He could not escape the feeling that he had often heard described by actors: that he was merely a character in a movie in which everybody else was starring.
He had no speaking lines. The camera never focused on him. He was the unpaid extra in the back of the shot; the actor whose facial expressions are incongruent with those worn by the other, more skilled thespians.
Audiences would only notice him after repeated viewings of the film began to sand the edges off of their captivation. Their eyes would drift away from the stars and land on him. They would wonder why he looked so out of place. Had he wandered off of another set? What is his story?
Then the scene would change and the anxiety his presence had caused would subside as the memory of him faded.