The first week of principal photography on Hacksaw Ridge started
Duke stood in the center of the barracks set, a sprawling, timber-framed room.
He watched the crew move effeciently and some actors practice their lines,.
Beside him, Gary Kurtz checked his watch. "We're forty minutes ahead of the schedule, Duke. The lighting is in place."
"Good," Duke said, his voice steady. "Let's keep the pressure on."
In 1969, most film sets were a mess of ego and indulgence. Directors like Hopper or Peckinpah were famous for losing days to benders or creative visions.
But Duke had built a machine. Every department head had a checklist, every grip knew the next setup before the current one was finished.
The only problem, of course, were the Roberts.
Robert Shaw arrived on set every morning drunk yet professional.
"Duke!" Shaw called as he arrive, "I want to be close to De Niro's face after he gets beat up and i'm telling him to leave."
"Can't do," Duke said. "You can't be a villain, you need to portray a military man but sort of heroic either way."
SHaw and Duke spoke for a while until he walked off.
De Niro sat in the corner of the barrackss. He didn't talk to the crew. He didn't eat with the cast.
"Action!" Duke called.
The scene was the first inspection. Shaw marched down the line of recruits.
He stopped in front of De Niro. The height difference was deliberate, Shaw loomed like a monument.
De Niro didn't move.
Duke watched the monitor, his heart racing. He could see Shaw's real-life irritation beginning to bleed into the character. Shaw wanted a reaction,; De Niro wouldn't give him one.
"Cut!" Duke shouted.
Shaw exhaled. He looked at De Niro, who simply turned and walked back.
"Infuriating," Shaw muttered, walking over to Duke. "You should have hired a british actor, they charge less and are less of a hassle to the crew."
"He's the protagonist, Robert," Duke said, leaning back in his chair. "The audience will probably love him."
Harrison Ford, playing Captain Glover, stepped into the light, adjusting his officer's cap.
While the two Roberts fought their psychological war, Ford provided the sanity necesary to keep people at bay.
"You okay, Harry?" Duke asked.
"I'm fine," Ford said, a wry smile touching his lips. "I'm just trying to make sure Shaw doesn't actually do anything before we get to the battle scenes. I've spent the last hour in the trailer explaining to Robert that De Niro isn't being rude, he's just... different."
"And what did Shaw say?"
"He said he'd prefer a drinking partner, instead of De Niro" Ford chuckled.
As the sun dipped, the set transitioned. The barracks were locked, the soldiers dismissed, and the crew moved to the Doss family home, a smaller, more intimate set where the begining of the movie would be filmed.
This was the set where Liselotte Pulver's would have most of her scenes.
Duke had watched her in Billy Wilder's One, Two, Three. And as Bertha Doss, she was great.
In public, Duke was the director. He gave her technical notes.
But late at night, when the production went dark, they retreated to the bungalow.
"You are a very good actor, Duke," she said, pouring two glasses of wine as the tropical rain began to drum against the roof. "The way you look at me on set... you make me feel like I am just another actor."
"That's the idea," Duke said, collapsing onto the sofa. "If the crew suspects anything, the discipline goes. And I need discipline to keep this afloat, remember i'm 22, i can't let people lose their awe."
"It is a heavy responsibility," she said, sitting beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "I see you watching the money. I see you reading those little slips of paper from the studio."
Duke sighed. She was right. He was carrying the weight of ten million dollars, a tech company, and a novel that felt like it was carved out of his own ribs.
"The Atari numbers came in today," Duke admitted. "We're doing great, my friend Nolan is even calling it a 'Gold Rush'."
Liselotte looked at him, her eyes bright with amusement. "So you are a rich man now, then? You don't need the studio?"
"I'm becoming the studio, not now but soon," Duke said.
Liselotte smiled, "Well, for tonight, let's network, consider it an early invesment into a future big studio."
By the end of the third week, the Barracks phase was winding down. The footage Duke was seeing in the dailies was unlike anything people in this era had ever produced.
He and the DP had developed a "Dirty Frame" aesthetic.
Instead of the clean, sweeping vistas of traditional war movies like The Longest Day, they were shooting with long lenses through the shoulders of actors, using handheld cameras to create a sense of frantic, voyeuristic urgency.
He had gotten the idea after remembering Saving Private Ryan.
Kurtz was ecstatic. "The coverage is incredible, Duke. We're getting angles that shouldn't be possible on this budget. And the pace... we're going to wrap the camp sequences two days early."
"Don't slow down," Duke warned. "We move to the Ridge on Monday. That's where the real money will start to burn."
Duke walked out to the edge of the set, looking up at the massive escarpment they had built. It loomed over the island, a monument to his ambition.
He saw a figure sitting on the very edge of the cliff.
It was De Niro.
The young actor was sitting with his legs dangling over the fifty-foot drop. He was reading a small, leather-bound Bible, his lips moving silently.
Duke didn't disturb him. He knew that De Niro was currently building the mentality that would make the battle scenes work.
A few yards away, Duke saw Robert Shaw and Harrison Ford leaning against a Jeep. They were sharing a flask.
"I'm telling you, Harry," Shaw was saying, his voice carrying on the wind. "Older women are better than younger girls in every aspect."
"I agree," Ford said, his voice low and steady.
Duke smiled.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a telegram he had received that morning from New York. It was from a high-level editor at Doubleday.
RE: BIG FISH MANUSCRIPT. STOP. MAGNIFICENT. STOP. NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT. STOP. CALL IMMEDIATELY. STOP.
Duke crumpled the telegram and tossed it into the mud.
He didn't want to call them right now, it was better to wait after production was done and he was back in the Continental US.
"Lock it up!" Duke shouted, his voice ringing out across the valley. "Wrap for the day! We move to the escarpment at 0400!"
The machine roared to life. Trucks started, lights were struck, and the dust began to settle.
Duke walked toward his Jeep, his boots heavy with mud. He was tired, he was stressed.
But as he looked up at the stars, he knew he was winning.
___
November arrived in Hawaii and with it came the biggest shooting day they had, this was the three-week stretch where Duke had to recreate the hell of the Okinawa ridge.
The scale was staggering. Hundreds of extras, many of them local Japanese-Americans and military personnel on leave, were outfitted in sweat-soaked wool and grease.
Part of the reason why he choose to record in Hawaii was because of the existence of Japanese american in the area that could be extras for his film.
The air on set was a constant smell of diesel exhaust.
Duke stood on a platform, a makeshift scaffolding that gave him a great view of the set. He looked older than he had a month ago.
"Gary, talk to me about the details," Duke said into his radio.
"We've got four hundred hits wired for the first charge," Gary Kurtz's voice crackled back. "The pyrotechnics team is ready, but the wind is shifting. If we blow now, the smoke is going to obscure De Niro's face."
"Let's wait," Duke said. "I need the audience to see his eyes."
Fifty feet away, suspended by a safety harness hidden beneath his tattered fatigues, Robert De Niro was pressed against the artificial cliff face, focused as he awaited for the shooting to start.
Amidst this industrial-scale chaos, a figure appeared that looked like he came from another world.
He was wearing a charcoal sharkskin suit that was utterly defiant on the heat. He wore polished oxfords that were currently being ruined by the mud, and he carried a slim leather briefcase.
This was Arthur Fremont, a senior executive from Warner Bros. He hadn't called. He hadn't made an appointment. He had simply flown to Kauai and hired a local to drive him as far up the mountain as the tires would allow.
Duke climbed down from the platform as the crew reset for Take Two. He wiped grime from his forehead with a rag and met Fremont near the catering tent.
"You're a hard man to reach, Mr. Hauser," Fremont said, his voice sounding dry.
"I'm a busy man, Arthur," Duke replied. "You're about forty yards away from fifty pounds of explosives. If I were you, I'd stand behind the sandbags."
Fremont didn't flinch. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. "I'll be brief. Ted Ashley and the board have been watching your numbers. They've seen Butch Cassidy. They've also heard about the... 'electronic toys' you're building."
Fremont handed the paper to Duke.
"Warner wants a total buyout of Ithaca Pictures. Not a distribution deal. A total acquisition. We want the Atari patents, your manuscripts, and your exclusive services for the next seven years."
Duke scanned the number at the bottom of the page. It was staggering for the size of his numbers.
40 million.
It was a big offer, more money than most people saw in ten lifetimes.
It was enough to make Duke one of the richest man in Hollywood overnight.
"It's a graceful exit, Duke," Fremont said. "You take the win. You let us handle the headaches. You can go back to being a filmmaker and leave the spreadsheets to us."
Duke looked at the paper, then looked past Fremont to the set.
He saw Robert Shaw standing near a bunker, screaming instructions at a group of extras. He saw Harrison Ford, covered in soot, helping a stuntman who was struggling to get up from the mud.
This was the moment where most people usually sold out. They got tired of the risk and they would seek the security of the studio's deep pockets.
But Duke wasn't a man from 1969.
He was a man from a future where the studios had become soulless conglomerates.
"It's a lot of money, Arthur," Duke said, his voice quiet.
"It's the biggest offer in the history of this town," Fremont corrected.
Duke slowly tore the paper in half. Then he tore it again. He let the white scraps flutter into the mud.
Fremont's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Duke... you can't be serious—"
"I'm betting on myself," Duke interrupted.
"What? You? Why?"
Duke stepped closer to the executive, "Warner wants to buy me because they want me to work under their system. Tell Ted I appreciate the flight out. But I'm keeping my companu."
Fremont looked at the scraps of paper in the mud, then back at Duke. "You're going to regret this. This is a great offer."
"The decision is taken," Duke said. "Now, get off my set."
Fremont retreated to his Jeep, and Duke climbed back onto his platform. He felt a strange, cold clarity. By refusing the money, he had completely steeped on his own path.
"Gary!" Duke shouted. "Tell Bobby we're going! Everybody in positions!"
The next four hours were a blur of sensory overload.
The first explosion was so powerful it knocked the breath out of some of the extras. The sequence began. Duke pushed the cameras into the thick of it.
He had the operators wearing flak jackets, running alongside the soldiers as the ground erupted in fountains of red earth and gray smoke.
Duke would stop recording every few minutes to set up the next scene.
It was beautiful and horrific. Robert Shaw moved through the carnage, his voice a guttural roar as he dragged wounded men.
And then there was De Niro.
In the middle of the simulated artillery barrage, De Niro began the rescue sequence. He didn't look like an actor.He was dragging bodies twice his weight, his face masked in blood and dirt, his breath coming in ragged, screaming gasps.
"One more!" De Niro screamed. "Please, Lord! Just one more!"
The crew stood in stunned silence as the cameras rolled.
"Cut!" Duke shouted, his voice cracking.
The smoke began to clear. The "dead" extras began to sit up, wiping mud from their eyes. The pyrotechnicians started their safety sweeps.
Duke walked down from the platform. He walked past the cameras, past the crew, and stood over his lead actor. He didn't offer a hand. He just stood there, providing a shadow.
"Great job, Bobby," Duke said softly. "We got the shoots."
De Niro looked up, his eyes bloodshot and haunted. He didn't break character. He just nodded once, a slow, heavy motion, and then slumped back against the earth.
As the light faded into a bruised purple over the Pacific, the set began the slow process of winding down. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
Duke sat on the bumper of a truck, watching the stars begin to poke through the smoke.
Harrison Ford walked over, handing Duke a cold beer. His face was still covered in soot, but his eyes were clear.
"The Warner guy left," Harrison said, leaning against the truck.
"I know," Duke said, taking a sip of the beer.
"I heard the number, Duke. Everyone on the set heard the number."
"Word travels."
Harrison looked out at the ridge. "Why'd you do it? You could have walked away."
Duke looked at his hands, stained red by the Kauai dirt.
"If I take their money, I'm just another guy on a payroll. This way? This way, it belongs to me and i can do whatever movie i decide to make without consulting anyone."
Harrison grunted, a short, appreciative sound. "You're a crazy bastard, Duke. You know that?"
"I've been told."
"Well," Harrison said, pushing off the truck. "I'm going for a walk. I'll see you in a few hours."
Duke watched him walk away, as he considered his future path.
___
Didnt realize how difficult would the Hacksaw Ridge scenes be to make in 1969.
Anyways, what studio should Duke buy in the future
Universal
MGM(almost sold in 1974)
Paramount(almost sold in 1972)
Disney
Columbia(Almost bankrupt in 1973/1974)
Warner Bros-Seven Arts
United Artist