Chapter 6 #2
I get out of the car when we arrive on the lot and walk around the side of the building to a gated area, one that was empty when I did my audition but which is now completely transformed.
Most of these trailers were here yesterday when I came for my make-up test. But the key difference today is people – there are about three hundred more people, and a million times more chaos.
Everyone rushing around like we’re in a hospital emergency department, all talking into radios.
And I’ve seen versions of this before, sure, on advertising sets.
But it was never anything on this scale.
I hardly have time to catch my breath before I am beset by five feet ten inches of curly red hair, tortoiseshell glasses, and an expression so simultaneously enthusiastic and serious that it’s immediately jarring.
The man looks at me expectantly. I’m about to say something, but then he holds his hand up – talking into a microphone attached to his ear.
As if to tell me not to speak until he’s finished.
As ‘talent’, I might be high up on the call sheet, but as far as organisational pecking order goes I’m expected to just do as I’m told.
What kind of world have I walked into?
‘Lara,’ he says, finally. ‘Our star! It’s so delightful to meet you.’ He reaches out his hand and I take it. He starts shaking my hand so aggressively I am slightly worried he’s going to dislocate my elbow.
‘H-hello,’ I reply, so stunned by the last few seconds I can’t quite find words.
‘I’m David,’ he says, finishing the handshake. ‘The second assistant director. I’ll be looking after you today.’
‘Great—’ I start to reply, but he’s listening to something in his earpiece again.
‘Are you ready to head over?’ he says, and it takes me a second before I realise he’s talking to me. I nod and he speaks into his microphone, placing his hand gently on my elbow and steering me towards set.
‘Lara arrived,’ he says, with all the gusto of a military commander. ‘Lara en route to WHAM.’
Lara overwhelmed, I think.
‘S-sorry,’ I say, still stunned, as he starts moving me towards a giant crowd of people milling among the trailers, which have now been set up all across the car park. ‘What’s WHAM?’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘I forgot this was your first film. Wigs, Hair and Make-up. WHAM. We’ll get you to Make-up first. I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a time crunch this morning, so if you could keep pace that would be great.’
‘Sure,’ I reply, tripping over my own feet as I try to keep up with his pace. By the time we reach the make-up trailer, I’m sweating through my very thick wool jumper, which seemed like a good idea this morning but is not at all appropriate for the spring weather we’re having.
‘Lara at WHAM,’ he says, then turns back to me. I’m really going to have to get used to this hearing-other-people-talk-about-me-in-the-third-person thing. I’ve never heard my name spoken aloud so many times in such a short period.
‘I’ve heard such great things from Alessandro,’ he says in a tone so bright I can’t quite tell if it’s sincere. ‘I’m sure you’re going to be just brilliant.’ And then he practically launches me towards the steps of the trailer. When I look back to say goodbye, he’s already disappeared.
I open the door to the trailer. Which is, to my relief, empty both of Avi (though I know I have a later call time, I was suddenly worried he might still be in here having his sideburns attached or something) and anyone else it might be overwhelming to run into in my sleep-deprived and dazed state.
I am welcomed by Sarah, my make-up artist for the course of the film.
She did my test yesterday and seemed very friendly.
She settles me into my chair and starts rifling through the tray next to us, pulling out some instruments that look familiar to me now, but which looked like torture instruments yesterday.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asks, putting some cleanser on a cotton pad and starting to scrub my face.
‘I’m… fine,’ I say.
‘I saw you were with David,’ she replies, raising her eyebrows in the mirror conspiratorially. ‘Quite a character, that one.’
‘He’s certainly… energetic,’ I reply, searching for an adjective to describe the whirlwind I just experienced.
‘Between you and me, I think he’s on speed,’ she says, spreading some primer on my face, then pausing for a second to mix my foundation shade. I frown, wondering if she’s serious. ‘No one has that much energy. And being second AD is no joke.’
To try to prepare myself for what it would be like on a big film set, I’ve been doing a bit of research over the last few weeks: part Googling, part quizzing Nat.
I’ve read a lot of Reddit threads full of horror stories – of people being hit by cars on-set, of directors losing their minds, of actors putting up soothing posters of cornfields in their trailers to try to recover from the stress of filming between takes.
Eventually I stopped reading, determined not to psych myself out.
But what I did learn, which was useful, is that there’s a very clear hierarchy around David’s role.
Runners work at the bottom of the pile, getting coffee, looking after anyone and anything that needs attention on-set.
Then the second AD is basically the operations director for the runners, a role that requires your brain to be in several places at once, which perhaps explains David’s slightly manic energy and sudden disappearance.
And above that you have the first AD, who never leaves the director’s side and has creative input.
The roles are pretty much unconnected in terms of their requirements and interactions with one another, which is interesting – but it’s usually understood that once you’ve done your time as the organisational mastermind, you’ll progress to helping shape the creative vision.
However, there are no guarantees; sometimes people end up stalling at David’s level for years.
The top of the pile is the director – in this case, Alessandro.
The person running the show. The person I am more than a little nervous to see this morning.
We had a lovely phone call a week and a half ago in which we expanded on our shared vision for Amelia.
He wants to position her as a fresh female character for the modern world, someone to inspire the younger audience to know their own minds.
To be unafraid to express their opinions.
Exactly how I have always seen her too. It felt trippy and surreal at the time – a sense passing over me while I was talking to him that it wasn’t quite happening.
That I might blink and find myself fourteen again, reading the book and daydreaming about playing her in a film, rather than actually doing it.
But since then, we haven’t spoken.
And since then, I’ve had enough time to wonder if I might be in over my head.
A feeling that’s bubbling up right now, try as I might to keep it at bay. I pull at a loose thread on my sleeve. Sarah notices and pauses, foundation brush halfway to my face.
‘Nervous?’ she asks.
I let out a breath. ‘I’m… doing okay,’ I lie.
She reaches into her bag and for one horrible moment I think she’s about to give me a sedative or something.
But instead, she pulls out a small tin and I relax.
Bach’s Rescue pastilles. A herbal supplement my mum used to give me when I was too nervous to go to school.
The same one I took before my first audition for this part, weeks ago.
‘I give these to my daughter for her GCSE exams,’ she says. ‘Take them, if you want.’
And the gesture is so warm and maternal, so reminiscent of home, that I find myself incredibly moved. But I manage to pull myself together enough to take them out of her hand and slip them into my pocket.
‘Thank you,’ I reply and she winks at me, then goes back to applying my make-up.
About half an hour later, I’m transformed.
Pale foundation covering my face and neck.
Blush lightly dabbed on my cheeks. Rouge on my lips.
I look like myself, if I had been born three hundred years ago and had a better make-up routine.
Everything enhances my features in ways I’ve never had the skills to do myself.
But I can’t enjoy the effects for too long because David is already waiting outside to take me over to Hair.
‘You look stunning, my dear,’ he says to me, then takes my hand and leads me with a flourish to the next trailer – literally two metres away.
I could probably have managed the walk alone, but I’m beginning to learn that that’s not an option here – there are eyes on me at all times.
There’s David and a couple of other runners now too, a few metres behind him – ready to step in, in case he has to rush off.
I feel like I’m being stalked. If my stalkers were all very kind and overly attentive, and about five years younger than me.
‘Now, Lara, what can we order you for breakfast?’ he says, coming to a halt outside a door with the words ‘HAIR’ on it.
‘Sorry?’ I reply. I was expecting to wander over to the food table in the green room, like I usually do. Not have someone order me food. That feels like an extravagance I don’t know how to respond to.
‘We’ll have it waiting in your trailer,’ he says, ushering me towards the steps. ‘Lara at Hair,’ he barks, then looks at me like I’m a soldier who is about to disobey his command.
‘Uh…’ I say, panicking. Trying to think of an easy breakfast for them to source in the approximately three seconds I have before David launches me into this trailer.
‘Just some juice?’ I say. He nods to me, then clicks with his fingers to get the attention of one of the runners behind him, making me flinch and want to apologise to them.