By Jerry Zezima
Now that I have seen Steven Spielberg’s “Disclosure Day,” a space alien thriller that’s out of this world, I am making this my own disclosure day:
I could have been the star of the movie.
And not necessarily as a space alien.
I was sure I’d be heading to Hollywood when I read about a casting call for Spielberg’s new film, the title of which had not been disclosed that day, although the plot was rumored to be about the U.S. government’s coverup of close encounters (get it, Steven?) with extraterrestrials (ditto).
The call, which was held last year at a theater about half an hour from my house on Long Island, New York, was for extras who would be portraying wrestling fans.
I didn’t have to grapple with the decision to apply because the WWE is headquartered in my hometown of Stamford, Connecticut, and I would undoubtedly be seen by Spielberg as the lord of the ring, even though that’s an entirely different film franchise.
I sent an email to the casting company with personal information such as name, age, height and weight, along with my photo, which itself should have qualified me to be cast as a man from Mars.
About a week later, I received an email confirming receipt of my application and information about the date and time of the casting call.
I showed up on the appointed day at 6 o’clock in the morning and walked into the theater. I didn’t see Spielberg, who might have been in the temple of doom (get it again, Steven?), but I did see a production person.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Neptune,” I replied.
“New Jersey?” she wondered.
“The planet,” I told her. “I’m perfect for this movie.”
She looked at me like I had just beamed down from outer space. Then she instructed me to go up the street to where the aspiring extras were waiting to be signed in.
I got in a long line with a guy who said he had tried out for a TV commercial but wasn’t chosen.
“That’s small-time stuff,” I said. “This is Spielberg. It’s our ticket to fame and fortune.”
My ticket was abruptly canceled when I got to the head of the line and was told by an officious individual that the company didn’t have my information and I couldn’t be cast as an extra, a wrestler, a space alien or — I was sure the legendary director would make this happen — the star of the movie.
It was, I figured, Spielberg’s loss. I drove back home, Hollywood dreams shattered. I regretted that I didn’t meet the man himself so I could ask him probing cinematic questions like:
How come the streets in night scenes are always wet?
If he made “E.T.” today, would the creature be unable to phone home because the kids were busy playing games on their devices?
And why did he make the biggest goof of his career in “Lincoln” by purposely misrepresenting the 13th Amendment votes by representatives from Connecticut, my home state?
Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, I wasn’t inclined to like “Disclosure Day” when my wife and I saw it recently.
Not to give anything away, but the first scene was the one in the wrestling arena. It was over in about two minutes, so my screen time, if I had any at all, would not have been long enough to establish me as a Hollywood heartthrob. Or, more likely, a heartburn.
But the movie was fantastic. The real stars, especially Emily Blunt, were brilliant. And the direction was, of course, masterful.
I forgive you, Steven. But please know that when you are casting your next film, I’m available. I can see it now: “Connecticut Jones and the Kingdom of the Empty Skull.”
All right, Mr. Spielberg, I’m ready for my closeup.
Copyright 2026 by Jerry Zezima
