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"Quiet! Quiet!" The bearded man raised his megaphone and shouted, "Everyone quiet down!"
With hundreds of extras gathered, any commotion could cause serious issues. Crew members quickly stepped in to maintain order, and the chaotic crowd gradually calmed down.
Matthew took advantage of the moment to squeeze to the front, standing diagonally across from the bearded man, Helen Herman, and Ridley Scott. Right beside him, Michael Sheen was staring at Ridley Scott like he wanted to eat him alive.
This was a Hollywood A-list project—everyone wanted to be seen on camera. It wasn't just Matthew with his clear intentions—even those treating extra work as a hobby were no exception.
These several hundred extras were mostly from three groups: people like Matthew and Michael Sheen chasing their acting dreams, film fans doing this as a hobby, and some local townsfolk. The ones desperately pushing forward were mostly from the first two groups.
The bearded man, an executive producer, walked to the edge of the woods with his megaphone and yelled, "Now I'm adjusting the lineup. Anyone who doesn't follow instructions will be removed!"
He started at the front, pointing to a burly guy with a bird's nest for a beard. "You, move forward!"
Then he turned to a shorter man beside him. "You, go to the back."
As he moved down the line, many who had forced their way forward were pushed back, while some from the rear were called ahead.
"Will we get pushed back?" Michael Sheen asked anxiously.
Matthew had been watching the bearded man closely. He shook his head. "Relax. We won't."
Michael didn't understand where this confidence came from. "Why not?"
"Didn't you notice?" Matthew nodded toward the lineup. "Everyone being called forward is tall and strong. The ones being moved back are all small and skinny."
Michael looked again and realized Matthew was right.
"You've got sharp eyes," he admitted with admiration. "I didn't notice that at all."
Matthew just smiled and didn't say more. His eyes drifted to Helen Herman, who was talking to Ridley Scott without a trace of flattery. They seemed to know each other well.
There was no way she landed these roles for her agency's actors just by "luck," as she'd claimed.
"You, move back!" The bearded man came near Matthew and Michael, pointing at a short guy to their left. "You too, move back!"
He glanced at Matthew and Michael, then walked away without saying anything to them.
Michael looked at Matthew. Matthew just shrugged. "Being built helps."
With the executive producer personally overseeing things, the barbarian extras lineup soon became orderly. Ridley Scott remained on the sidelines the whole time, not interfering.
After the rearrangement, all the extras in front—who'd be directly caught by the cameras—were at least 6 feet tall, muscular men brandishing weapons, brimming with ferocity.
Then Ridley Scott personally stepped in to direct the shoot.
"Remember!" the bearded man shouted one last reminder. "Give it everything you've got like you did during rehearsals! Yell with all your might!"
The extras' task wasn't complicated: stand at the forest edge and scream angrily toward the Roman legions across the clearing.
They were playing barbarians, after all—their way of demonstrating was raw and primitive.
The bearded man stepped back outside the set with his megaphone. Once Ridley Scott gave the nod, he shouted, "Action!"
Matthew grabbed his battle axe in both hands, raised it high above his head, twisted his face into a fearsome snarl, and shouted with all his might.
"RAHHHH—ARRHH—AHHHHHHH!"
His booming voice drowned out Michael Sheen beside him.
"WHOA—OOHHHHH!"
All the extras raised their weapons and let out a chorus of wild cries!
The set sounded like it had been invaded by lunatics—severely unhinged ones.
As the camera mounted on the sliding rail rolled past the front row, those extras screamed even louder, even more intensely.
Matthew lowered his axe, switched poses, pointed the blade forward, and mimicked a few chopping motions. Beside him, Michael Sheen unslung his shield, drew his sword, and began pounding it against the shield…
Other shield-bearers followed suit, slamming their weapons against their shields!
This Germanic barbarian horde radiated sheer menace.
"Cut!" Ridley Scott called out suddenly. "Good! Well done!"
The bearded man beamed—nailing the shot in one take showed his prep work paid off.
Matthew put down his weapon and cleared his throat. All that shouting had left it a bit raw.
"Don't relax!" came the bearded man's voice again. "We're going right into the next shot!"
The second shot was similar to the first, with one difference: in addition to yelling, they had to slowly advance toward the Roman line.
Since this had been rehearsed, as long as everyone kept to their marks, it wasn't difficult to shoot.
According to what Matthew had learned, these were all wide shots that would flash by quickly in the final film. Thanks to the bearded man's efficient coordination, they completed three takes in just an hour.
An hour of shooting wasn't too tiring—the wait beforehand had sapped more energy. Still, Matthew's throat was sore from all the yelling. Fortunately, the well-funded crew had already brought over several boxes of bottled water.
Since breakfast, none of the extras had had any water. Matthew headed over, grabbed a bottle, unscrewed it, and carefully took a few big gulps so as not to mess up his makeup. The cold water soothed his burning throat and perked him up.
As he drank, he spotted Helen Herman not far away, leaning against a tree jotting things down in a small notebook.
"She hasn't had any water all morning either, right?"
Matthew grabbed another bottle, slung his prop axe over his shoulder, and walked toward her.
"Busy?" he asked, holding out the water. "Here, have some."
Helen Herman looked up at him, put away her notebook, and accepted the bottle with a nod. "Thanks."
"No problem."
Matthew smiled, then turned and walked off with his axe.
Helen unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Watching Matthew's back, she thought of his profile. Among all the registered extras in her Angel Agency, he was one of the few who had ever played a speaking role.
Back in the group, Michael Sheen came over again. "Matthew, you're not seriously trying to hook up with her, are you?"
"Get lost." Matthew shook his head. "Didn't I tell you already?"
Michael didn't buy it. "If not, why are you always going up to her?"
"It's simple. I'm making myself seen." Matthew stood beside him and looked at Helen, still drinking. "The agency's new. She probably doesn't know many of the actors. If you go say hi regularly, when a role or job comes up, she might think of you first."
"Right!" Michael Sheen suddenly got it. "Why didn't I think of that?"
He was about to head over when—
"Everyone gather! Gather!" shouted a crew member. "Put the bottles back! Nothing can be left in the shot! Everyone, gather now!"
Michael hadn't even moved yet, but had to fall in line.
A few minutes later, filming resumed. This time, Ridley Scott handed directing duties off to a younger assistant director.
During the lull before the next shot, Matthew glanced over again and saw Helen Herman once more talking with Ridley Scott.
"How's your father?" Ridley asked, clearly familiar with her. "Still in L.A.?"
"He's on vacation in New Zealand," Helen replied with a smile. "He likes summer."
Ridley nodded. "Still the same as always."
Helen looked toward the Roman formation and asked, "Aren't they shooting that side yet?"
"Probably not till after noon," Ridley replied with a trace of annoyance. "Today's stars make more money and have more influence than before—but their professionalism is worse than ever."
Helen immediately understood who he meant. "Is Russell Crowe hard to work with?"
"Yeah." Ridley didn't deny it. "Great actor on set. Off set, he's a…"
He trailed off, clearly not wanting to talk about Crowe, and switched topics. "Why'd you open a little agency?"
Helen turned back to him. "Wanted to try something on my own. It's also a way to gain experience. I just left the mailroom, no clients. Instead of waiting years to climb up, I thought I'd strike out alone. Even if I fail, I'll learn something valuable."
Ridley clearly appreciated her attitude. "Not many young people these days as pragmatic as you."
He and her father were old friends. Thinking for a moment, he said, "One of the actors for a small role had to drop out. I'm planning to recast. Got anyone?"
Helen immediately realized he was trying to help her. A familiar face came to mind—someone who'd been showing up in front of her a lot lately. She recalled his profile: had a couple of lines in a film with Angelina Jolie and Winona Ryder. Definitely capable of handling a minor part.
"Yes," she replied quickly. "When?"
Ridley checked his watch. "I should get back—Crowe's probably arriving soon. Let's talk over lunch."