An Insider’s Filming Experience for Paramount’s 1923 in Butte

BUTTE, MT - Love them or hate them, Paramount's production of 1923, a spinoff of the acclaimed (and controversial) show Yellowstone, has been utilizing Butte's historical landscape and appearance over the last few weeks.

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Though some residents have expressed feelings of contempt over the production's shutting down of major streets in Uptown, taking over the gutted Herberger's department store at the Butte Plaza Mall, and bringing "unwanted" attention to the area, the production is moving along swiftly and respectfully.

Proponents of Butte's hosting of the production process argue a boost to the local economy, an opportunity to spread the wonder and allure of Butte's history to the masses, and a way for Butte citizens to get involved with a fun, exclusive side of Hollywood.

The latter is the camp I found myself in when, a few weeks prior, a production assistant reached out to Butte's social media communities in search of willing participants to perform in the series. I, like many others in Butte and around Montana, decided, "Hey, why not?" and signed up to be an extra.

From there, the whirlwind of television production tore me from my life like Dorothy leaving Kansas and tossed me into the Land of Oz—or, more accurately, into a time portal to the early 20th century.

Ever wondered what it's like on a Hollywood set? What it's like to work with the big-name actors? How all of the little, individual pieces of the production team come together when the director yells, "ACTION!"?

Here's my full account from that day of shooting and working as a background actor; minus pictures, as to include even a blurry photo from the set in this article is to condemn me to a court appearance for breaching my NDA.

The Morning: A Symphony of Chaos

The day begins with an email detailing your "call time," which is a fancy phrase that equates to, "Be here at this time." Usually, most of these call times are early in the morning, with some beginning at 5 or 6am, and others at 8 or 9am. Luckily for me, my call time for my role as the highly coveted and elusive BOZEMAN CITY MAN was slated for 9am.

You get there a few minutes early, hang out, then stroll in, only to see about 150 people all running around inside an old department store like chickens with their heads cut off.

What are all of these people doing? Some are fetching props from the prop department; some are actors looking for a pair of gloves that fit their hands; some are production assistants (PAs) who are just straight up stressing out because the person they were tasked with tracking down is not where they should be; and others are costume directors who are painstakingly looking at every single actor (some of which will never be seen on camera) to make sure they look perfect for rolling.

Enter stage left: you, who is trying to figure out what the heck is going on. You find a check-in table, where someone gets your name, your role, and then tells you to make your way back to the changing rooms. This is where you find the costume that was chosen for you weeks prior at your fitting (which is a whole separate experience).

10 make-shift fitting rooms line the back wall, and you have to awkwardly check if any of them are being used. Once you find one that's empty (or, heck, even if it isn't), you change into your costume as quickly as possible.

One thing about this particular experience is worth noting. That is: it is truly remarkable how accurate and hard-working the costume department is, because your costume is not only period-accurate but is precise down to the details—as in you're wearing things like suspenders, socks, and a tie that will never be seen on camera, but is there to be as true as possible to the period. So, when you watch a scene that features 100 background actors and 90% of them are blurry in the background, just know there was a very committed team of costume designers that painstakingly created individual outfits for every one of them, and all are period-accurate, just for that one scene. That's some serious dedication.

Okay, so we are dressed in our costumes, we leave our underwhelming 2024 clothing and possessions behind, and we are ready to head to set. Not so fast! Now it's time for make-up and hair.

That's right, you must now join the ranks of the Haircutters and Make-Up Artists Corp to ensure that your hair (which will be under a hat) and your face (which probably won't be on camera) are ready to go for the 5-second scene you're shooting. This is not a complaint; this is a commendation.

Okay, okay. Your hair is all curled and pretty (if you're a woman) or matted flat across your scalp (if you're a man). Your facial hair is awesome-looking and period-accurate. Your face is prettier than it was when you came in. What next?

Now, it's time to wait. Some read, some hang out on their phones, and some just stare at the wall or the craziness going on around them. But, no matter what you do to compensate, you still have to wait. A half hour goes by. An hour. Suddenly, a PA calls the "nine o'clocks" up to the front for final approval, which most get, where you're then thrown on a bus and shipped God knows where.

The Midday: Horses, PAs, and Automobiles

Though a short ride to Uptown, I was expecting a lot from the bus ride with your fellow 40 actors, all dressed up in formal 1920s attire. However, it ended up being less "school field trip" and more "on our way to our holding cells," which isn't too far off, but more on that in a minute.

The bus pulls up to set, which on this particular day was a closed-off street in Uptown Butte. Some of the beautiful, historic brick buildings got a makeover, with some resembling the old photographs of that actual time period. Equally as fascinating were the snow-covered ground, Model T vehicles, and foliage.

Why was this fascinating? Because you'd be walking on normal non-covered ground one minute and onto snow-covered ground the next, as if God decided it were to snow on that block and that block only. Obviously, the production team has worked hard to make sure it was snowing that day in 1923, as the script had called for it.

After we all gasped and looked around the transformed Uptown street, we were herded to what's called "holding," where a rented-out multi-use space is utilized to hold us actors for the remainder of the shoot. Ever been to county? This is a little bit nicer.

This is also where you shack up until you're called to set. So, we went from brief craziness, to waiting, to a brief bus ride and walk, to more waiting? Yes, tis the life of an actor—no matter how big or small your role is.

It isn't all that bad. While we were hanging out, chatting, reading, and resting, the massive production team outside was getting horses, Model Ts, fake snow, lighting, cameras, principal actors, foliage, set pieces, props, and probably 20,000 other things I'm missing ready for shooting.

Seriously, it looks like a mini city down there. When, after a few hours, we (which are 120 background actors) are called to the set, the first thing we see are the PAs and miscellaneous production workers swarming around the street, all doing a very specific purpose. It amazed me how there was any coordination at all, even with their headsets and walkie-talkies.

Now, it was time for some fun: we were to be assigned our placements. A few actors were paired up as married if they looked cute together; a few others were snow shovelers; and some, like me, were street-crossers, which I was excited to do for no other reason other than I thought I could make myself look cool crossing a street.

Thus, the ethos of the actor is on display. Do we care that we may not be on camera at all? Nope. Do we not work as hard because of it? Nope. In fact, the way we all handled it was equal and binding: have as much fun with it as possible, because there are worse ways to make some money.

This is the mindset I found myself in when I was on the other side of the street and watching all the pieces come together. A Model T would pull up, then a horse-drawn buggy, then a snow shoveler, then a camera tripod, then a PA coming up to me and saying something. Wait, what was that?

"Would you like to be a smoker? It pays extra," they say to me. I respond, "Sure, why not? I guess it pays to smoke." And pay it did, as smoking on camera earns you an extra $20, I come to find out. These cigarettes weren't just paper or something safe, they tasted like full-on cigarettes you'd buy at the store—minus the nicotine. I know, bummer.

So that's where I found myself on this beautiful afternoon in Uptown: performing in a Hollywood production on a killer set smoking cigarettes as I crossed the street. Not a bad way to spend the day, depending on what your feelings about smoking are.

Don't get too excited though, because now it's time to wait. Yes, again. In the cold. For hours.

Eventually, waking me from my reverie, we hear, "Okay everyone, roll sound!" That means it's time to get excited. "Background!" Time to start moving. Then, shortly after, "Action!"

I walk down the steps I was placed at, nod and pantomime some brief dialogue to a street actor (background actors are always instructed to make as little noise as possible to avoid unwanted noise or talking on the mics), walk across the street between a Model T and a horse, and walk along the scene's setting, before hearing, "Cut! Reset." And back we go to do it over again. And over. And over. Each with at least 20 minutes of waiting between.

After a few more takes, we hear, "Okay everyone, background back to holding," where we then trudged along back to the warmth of our mass holding cell.

At this point, it was 3pm in the afternoon, and we were hungry. Snacks were provided, and they even told us ahead of time to bring food, but stupid people like me expected to be served a lunch break at, you know, lunchtime. But I was happy with the snack buffet provided.

Another hour goes by, then we are asked to come down and shoot another scene that takes place on a different day within the story. This means we are placed in different parts of the set than what we did previously. Cue the above process over again.

Only, this time was different, because now Harrison Ford was out and about, working on the scene and with the production team. That part was cool.

Next thing you know, though, you're being asked to grab all belongings and head out to the busses—which we happily obliged. We made our way down the Richest Hill on Earth to the production HQ, where our actual lunch was to be served. We were, needless to say, stoked.

The Night: Wanna Go Clubbing?

The food was surprisingly good, though I had low expectations to begin with. We all energetically wolfed our food down, ready to go back out there and shoot some more scenes. Only, something was up.

As we all sat at the rows and rows of tables, talking and laughing about the set shenanigans that day or bonding over shared love for Indiana Jones, two sly PAs snaked between the tables, whispering in some of the chosen actors' ears. That's when a very friendly but hearty PA yells: "Those chosen for the nightclub, stand up!" Half the room stands up. "To the busses!" and off they went.

Unfortunately for you, dear reader, I was not chosen for the nightclub scene, and I still ruminate on it to this very day. All the young, attractive actors were chosen, leaving me—29 years old and who my mother once described as "a catch"—with the older folks who had no desire to do a nightclub scene anyway. Funny enough, I resonated with the older crowd anyway: I was very ready to head home.

So, if you're looking for the juicy night club scene details, including a saucy drama involving a romantic PA and a starry-eyed young actress that I just made up, then you'll have to look out for An Insider's Filming Experience for Paramount's 1923 in Butte, Part II: Electric Boogaloo.

For now, I think that if there's one thing I walked away with, it's my love and respect for the production team that is capable of doing pretty much anything with a little bit of time, a lot of willpower, and a whole mess of money.