Chapter 113 – My Crew Needs a Stunt Double
After a simple lunch, the small audition room was once again surrounded by a crowd of actors—only this time, it was a mixed bag. Unlike the morning's Joker auditions, the roles this afternoon varied, attracting actors of all kinds.
Halle Berry stood alone at the front of the line, waiting by the door. She was slated to go in first.
She knew full well that the female lead in this film was little more than a plot device—barely even a token "pretty face." But it was still her best shot. As long as Wayne remained as hungry for success as ever, then even a supporting role in his film might earn her some recognition.
This was a one-man show—Arthur Fleck, the Joker, was the story's centerpiece. The camera would follow him for most of the runtime.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, drawing the eyes of every waiting actor. They all looked toward the approaching trio, knowing that their chances of joining the film rested squarely with these three men.
Schwartz opened the door to the audition room and gave Halle a small gesture. "Come in, Ms. Berry."
"Thank you."
As the casting director for the project, Schwartz was aware of her connection with the director. That certainly wouldn't hurt her chances.
Inside, Wayne was discussing Nicolas Cage's performance with John. Once today's auditions wrapped up, John was expected to reach out to Cage's agent and begin negotiating his pay and contract.
Of all the Joker auditions that morning, only Cage's performance had truly stood out. The son of the legendary martial arts star had shown promise as well—but unfortunately, he wasn't part of Wayne's plan for the lead.
"She's got the right look," John muttered softly.
Halle Berry stood confidently in front of the trio. Her styled hair and light makeup softened her features into that of a down-to-earth young Black woman. She wore a pair of simple brown cargo pants and a long-sleeve tee—exactly the kind of no-frills, working-class look the role called for.
After a brief performance, she exited the room.
"Schwartz, John—thoughts?" Wayne asked.
The casting director glanced at John and replied, "She's fine. Acting-wise, she can handle the role."
"Then let's go with Halle Berry. I'll call her agent and let them know," John agreed without much hesitation. It wasn't a major role, after all. There was only one true centerpiece in this film: Arthur.
Honestly, their decision was largely out of courtesy to Wayne. That's how Hollywood worked—connections could mean everything.
The afternoon's auditions moved along at a brisk pace. For roles they weren't yet certain about, they simply made a note and moved on. Each actor spent no more than ten minutes in the room.
By the time the streetlights outside the studio flickered on, the trio finally left the soundstage.
"What about the talk show host?" John asked as they walked, referring to the character who gets shot live on air by Arthur in the film's climax. It was the only major role still uncast.
Though not a large part, it was a key moment—and required an actor with real presence.
Wayne thought for a moment, then said, "Contact Robert De Niro's agent tomorrow. If he's available, lock him in."
"No problem."
"Oh, and John," Wayne suddenly added, remembering the headaches from his last project. "Every actor's contract must include a strict anti-drug clause. Make it crystal clear: if I catch anyone getting high during production, they're out. I'll replace them on the spot."
During the last shoot, Will Smith had been doing great—until he attended a rapper's party and came back in terrible shape. Though he later apologized sincerely, the delays were very real.
Wayne had no desire to repeat that experience. Major characters losing control due to drug use could easily derail the entire shoot.
"I'll make sure it's in the contract," John assured him. "If they use anything, the studio reserves the right to fire them."
"That's the idea. We can't watch them 24/7, so we use the contract as deterrent."
In filmmaking, every member of the crew matters. Directors, actors, production designers—if any one of them screws up, the whole schedule can fall apart.
Later, sitting in the backseat of the car, Wayne turned to his assistant.
"Did you talk to him?"
"Yes," Nina nodded. "I told him your offer. He said he'd think about it. But… from the way he spoke, I think he still wants to be in front of the camera."
Still wants to act, huh?
During the lunch break, Wayne had asked Nina to find Brandon Lee. He wanted to offer him a spot on the crew.
Despite his slender frame, Brandon had been training in martial arts since childhood. Wayne had hoped to bring him on as a stunt double and assistant fight choreographer—especially to double for Arthur in more physical scenes.
Honestly, it was the best opportunity Wayne could offer him. Otherwise, the son of Bruce Lee would likely end up on another set… and follow the tragic path of his father.
Take The Crow, for example—an iconic name, sure, but the film itself? Forgettable at best. Not because of the director or cast, but because Brandon Lee had only filmed a few scenes before being fatally shot on set.
Most of The Crow's scenes were ultimately completed with a body double, with Brandon Lee's few original shots edited in post to patch things together—turning the film into just another case of Hollywood capital exploiting the dead.
This was a common tactic. Brandon wasn't the first actor to be "milked after death," and he wouldn't be the most famous either. That's how myth-making works in Hollywood—only the dead qualify for sainthood.
"Set up a meeting with him under my name," Wayne said, rising from his chair. "Tomorrow. Tell him to come directly to the Warner Bros. building in Burbank. I want to talk to him face to face."
This was Wayne's last attempt. If Brandon still couldn't be convinced, he wouldn't waste any more energy on it.
"Understood, boss."
---
The next morning, a silver Rolls-Royce pulled up outside the Warner Bros. Tower. As soon as Wayne stepped out, he spotted Brandon Lee waiting quietly at the entrance.
If there was anyone in Hollywood who resembled him, it might be Keanu Reeves—both had Chinese heritage, both carried that melancholic aura.
"Mr. Garfield, I—"
"Let's talk inside."
They made their way to the first-floor lounge. After sitting down, Wayne got straight to the point.
"My assistant should've explained it yesterday. My production needs a stunt coordinator, and the lead actor will also require a stunt double. You're more than qualified for the job."
"I'm still considering it, Mr. Garfield," Brandon replied cautiously. He didn't quite understand Wayne's intentions. Hollywood wasn't short on stunt coordinators—and this wasn't even an action film. The stunt double role was more plausible, but still…
"Honestly, this isn't what I set out to do. I've always wanted to be an actor. To star in my own films."
"That's going to be hard," Wayne said bluntly. "Unless you're willing to keep cashing in on your father's legacy." He raised a hand and mimicked a martial arts pose. "You should know exactly why production companies keep knocking on your door. It's not because they care about you—it's because they want to profit off Bruce Lee."
And he was right. Brandon knew all too well what he was up against. He believed in his ability, but the industry had never truly given him a fair shot.
His debut in Kung Fu: The Movie had him playing Bruce Lee's double. And even the projects that followed—who could say there weren't ulterior motives behind them?
"Think it over, Brandon." Wayne stood up, ready to leave. He'd done all he could—enough to ease the regret in his heart. Whether it made a difference was out of his hands now.
"Alright, I'll take the job."
Wayne paused mid-step. Turning back, he said, "Have your agent contact John. Once the contract is signed, you'll start training with the crew immediately. We're heading to New York soon for principal photography."
With that, he gave a small wave and walked into the elevator with Nina.
"Boss, you really admire him, don't you?" she asked, curious.
Wayne shrugged. "He's a good actor. Unfortunately, he's Chinese. But give it a year or two—his chance will come."
What he didn't say aloud was: If someone's willing to give him that chance, that is.
If Keanu Reeves could make it, so could Brandon Lee. The biggest hurdle was simply breaking through that first time.
No major studio wanted to take a risk on him in a big-budget film. No one could predict whether audiences would reject a Chinese-American lead based on race alone. Meanwhile, the small indie projects that were willing to cast him wouldn't generate the buzz needed to launch a career.
But if Brandon could prove himself—just once—if he could pull off something on the level of The Matrix, then everything would change. That one success would clear the road ahead.