Shooting started again. When Helen Herman returned to the corner, Stephen Sommers was already gone; she knew he wouldn't stay on set—he still had another franchise to plan with Universal Pictures.
Thinking of the blockbuster Stephen Sommers was mapping out, Helen Herman realized she'd made a mistake: she'd been too impatient. A mega-production like that was still only on paper, far from the stage where an Agent could interfere—especially since her protégé Matthew needed to stay fully focused on filming.
She exhaled softly; reminded by Matthew, her mindset steadied.
She could keep pushing the matter later, but it was best not to distract Matthew before this shoot wrapped. If the film flopped, everything she was scrambling to do would be meaningless.
When the morning shoot ended, Matthew felt plainly exhausted. More than three straight hours of nothing but action scenes—his stamina was good, but still human.
He was in great shape, but still just a normal guy.
Fortunately there were no action scenes scheduled for the afternoon. The production plan was humane, clearly accounting for what actors could take. Lately they shot action in the morning and dialogue in the afternoon, preventing overload.
Once people get too tired, concentration slips, shooting turns into a string of mishaps and constant NG calls.
The female lead, Kelly Hu, joined the shoot.
The moment she stepped into the studio after makeup, every eye locked on her—absolute center of attention.
What Kelly Hu was wearing could hardly be called clothing; strips of cloth barely covered the vital spots. For a film keeping to PG-13, she exposed every inch that could be shown and still left plenty to the imagination where it shouldn't.
Even the lowliest hand could see Cassandra's entire purpose was to flaunt her body.
In male-driven commercial popcorn flicks, female characters—especially the heroine—exist for exactly that reason.
Matthew's first scene with Kelly Hu was already scorching hot.
"Ready!" an Assistant Director shouted across the studio. "All departments ready! Shooting in three minutes!"
At his call, Matthew, per the director's instructions, lay down behind the curtain on the carpet, waiting for action.
"… Scene two, take one—go!" an Assistant Director yelled.
The instant the words landed, Matthew pushed himself up unsteadily, as if dazed from a fall, shook his head to clear it, and the moment his eyes sharpened, whipped the longsword from his waist—only the scabbard's position was off; the belt blocked the draw. Not only did the blade fail to come free, the force nearly snapped the belt in two.
"Cut!" Director Chuck Russell halted the take.
A costumer hurried in to adjust belt and sheath. Such accidents happened; the fix was quick and shooting soon resumed.
This time Matthew drew cleanly, glanced around warily, spotted maids by the bath, and looked over. The two maids shrieked and fled in panic; suddenly Kelly Hu rose from the water, striking a classic babe-out-of-bath pose.
Director Chuck Russell called cut again.
A makeup artist stepped over to Kelly Hu to style her hair,
letting the long locks fall just right to veil her chest.
Kelly Hu wore nothing above the waist; when she stood, Matthew had seen everything. He knew that without this tweak she'd flash the camera—minor for cast and crew, but two exposed nipples could tip the film into R-rated territory.
Ten minutes later the stylist finished. Matthew hadn't moved; once rolling, he resumed the pose.
Kelly Hu lifted a sword from the pool's edge, striking a sultry, nipple-safe stance, blade leveled at Matthew.
Matthew kept staring, a normal guy reacting to a gorgeous woman emerging from water.
They hadn't rehearsed this bit, but he'd walked it through privately, and with the film's loose demands he handled it easily.
After several films—especially recent meatier roles—Matthew's talent wasn't stellar but not awful either. Like most, with experience and set hours under his belt, he'd improved.
Taking part in an arthouse film that values acting and character development might leave him so scorched by the director and critics that he'd doubt life itself, but in this kind of popcorn flick he felt like a fish in water.
"Are you here to kill me?" Kelly Hu leveled her sword at Matthew, "or just to watch me?"
Matthew didn't answer; the door behind him suddenly burst open. He charged over, sword in hand, leapt straight into the bath, and effortlessly subdued Kelly Hu. One arm slid under hers, locking her body while his other hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her down into the water.
Though their bodies tangled together, Matthew's entire focus stayed on the shoot. Apart from noticing how soft Kelly felt, he entertained no stray thoughts—and once underwater he had to hold his breath, or he'd end up drinking her bathwater… The moment his head slipped beneath the surface he rolled Kelly off him, counted three beats as the director wanted, then broke the surface again; at almost the same instant Kelly emerged beside him.
Her hair was a wet tangle and her upper body completely bare, but she was perfectly unselfconscious, clearly long used to such scenes.
Kelly spotted Matthew. Glancing at her chest, she saw a red welt and said, "You used too much force—you hurt me."
"Sorry." Matthew hadn't meant to; he and Kelly had gotten along well enough. "I guess I overdid it."
He lifted his right hand, checked the bracer, and said, "The guard pressed into you."
Both their assistants hurried over. Kelly accepted a towel, draped it round her shoulders, and climbed out first. Perhaps the water made things slippery—she nearly tripped stepping over the rim; Matthew steadied her, then climbed out after her.
"Thanks." Kelly wrapped the towel tight around herself.
Matthew took the towel Mira handed him and threw it over his shoulders. "You're too polite."
They shared a smile and said nothing more, turning instead toward the director. Chuck Russell gave them a thumbs-up: the take was good.
"All right…" Matthew wiped water from his face with the towel. "That's a wrap for today."
Other scenes would still be shot, but none featuring the lead actor and actress; otherwise the director wouldn't have scheduled this sequence for them.
After a scene like this, both Matthew and Kelly's looks were ruined; re-doing their makeup would take hours.
They could simply remove it and call it a day.
As the male lead Matthew had his own trailer and personal makeup artist; the female lead Kelly enjoyed the same privilege. From what he knew, her résumé far outshone his—she'd acted in the famous back in 1985 and later worked with the likes of Hans Zimmer, Mickey Rourke, Russell Crowe, and Ralph Fiennes.
She had the credentials to headline.
Shedding the heavy costume, Matthew sat quietly at the mirror while the stylist removed his wig—an arduous, time-consuming process. For the hairpiece to look seamless on camera required painstaking work.
"Matthew…" Mira Wang walked over. "I've packed your things in the backpack; your phone's in the second pocket."
She'd told him that morning she had something to do that afternoon. Matthew didn't make it difficult for her, waving her off. "Go ahead. I'll call if I need you."
As long as he stayed on set, Mira Wang answered only to him and could ignore the rest of the crew.
Her salary, of course, still came from the production.
Matthew knew most stars brought their own assistants; from the first shooting day the studio had to pay the assistant's wages.
It was more convenient than using a studio-provided aide—celebrities had plenty of private business best kept unseen.
Sitting there bored, he wondered if he should hire a personal assistant. Once the film released he'd see how it fared. If it succeeded and he gained some fame, he'd need help with the mundane stuff; if it flopped, the idea could be shelved.
A small assistant wouldn't cost much, and if he became famous the expense would be trivial.
Makeup off and the stylist gone, Matthew changed into his own clothes, grabbed his backpack, and was ready to head home when someone knocked on the trailer door.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened to reveal a slightly sleazy grin. The newcomer saw Matthew slinging the backpack and asked, "Calling it a day?"
"Yeah." Matthew glanced at Duff Villa. "What's up?"
Duff scratched his head with an awkward smile. "There is something." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Got a minute, Matthew? I'd like to talk to you—alone."