✦—✦•
April 4th, Woods near Dorney, UK
My first filming experience was confusing, but I learned one very valuable thing. Patience.
"Cut. Move to closeups," Andrew called.
I stood there as still as a statue.
"Scene 148 Charlie, Take 1, Marker," the clapper loader called out.
"Action."
John's massive arms (relative to me) grabbed me, wedging me. I kicked out my legs, desperate to get away. Turning around, he carried me five steps before stumbling over something.
"Fuck!" Andrew shouted in frustration.
I scrambled to get clear from John's surroundings; falling with no control over my own body was not a pleasant experience.
"Watch your step! How hard is it to walk straight?" Andrew demanded from John.
"Err—" John started.
"Shut it, I don't need an answer. Don't fuck it up next time," Andrew almost growled out.
Our director turned to watch the feed that Peter and Pauline were going over.
"It's not a problem," Andrew muttered, still loud enough that I could hear.
"We'll take the clip from before he stumbles. Pauline, can you make that change?" Andrew asked.
Pauline referred to the folder she carried—presumably all of the script was in it. She took a marker and started to rewrite it in the moment.
"Moving on," Andrew called out to everyone.
People around me relaxed considerably, and we did indeed move on. We went to a completely different spot from where our firepit was set up. Instead, there was a new spent campfire with men and horses off a fair distance away.
I was left again at a mark, this time alone for real. Watching the shoot happen from a distance was illuminating, if a bit lonely. Crew would set up a shot—blocking, as they called it—and spend as little time as possible on each individual takes. From distance I could see everyone in various places doing their various things. Boom microphone operator was the most interesting person for me to watch, his location told the story of who was in focus more than the cameras. Most of the shots used a single tripod, which panned in place with the actors pivoting around to capture the feeling of movement. A smooth shot without having to waste time setting up a dolly. Andrew cursed out many times, but from my location I couldn't make out what he was saying. Clearly, he had issues with the horses; they were not actors, and the actors weren't trained equestrians.
Fifteen minutes of Andrew losing his head, Alex came over to fetch me for the next take.
"John on your mark," the second AD said.
"Kid, no struggling this time. I want John's lines to be heard," Andrew gave an actual direction to me for the first time.
I looked up to Andrew, wanting to ask what I should be doing if not struggling, but Andrew just went back to stand behind Nick, looking at the feed. So frustrating.
"Action."
John lifted me up like a bundle again like I weighed nothing. He walked us into the frame.
"He's been hobbled like an animal. Who's done this to him?" Craig said, his accent distinctly more posh than before.
"His own people," John replied.
A lady who trained the horse whistled; a chestnut horse carrying Malcolm stepped forward without any input from its own rider. I wasn't struggling or making a noise, but tried to at least sell the idea of wanting to get away. My fingers tried to pry away John's grip, I put no strength behind it. It just needed to appear as if I was doing my best to get away.
"Stopped him from running away," Malcolm said, looking uncomfortable on the horse.
"You see what injustice has taught them—to abuse their own as they have been abused themselves." Craig had his fingers up, emphasizing his next words. "Well, I mean to change all that."
He was handed a knife by Ralph. I was placed down in front of Craig by John.
"Cut!" Andrew called.
For the first time, the second cameras came into play. This one Andrew operated himself; the clapper loader called the marker.
"That's a real knife, don't make any sudden moves," the second AD warned me.
"The moment you are on the ground, do the fear face again. Try and run away to that direction. John will catch you again. Look scared and worried about where the knife is going," the Peter the Assistant Director added.
Andrew, the director himself, gave no direction as usual; only his first AD seemed to do it.
"Action!"
John grabbed me again and placed me down like before. I did a really stupid face, failing to really show my fear, and scrambled to get away. John grabbed me easily and turned me around, holding me to look at Craig.
"Cut! Freeze!" Andrew called.
Everyone stopped moving as if someone had pressed the pause button. I did too, but mostly because it was a natural reaction to everyone freezing. Andrew walked over to Camera A, checked the angles, and went back to his Camera B on a tripod. His lenses zoomed on me.
"Action!"
I was held up again and down on the ground, continuity from when the cut was called. Craig hunched over me, taking a knee.
"I shall preach good tidings unto the meek, proclaim liberty unto the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound," Craig said importantly as he cut the flimsy rope on my leg cuffs.
The second AD had given me direction, but I had completely forgotten it. A sharp knife was against my ankle, and my gaze couldn't leave it even if I wanted to. A guy was stabbed twenty times in Saltney recently, and having received a revelation about knife crimes rising into prominence in the UK, I was worried. Craig wouldn't do that to me, right? But still, I couldn't stop the actual fear on my face.
Craig lifted up my leg cuffs, handing the knife back to Ralph again.
"Isaiah 61:1," Craig said kindly and handed me the leg cuffs, lifting me up.
"Cut!"
First AD came over and sat in front of me.
"This part is important. I want you to show anger and fear in equal measure. You ever seen a cat cornered by a dog?" I nodded because I received a revelation as he said that. "You're the cat, you want to escape. You are FIERCE! You'll take this leash that held you captive and pummel the man barring your way."
Wow, too many big words to say to an eight-year-old, but I was the one that could understand his direction.
"Got it." I nodded, determined.
"Hit this." He said as Alex approached us holding a mannequin.
"Action!"
I hit the mannequin and ran off to the side.
"Cut! Reset," Andrew said with fury. "Come on, Peter. Get him to do it right!"
Peter looked at Amdrew with a complicated expression but smiled at me.
"It's okay, that was really close. I want you to think of someone who has angered you. Channel that anger when you go for that hit. You think you can do that?" Peter asked me.
I had an idea, so I nodded.
"Action!"
I imagined the mannequin as Andrew. He was scary to me, but I also was annoyed by him. The director of this production had never directed me or spoken to me more than a single line. Even that he had said more to John rather than me. This was my first ever shoot. I thought directors did directing. If I don't even get any feedback on what I'm doing, was it really any use to me? I also didn't get why Peter, the Assistant Director, was actually directing the actors. Was Andrew so incompetent that he couldn't even communicate with his actors?
My imagination was a powerful thing. The mannequin's face shifted in my mind into Andrew's fat face with the five o'clock shadow. My face seemed to scrunch up in anger, my teeth braced, and my lips parted to show my teeth—an instinctual action of our bodies that evolution hadn't quite gotten rid of yet. I exerted and hit the mannequin with full force. It made a thunk sound.
Imagination was actually so strong that for a moment I feared retaliation, then remembered what I had to do. I channeled that fear of retaliation and ran, zooming off the frame and the set.
Once I was a fair distance away, Andrew called out, "Cut! Moving on."
I felt pride surge in my chest. That felt so good. I had drawn something emotional from myself and used it to get a better performance. Only time I did this was during the audition for Doctor Dolittle. There was something so emotional and raw to that moment; the anger that I drew out was great, but in my opinion, the fear right after was the true achievement. I don't think I could have feared retaliation if I was acting. Only, I wasn't acting in that moment. I was the scared boy who wanted to get a punch in and draw some blood from the world that had hurt him. The fear of being hurt again—that was so real.
My heart was beating fast. I stood there waiting for a praise of any kind. None came. I was off the set. I was forgotten. Again.
"Action!" Andrew called out.
Craig fake-flinched from my hit, acting his part. The shot itself would be cut in a way that it focused on my face as I swung the leg cuffs and Craig only pretended to be hi in the next.
"Cut! Camera A, closeup on Malcolm," Andrew shouted.
Meanwhile, Andrew with his own camera called action again. Craig didn't even break stride, no direction needed. He turned around to look at Malcolm, doing some of that "smell the fart" acting. I couldn't really see his mouth from my angle, but I was sure that he hadn't said anything.
Feeling too alone being off the set, I walked closer to see the scene unfold.
Ralph stepped extremely close to Malcolm.
"Do you want us to go after him?" Ralph asked.
Craig looked pissed off, looking at Ralph's eyes before storming off without a word.
Ralph looked at Malcolm with disdain, as if he was at fault.
"Come on, Master Forrester. We have a priest to find." Ralph looked off into the distance and to no one. "Levellers, to horse!"
"Cut! Camera A, Malcolm. Action!"
Malcolm looked down at Ralph from his horse.
"Behold! A sinner is fled into the wilderness." He paused. "Revelations 12, I forget the verse." I almost chuckled.
It made sense now. That was a cold line to what would actually be played in the final cut. Craig, who played a zealous and evil Reverend, was shown off by an unwashed commoner and in a way that only a man of the cloth could fully appreciate.
It was interesting that every shot was filmed in a way that was most economical. Chronology was thrown off completely; filming efficiently came first, and it would all be edited to play in the chronological order. It made the acting part hard, and Malcolm's line—and I suspected even Craig's anger—didn't really show up on screen.
Why would it? There was no cause and effect, no response nor reply. Not sure why, but I started to sense this was the gulf between good actors and the bad. They could get their mindset going in the right place so they could feel the emotion irregardless of the missing human partner in the scene to play off of. But there was the other side of the coin too: a good director would get a better performance if they let the actors actually exchange their dialogue. They really needed it to put on a better performance.
Or maybe I was wrong. This was my first ever time on set. What would I know better than the professionals who had been doing this for ages?
An overall cut was called, and we were to change locations, our scenes finished for now. The director would get a few shots for the men riding away, but I was relieved by Pam, who brought me over to Mum.
"You did great!" Mum nuzzled me, hugging me close.
"Thanks…" I said.
I had not received any praise from anyone for my work today; my mother was the only one to give me a compliment. You could only trust family blindly, and I knew I could always depend on my mother. Was I a bad son to want for more? Why did I consider it a cheap praise just because it was so dependable?