I sent an email to DeleFOCO, describing myself as a red-bearded Gringo with passable Spanish and a lot of acting experience. The email was a casting call for the film “Italia 90.” The name meant nothing to me, but as a longtime semi-professional actor, I was intrigued. Three months ago, I received an email from DeleFOCO, an “audiovisual community” that brings together industry talents from across Central America. Finally I sat down before the middle-aged man and his makeup kit. One by one, they sat down, received a dusting of base and jogged away. Other actors formed a line around a makeup artist. Actors milled around, pouring themselves coffee and water from plastic containers. Crewmembers adjusted lights and tinkered with audio equipment. “When you’re ready.”Īlejandra led me into the dark corridor, which was even busier than the locker room. Directed by Miguel Gómez and shot over the course of 20 days, the film’s first phase was nearly finished by the time I showed up: The next morning, shooting was slated to wrap.Īs I shimmied into a pair of tan slacks, I spotted Alejandra Vargas, the young woman who hired me. This was the set of “ Italia 90,” a feature-length film produced entirely by a Costa Rican cast and crew. Everyone but me – the only Gringo, and the only guy asked to wear a suit. Nearly every actor was Tico, and everyone spoke Spanish as a first language. Half of them wore the uniforms of the 1990 Costa Rican national soccer team, while the other half dressed in the jerseys of Scotland. A dozen male actors were dressing themselves in knee socks and athletic shorts, bright jerseys and cleats. I stood in the middle of a locker room in the Colleya Fonseca Stadium in Barrio Guadalupe, which buzzed with activity. Then again, that’s how movies often work, especially for actors hired at the last minute. I hadn’t even seen a script, much less read it. The last I heard, I would be playing a “Gringo reporter,” which I figured would be easy, since I’m a Gringo reporter in real life. “In the U.S., I’m a 34 waist.”Īs the costumer nodded and went to fetch more options, I wondered who exactly I was supposed to be. “What’s your pants size?” she asked, raking through a freestanding shirt rack. I slipped my arms through the sleeves and was relieved that it fit perfectly. “Try this one on,” said the energetic young costumer as she handed me an earth-toned blazer.
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