate job."
For most extras, hanging around on film sets is only a sideline. "There's a lot of retired people like myself who've had some previous experience with the entertainment industry," explains Ray. "Then there's the odd professional actor who never quite made it but consider themselves a cut above the rest of us. And then there's the mums who want to make a bit of extra pin money but tend to get a bit jumpy whenever the shoot goes past 4.30."
But others are far more passionate about the work. "It's like a drug! You can't give it up! It's crazy!" says Tim, a 43-year-old former hairdresser and bus driver from Sunderland. "Others don't see it as a viable way of getting into acting but I disagree. I mean, you've got to try, haven't you? I did a couple of big films and it was the biggest buzz ever. I went to the pictures with my son in Sunderland and suddenly BAM! There I was on screen! It was me! It was then that I thought to myself I've got to take this further so I lobbed in my job on the buses."
Encounters with the real actors themselves are not always as exciting as the likes of Tim might expect. "You're told not to speak to the featured artists when you're on set," says Robert. "One extra I know was picked out to speak a line with a famous actor on a big TV show. As soon as the scene was over the actor said to him, 'Right, you've had your five minutes of fame, now fuck off!'"
According to Rob Martin, a director of The Casting Collective and author of You Can Be A Film Extra, extras with acting aspirations are fooling themselves. "There are extras out there who think they're actors but we [the agency] usually weed them out because they can be a nightmare on set. If you've got any delusions about what you're there to do you're going to cause problems."
Rob says his agency can find extras to do almost anything, from "wearing stupid costumes to performing simulated sex". But most extras have their own limits. "My rule of thumb is that I won't do anything that makes me look like an idiot or will embarrass my kids," says Robert. "One Channel 4 show wanted me to sit in the audience in body paint from the waist up then stand up to reveal that I was naked. I didn't want to do that. And a kids' show was recently looking for a fat bloke to roll around in a tub of grease which I also turned down. But if they'd offered me a grand I might have thought twice."