Back in Los Angeles, Matthew's life hadn't changed much. Apart from the occasional paparazzi hassle, everything felt like before. And the paparazzi never lingered—L.A. had far too many people with greater news and entertainment value, so most of them snapped a few photos and left.
Since he was still practicing reading and writing, he bought stacks of newspapers every day. Except for a handful of times, he rarely saw himself in the papers; the scorpion king stills and posters showed up far more often.
The media didn't seem to have fully connected the scorpion king with an ordinary actor like him.
Matthew knew there was no need to rush. It was summer blockbuster season in North America; entertainment news flooded the feeds. Once the film's publicity push tapered off, its headlines cooling was only natural.
Let alone him and the scorpion king—even Brendan Fraser's hyped-up fan-punching scandal was fading away.
As for the scorpion king spin-off, all he could do now was wait.
He'd done everything he could. Helen Herman had kept in touch with Sean Daniel and Stephen Sommers; word had come that Universal Pictures had officially moved the project into review. The full green light would still take time.
Helen Herman had specifically warned him not to contact Sean Daniel, Stephen Sommers, or Universal for now, and never to make any promises. All negotiations were to be handled by her to avoid unnecessary complications.
Matthew now saw it clearly: when interests were at stake, an actor should stay out of the talks and leave everything to the Agent, leaving room to maneuver if things turned ugly.
If the Agent fell out with the producer or studio, the actor could blame the Agent; if the actor himself blew the deal face-to-face, it would get awkward.
Besides, this also complied with the Actors Guild regulations.
After improving his reading, he'd studied plenty of Hollywood-related books and bylaws; his grasp of the business was nothing like a year ago.
Hollywood is, after all, a fame-and-fortune game, and every game has rules—actors rely on Agents to land jobs, for instance.
After two-plus years of teamwork, Matthew trusted Helen Herman's ability. Though Angel Talent Agency now represented countless small actors, he was the one getting the most resources.
He'd also learned the campaign had cost far more than that two hundred grand; Angel had kicked in extra cash. Of course they weren't doing it out of kindness—Helen Herman was too shrewd to throw away tens of thousands on him for nothing.
Matthew could guess her goal: she wanted a bigger slice of this project.
The woman aimed high, and she'd likely succeed.
An ambitious, scheming Agent, after all, suited him fine; if he'd had one content to coast, he wouldn't have come this far so smoothly.
Matthew knew he was far luckier than most walk-on actors.
These past few days he'd finally had some downtime. He'd planned to visit Britney in Nashville, but her schedule changed again—she had to shoot a new album's music video—so he stayed in L.A.
With time on his hands, he did a bit of self-review and future planning.
The review was simple: money nearly gone, fame modest, acting full of flaws, still far from his initial goal.
As for future plans, the only sure work on the table
was the scorpion king spin-off. Since Universal had pushed it into official review, the odds of production were high.
He'd keep reading papers and books, continue gym and boxing workouts. Nebula had even recommended a kick-boxing coach; if he felt like it he could train—great for physical ability and future action scenes.
Writing practice would continue too. He updated his blog when he could—hardly daily, but two or three times a week. Sadly, followers remained few.
Most important was honing his acting. Since graduating from the Los Angeles School of Performing Arts extension program, he hadn't had systematic training; mostly he did mimicry drills.
After careful review, Matthew figured his skill hovered around average—fine for low-demand commercial flicks or action roles, but tough for heavy scenes like Sergeant Hoot's.
He stayed optimistic; it meant he still had plenty of room to grow.
To speed his progress, Matthew paid a visit to his instructor at the Los Angeles School of Performing Arts, David Astor.
"Raising your acting level quickly is hard."
In a North Hollywood café, David Astor sat by the window, breathing in the aroma of coffee, and said to Matthew across the table, "I've never seen a prodigy like that; most people I know hone their craft step by step."
Matthew lifted his cup and took a sip; he still couldn't stand coffee, so he'd ordered black tea.
"But plenty of mediocre actors still get famous," he said, setting the cup down. "They even become superstars."
David Astor chuckled. "Even those guys meet the basic acting standard." He shook his head. "But once most actors become stars, they lose drive. Their performances stagnate; every role ends up being a version of themselves."
Matthew agreed—he'd seen actors like that. Take Vin Diesel: every character he played was the same, forever Vin Diesel no matter who he was supposed to be.
"I don't want to be that kind of actor," Matthew said.
"You're a hard worker," David Astor said, rubbing his bald head. "You've got a bit of fame now—remember to stay true to why you started."
Matthew knew the advice was sincere. "I will."
David Astor hesitated, sighed, then said, "Of all my students you're the most industrious, but strictly speaking the path you're taking to polish your craft isn't right. You're on a shortcut—and it's a crooked one."
"I want success too badly," Matthew replied, unfazed and smiling. "I need it."
David Astor returned to an old theme. "Pure mimicry has no future; performances without soul can't sustain you. You can't rely on imitation forever."
Matthew gave a small nod.
Seeing Matthew listen, David Astor went on, "You've been doing action films lately, and your next role might be another. Action emphasizes physical display. With your looks, if you break through in that genre, the Academy crowd and critics will look down on you for a long time."
"That's..." Matthew gave an awkward laugh. "Way down the road."
True—getting noticed by the Academy and critics is hard for a small-time star.
David Astor, old-school at heart, continued, "The best path for a young actor is to refine your craft in small indie projects, win a few awards, then move into commercial fare while keeping one foot in art-house films—balancing box office and prestige..."
He laughed and shook his head. "I'm overthinking it—you're still far from that level."
Matthew knew that was the mainstream route. Without opportunity he might have taken it, but now there was no need. Why abandon the lead in a fantasy-action film to flounder in indie obscurity?
Helen Herman had told him the indie scene was far messier than commercial cinema... "David," Matthew said honestly, "I can't give up the chance I have now."
"I understand." David Astor had spent decades in Hollywood without huge success; he recognized the mindset. "Still—don't forget your original intention."
"Mm." Matthew nodded earnestly again.
David Astor checked his watch. "At this stage there's not much more I can do. If you need tapes, come to me anytime."
"I haven't finished the last batch." Matthew smiled. "I'll swap them in a while. David, I'll keep bothering you."
David Astor stood. "You're always welcome."
He had an acting class soon and left first; Matthew paid the bill and stepped out shortly after.
He respected David Astor. The man helped him not for gain but out of admiration for his effort, giving aid without asking anything in return.
Such people are rare in Hollywood; most are like Matthew himself.
Matthew glanced at the bright sun and walked to his car. Reaching the used ford, he spotted someone across the street aiming a camera. A closer look suggested a paparazzo; he waved, and the guy waved back.
"Funny fellow."
He got in, and when he looked again the paparazzo was gone—no news value, so the man had moved on.
Matthew started the engine, heading for Burbank. Stopped at a red light, he suddenly recalled David Astor's words.
"Don't forget your original intention? Stay true? What was my original intention when I came to Hollywood?"