‘Brad Pitt?’ I interrupted.
‘Sure. Brad’s a straight-up guy,’ he said (whoa, BAD breath). ‘I’m Dan and I’ve just been having an interesting conversation with your lovely lady mother here about some of the people I’ve worked with.’
Whatever my ‘lovely lady mother’ was trying to tell me with her eyes, it wasn’t that they were having an ‘interesting conversation’.
‘Dan’s been telling me all about his experience working with Kevin Spacey too,’ she said.
‘And now I’m playing your father.’ He laughed like it wasn’t funny. ‘It’s good to stay in touch with the indie stuff . . . Tom was just saying the other day that these students can be the big directors of tomorrow.’
‘Tom as in . . . Tom Cruise?’
‘Mmm,’ he said in such a sketchy way that I was pretty sure it was another Tom that had been handing out the career advice.
My phone barked (very quietly because Megan had warned me to turn it right down in case they were doing sound checks).
How’s it going?? What you doing?? Tell me EVERYTHING. Moss was awake and checking in.
I sent her a pic of my costume. Verdict?
I would have gone with asymmetric sleeves, but otherwise yep, you’re a pretty well-dressed corpse. You done any filming?
Not yet
What you doing?
Just having a little campfire moment with my mum and new ‘dad’. I took a sneaky pic for her.
Not much there for Bertie to worry about then
You have no idea
‘Addicted to your phone I see,’ said Dan, who seemed to be taking this paternal-interest thing a bit too seriously. ‘When we were working on World War Z, there was a total mobile ban except for when Brad wanted to keep in touch with Angie . . .’ And he was off. It was a happy moment when one of the students called him over to run some solo scene.
‘You OK?’ Mum asked me (we were sitting very close together because we each had one arm in her cardigan).
‘Yes,’ I said and I was. Except for the fact that I was too scared to use the only loo because of the spiders, it was kind of cool (as Ed would say).
I was freezing, I was starving, I needed the loo, but it was All Good. I was following in a great tradition of freezing, starving artists. All that was missing was a garret in Paris.
Has any thing else happened? Moss an hour later.
Nope, but I’ve eaten four bags of crisps and most of the biscuits. It’s extraordinary there aren’t more fat actors. You still meeting Torr for ‘coffee’?
I am. You make it sound so dodgy. It’s genuinely just coffee. Yeah, right. Moss hates coffee. I’m in Starbucks now. Waiting. He’d better show.
You’re early?!! She was never, ever early. Bit keen.
No. He’s LATE. Not keen enough? He’d cancelled last weekend’s plans at the last minute and hadn’t explained why.
He’ll show, I texted. He’d better.
‘Right,’ shouted Ed, ‘we need Elektra and Dan for this one.’ I should have gone to the loo when I had the chance. ‘OK, guys, so this is the scene where the father – who may or may not be alive – grieves for his dead child and tries to warm her when she wakes – or doesn’t wake. Is that all clear?’
No, obviously not, but we both nodded. He showed us our marks. This time I was going to have to start lying down. It was like lying in a very, very filthy igloo.
‘So, do you want me just here?’ asked Dan and, for the eighth time, Ed explained patiently that he did indeed want him in the exact same place he’d shown him ten minutes earlier. I would die of hypothermia before he got to the ‘hands me a blanket’ bit.
‘So, we’re going to go straight into a take. Camera ready?’ asked Hadid, chalking something on to a genuine clapperboard (an object which made me irrationally happy). ‘Ready?’ And then. ‘Sound ready?’
‘Ready,’ said the student who was doing the sound.
‘Scene Three, Take One,’ said Hadid, holding the clapperboard in front of the lens.
‘Three, two,’ Ed was clearly loving this bit, ‘one, action!’
Hadid clapped the clapperboard and we were off.
‘I’m so, so cold,’ I started.
It was a long day. Maybe a little bit because Dan needed more takes than I did, but mostly because of technical things happening or failing to happen (there was a stressy half-hour when they couldn’t get the walkie-talkies to work). I was pretty sure that there were rules about how long minors should be working on-set, but Ed obviously hadn’t read that far in his ‘Working with Children and Animals’ module. It wasn’t until after eleven o’clock at night that he finally shouted: ‘That’s a wrap. Cool. Thank you very much, everyone.’ And we all hugged and kissed (even Dan) as if we’d spent several months together on location.
I could have stayed all night. In fact, I could have stayed several months. It was a long day, but I loved it. I wanted more days like that. Although maybe in the Bahamas next time.
Mum was so tired going home that she almost crashed the car. To be honest, she quite often almost crashes the car, but this was, even by her standards, a close shave. I imagined the headlines: PROMISING YOUNG ACTRESS PULPED ON THE HAMMERSMITH FLYOVER. HOTSHOT BREAKTHROUGH DIRECTOR EDWARD PRICE DEVASTATED BY LOSS OF HIS MUSE . . .
Dad took one look at her face when we fell through the door and handed her an exceptionally large glass of red wine. ‘You look exhausted. I’m sorry, I should have taken her.’
Go ahead; talk about me as if I were a parcel.
‘No, no, it was fine. I wouldn’t have wanted you to miss Chelsea v. Arsenal.’ Weirdly, I don’t even think Mum was being sarcastic. ‘Who won?’
‘Arsenal, late goal. Chelsea were robbed by the referee.’
Of course they were. We tried to look sympathetic. I think we failed.
‘We both had a hard day then,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.’
Dad took off his big black jumper (all his jumpers are big and black: it’s an architect thing) and she pulled it on over her own clothes and gave him a hug. They weren’t very huggy people (thank God) so I think she just wanted to warm up. Fair enough, but they were ignoring me.
‘Excuse me, I was the one who was working. Mum just spent the day reading her book. And I was practically naked all day so I should have got the jumper.’
‘Well, did you have a hard day?’ Dad asked, turning to me. He didn’t offer me any wine, which was harsh, but he did throw me the blanket from the back of the sofa. It smelled of Digby, which was not as unpleasant as it sounds.
‘I had an amaaazing day. What’s for supper?’
‘It’s half past midnight.’
‘Yep, that’s probably why I’m starving.’
‘Haven’t you eaten anything?’
‘Just crisps.’ Many, many crisps. And biscuits. And chocolate.
‘Then you need pizza. Now.’
Better. Still not wine but better. I was going to tell Dad all about my day on the set – what I actually did for my moments on film, my ability to play dead like a bona-fide corpse, my perfect response to direction, my absolute embodiment of the character, etc. etc. etc. In other words, I was going to big myself up because it was just my dad and even if he didn’t believe every word I said (or listen to half of them) he wouldn’t hate me for bragging. But then my phone barked.
Hey, Elektra
I didn’t recognize the number.
Sorry, who’s this?
Archie, and then a second later: from ACT, like I wouldn’t know.
Hey, Archie (I know, I know, weak response.)
We all missed you today
Lens had been running a Saturday workshop on stage combat for our Thursday class.
That’s nice
I was keeping it neutral. After all, he hadn’t said, ‘I missed you today’ – ‘we all missed you’ was probably just typical Archie being polite and yet . . .
Even Christian?
I was defin
itely going to keep the conversation alive.
OK, Christian didn’t miss you
Big Brian?
Big Brian definitely didn’t miss you
Haha, so what are you up to?
An open question. Moss had drilled me; I knew what to do. I had to give Archie something to work with.
Not much. I just wanted to let you know that next Thursday’s class is starting 30 mins later.
Oh, maybe not. Disappointing.
WAITING
• Time (awake) spent at school: 63.1 per cent; time at school spent thinking about acting: 52.5 per cent.
• A bit distracted by a school trip to Hadrian’s Wall (very, very cold and I was sick on the coach both ways).
• Number of auditions since Dead Drop and Ed’s film: 3 (random child in some 1920s drama; role as a domestic servant in a Victorian mockumentary; child number 3 in the background in a sausages advert); strike rate: 0.
From: Stella at the Haden Agency
Date: 6 March 10:45
To: Julia James
Cc: Charlotte at the Haden Agency
Subject: Fortuneswell (part of Mary)
Attachments: Character scenes.doc; production details.doc
Dear Julia,
Would Elektra be free for a meeting on Saturday 14 March at 3 p.m. at the American International Church, Tottenham Court Road with Sally Upton (casting director, Upfront Casting) and her assistant, Tracey Broady? It’s a weekend so Elektra won’t have to miss any school to attend. Please let me know as soon as possible if there are any problems.
This sounds like a fantastic project. It’s a costume drama set in rural Dorset (production details attached). A family faces challenges when the father goes off to fight. We’ve suggested Elektra for the role of Mary, the second oldest of four daughters. It’s a great role as you’ll see from the character scenes attached. Elektra should be very familiar with these scenes before the meeting.
Kind regards,
Stella
P.S. After an unfortunate incident involving one of our older clients, we’re reminding all our clients to make sure there is nothing inappropriate on their social media and to check their privacy settings.
‘Everyone in high school is starting to do “that” now. But not yet, not for me.’
Elle Fanning
Thank God it was Thursday. Thank God even more that it was five thirty and I could escape to ACT. Actually, it was only five thirteen, but I needed my fix. It had been a really bad day for a lot of reasons:
1. All the usual Thursday at school reasons (mostly timetable related; any day that starts with double maths is going to be a stretch for me).
2. The specific this Thursday at school reason (detention for losing both my English set texts which was harsh because I’m pretty sure that they’ll both turn up in the same place, probably the day after term ends).
3. A stupid argument with Moss over whether Torr should come with us to Starbucks after school. Obviously not, because a) they’d sit there wrapped round each other and I’d have to pretend not to be embarrassed by their PDAs and b) he would want to talk about politics in the Middle East.
4. An audition for a part I would have been perfect for was cancelled (second lead schoolgirl in a mystery set in a boarding school in the 1950s).
5. I’d had a row with my mum because I’d forgotten Granny Gwen’s birthday. This was completely unfair because a) how was I meant to remember without Mum reminding me which she says she did, but which she didn’t and b) Granny Gwen barely remembers my birthday (I get the same card with sparkly kittens on it every single year and I’m not entirely convinced it’s not a bereavement card).
So, even if Lens made us all spend the entire hour warming up to Britney, being at ACT was a guaranteed improvement on the rest of the day. I went to wait in the green room (which was painted yellow not green and which (always) smelled of salt and vinegar crisps and hairspray). Daisy was there, reading The Stage.
‘Did Stella put you up for Fortuneswell?’ I asked.
Daisy and me didn’t usually go to the same auditions because we looked so different. I was head and shoulders taller than her for starters. But Fortuneswell was looking for four girls. It was a new drama – well, the casting call said it was a new drama, but as far as I could see it was just Little Women set in Dorset, moved back a hundred years and with Perfect Pa going off to fight Napoleon instead of the Southern States. I was going up for the part of Mary (who was really just an olde English version of Jo: tall, bookish, gawky but with less good hair).
‘Yep, the Sophie part,’ she said.
The Sophie part was basically Beth. ‘Lucky – you’d get a death-bed scene.’ I wasn’t thrilled about corpse opportunities, but I did long for a really good death-bed scene. ‘Are you excited?’
‘Sure,’ she said and smiled, but she didn’t exactly sound excited. I was excited, not only because I still got tragically hyped about every audition (which is a triumph of hope over limited experience), but because even if it wasn’t a very original storyline it was a good one. Also there would be period costumes.
‘Are you off-book?’
She nodded. ‘Off-book’ was just a bit of jargon that meant you’d memorized all your lines (I got more of a thrill out of using jargon than was dignified). It was typical of Daisy to have the lines down days before the audition. It was typical of me that I would still be neurotically learning them the night before.
‘Stella put you up for the Straker role too, didn’t she?’ Daisy asked.
‘How do you know about Straker?’
‘Upside-down reading in Stella’s office,’ she confessed. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about it.’
I could trust Daisy. ‘What about you?’
‘No, I don’t look fifteen.’ That was true.
‘How did the meeting go?’
‘Not so well,’ I said and because she knew what it was like she didn’t ask me anything else. After multiple postponements, last week I’d finally had the first meeting with the casting director to read through the ‘eat the bugs’ scene. I’d been super excited (leaving aside the whole maggots angle), but it hadn’t been great. There’d been a conveyor belt of girls who all looked pretty much the same as me and I’d had about one and half minutes to give them my whole ‘I’m terrified but don’t want to die of starvation’ thing. I wasn’t optimistic.
‘Baby One More Time’ started to power through the (thin) walls. Class was starting.
Lens clapped his hands. ‘OK, gang, everyone’s here, you’re all warmed up and we’re going to do something a bit different with script work. So I need two volunteers.’
I stuck up my hand – might as well just unleash the keen. Script work was my favourite.
‘OK . . . Elektra and . . .’ He looked around the room. ‘Archie.’
Oh. Great. I mean, half of me genuinely thought that was great because, well, cheekbones. But the other half of me was in full flight mode. I needed to man up. This was a good thing. Tons of co-stars ended up together: Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis, Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield, Nicholas Hoult and Jennifer Lawrence (OK, maybe not ‘forever after’). My complex inner monologue was interrupted by Lens handing me a script.
‘Take five minutes to read it through and think about the characters. Let’s keep it old school – you play A, Elektra.’
Looking at the script, it took me less than one minute to start panicking and less than two to regret volunteering as tribute.
A
Babe, there’s something I need to tell you.
B
You look serious. What is it?
A
I don’t know how to start to tell you this . . . (long, emotional pause)
B
You’re scaring me. Something’s happened. What’s happened? (beat) Hey, don’t look like that – it can’t be that bad.
A
I’m pregnant. (further long, emotional pause)
B
Right.
A
Right? Right? That’s all you have to say?
B
I’m sorry, it’s just very (beat) unexpected.
A
Look, I know it’s early in our relationship, but . . .
B
But what? You want to keep it?
A
(beat) Yes. I think I do. (long, tense pause) You’ll stay? We can be some sort of family.
B
It’s a lot to take in.
A
I know, I know. But it’s a baby. Your baby is growing inside me. Feel my stomach. (B doesn’t move.) Feel it!
(B cups her pregnant belly.)
So, last week I had my first proper conversation with Archie (and yes, a thirteen-line text exchange counts) and this week he was going to be ‘cupping my pregnant belly’. This was not the kind of escalation I’d been planning in our relationship.
‘So, how this is going to work is that Elektra and Archie are going to try this scene however they want. There is some direction in the script – which I wrote by the way . . .’ Lens paused then sighed. ‘That pause was for a round of applause, but never mind. Then we’re all – yes, all of us so I’d really appreciate it if you’d put your phone down, Christian – going to give them more direction and we’re going to see how many different ways we can take this. The scene’s quite ambiguous so there are lots of possible interpretations.’
What was he talking about? The scene was really, really not ambiguous. That was the problem.
‘Right, let’s get going. Come up in front, our A and B.’
Archie and I made awkward eye contact. I was struggling to get into the mindset of a pregnant teen.
We gave it a go.
Me: (deadly serious to try and distract from my deadly serious levels of embarrassment) ‘Babe, there’s something I need to tell you.’
Archie looked at me, sweet and concerned. Focus, Elektra, focus – he’s a really good actor. He touched my arm – gently, reassuring me (no, reassuring A; either way it was nice). Once I’d passed the ‘I’m pregnant’ line and I hadn’t fainted or vomited (although that would have been very ‘method’), I started to relax into it. And making eye contact with Archie when Archie was B was easy. Every pause was without doubt ‘emotional’.
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