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Chapter 43.5: The Eyes Have It
🕑 Added 2024-07-28 16:08:07 +0000 UTCChapter 43.5: The Eyes Have It
WB Offices London, UK. January 2009.
Goosebumps cascaded across the skin of my arm. Hair-raising fear - or perhaps disgust - burrowed and breached throughout my tense follicles. Was it just my imagination, or were botfly larvae actually bursting out of my pores in writhing waves?
An arm tugged me forward; I fought against it. Like an imperious dog struggling desperately within its harness, “No! You can’t do this to me. I won’t go! Please, I beg of yo - a million! I’ll transfer a million pounds into your account!” I barked and yelped. But it fell on deaf ears. Firm but slender fingers kept on yanking me forward, utterly unaffected despite how furiously I tossed my head back and forth. “Oh, the humanity!” No amount of chafing let me escape the confines of the collar around my throat. So what if it was metaphorical, and there wasn’t a physical reason my voice should sound so choked up?
Haven’t you ever heard of a psychosomatic response?
For anyone who truly knows me, they should understand just how horrifically dire my current situation must be. The only reason I’d ever crow and cry about being led away by an attractive older woman holding my leash would be because I just couldn’t hold in the celebratory tears.
But not like this… not like this.
No kinky sex for me - just stinky desk work. So, I dug in my heels. The rubber soles of my trainers loudly squeaked across the freshly mopped hardwood floor in the same attention grabbing high-pitched tone of a rape whistle. Yet nobody listened. They just stood by and watched with lingering side-eyes.
First red carpets, now redwood slats. Inch after inch of flooring following in the wake of my shrieking heels howled out the theme song of my personal misery.
“I. Don’t need. Your cash. Bas!” Every word out of her mouth, as she relentlessly tugged at me, was punctuated by another teardrop spilling down my cheek. “Ungh, merely your cooperation alone!”
Why all this trepidation? This hunghead shuffle to the gallows. Where was Fedex in all this hyperbolised horror? Was the end of her probation a premature evaluation?
The answer was obvious. Getting infested with flesh-eating insects, being manhandled like a mutt with a noose-tight lead around my neck, denying myself carnal fantasies, and even parading down the soul leeching red carpet. These were all things I’d rather be doing than another round of casting.
Fiona Weir had, by this point, remained a staple installation in the pre-production process of the Harry Potter films. Ever since her initial stint in Goblet, the casting director was eager to see me included in at least some of the hiring decisions of both major and minor characters alike.
Also known as my personal nightmare.
Foolish of me to expect Fiona to empathise with my plight, when she had the stone heart and iron stomach to so easily dismiss all those tail-wagging, puppy-dog-eyed hopefuls. “Fiona, please. You know I can’t bear it. When we were casting for the Durmstrang and Bauxbatons extras - it was one thing. I was so hopped up on hormones that I could ignore the devastation on those poor actors’ faces. Hiring for Luna Lovegood was so so much worse.” Foregone conclusion, though, it was. But this time, neither my bias nor JK Rowling’s insistence would serve as a security blanket.
“Need I remind you just how well that turned out? Let’s not pretend you had nothing to do with that decision either - I literally have the audition tapes in storage to prove it to you. Buck up! You’ve proven yourself to have valuable insight; and even if you weren’t a credited producer, I’d still have sought your advice.” Suffering from success. Who, but a narcissist of the highest calibre, would consider that an actual possibility? “Moreover, we’re not doing the usual walk-ins or callbacks today.”
“We’re not?” Hallelujah!
“You see, Bas, rare though it is, sometimes when a franchise, production, or even a director or leading star gets popular enough; we get a different stratum of people knocking on our doors. In the moviemaking business, there’s never a dearth of regular Joes lining up for bit parts. What is a novelty though, is when there’re big names passive-aggressively waving their headshots in our faces. In cases such as these, both the studio - and even me in an official capacity - need to pander to these stars a little bit.”
“So I’m guessing a simple ‘thanks, but no thanks’ ain’t gonna suffice?” Not exactly a lighthearted cameo, but similar enough to my own sniffing around when it came to properties I’d played small parts in. I understood the motivation of these other actors pulling their weight to get small parts in large productions. Sometimes it was for visibility, sometimes passion - whether self held or at the request of loved ones.
“Not if we’d prefer to maintain any sort of professional reputation. This entire industry is practically built on keeping the right relationships.” In my genuine opinion, filmmaking wasn’t unlike any other line of work. But I respected where Fiona was coming from. Network was network.
“Very well. So we’re, what? Letting someone down easy, and I’m the pretty faced distraction?”
“Quite the opposite. We’re on-boarding someone and you, dear boy, are the formality.” I’d stopped resisting a while back, so our approach to Fiona’s office was brisk, and just around a last corner. “It’s tedious, I know. But the reality is, when it comes down to it, we can’t just doff contemporaries off. Nor should you want to. Run some lines, turn up the charm, and make sure they feel like they earned the part rather than being handed it. That is most important.” With one hand on the knob of the door, she took her free hand and fixed my mussed lapel, before quickly entering. “Rachel! How lovely to see you again.”
“Fiona, there you are. Mwah!” Typical high-society cheek kiss greeting. You’d think the actress had been left alone, but our director David Yates was also there. Silently watching on with a polite smile. But the loneliness was evident to me in the stale air and twiddling thumbs.
At least he had the ever-reliable script supervisor near his shoulder to keep things from getting too awkward. I waved. Supes acknowledged with a quirk of her lip, and David mistook my intentions and happily waved back.
“And I didn’t come alone, either. Rachel, meet Bas. Bas, allow me to introduce you to the incomparable Rachel Weisz. She’s here to audition for the part of Andromeda Tonks.”
That’s… huh. My head tilted involuntarily as my eyes roamed. Normally, in a casting scenario, that’d be a major cause for concern. But I had enough manners and fortitude to keep my gaze from roving below her clavicle. Not that I had any intention of dipping lower to assess her appropriateness for the role. Milk pale skin, deep dark hair, similar general features, not to mention that brick-wide, steel-sharp jawline. Yeah, Rachel Weisz could totally pull off being Bellatrix’s sane, unharried sister.
“Do I have something in my teeth?” That may sound like an innocent question, but for those of us versed in English English it translates to: ‘Oi! The fuck’re you gawkin’ at?’
Quick, Bas! Think of something clever that absolves you of the misstep while simultaneously layering on flattery. “Oh! I’m sorry - it’s just… I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred times over - once for each time I’ve been glued watching The Mummy or Constantine. Hard to fathom, you’re actually here, got lost for a moment. Happens.” I punctuated my fake excuse with a shrug.
Feigning nonchalance wasn’t particularly difficult. But I realised that one of these days I wasn’t gonna be able to get away with it.
But today was not that day! God, I’m a great actor. “Dear, dear. Clearly, your notoriety is well earned.” Rachel smiled brightly enough that if there was something hiding in the gaps of her molars, I’d be able to spot it from the other end of the building.
I would have very much like to return it with my own saucy little grin, but Fiona was quick to curb that attempt when she snatched my cheek between her fingers and wiggled my face around. “Don’t fall for it. He pulls the same stunt on every woman with a five-year head start.”
“What in the world are you talking about? Rachel’s my age!”
“Ok, that clinches it. Now I know you’re lying, Bas Rhys.”
Thankfully, she was a good sport about it and we managed to run the scene where Harry arrives with a haggard Hagrid after escaping Voldemort. Script supervisor dutifully (if monotonously) filled in for the other speaking parts aside from Harry and Andromeda.
In full view of my counterpart, I shot a thumbs-up at the judges’ panel. “I’m not usually one to go for such minor roles, but my son is enamoured with the series so I couldn’t refuse.”
“If it’s any consolation, Andromeda also shows up right at the end in the final film, too. Closing out arguably one of, if not the most beloved franchises isn’t exactly something to scoff at.” Scene done, Rachel gathered up her belongings and made for the exit with Yates in tow.
“Well, that’s sorted. Now who do we hire that’ll convince the audience that they were charming enough to steal someone as attractive as her, from her wealthy, prestigious and historic family?” Because these are actual lines of thought casting crews have to envision. It’s all about ensuring that immersion.
“Is that a hint? Because I don’t think I have enough time to do a double role.”
“Hilarious.” I know, baby. “I was thinking more like a mister Darcy - ooh! Or maybe a Robin Hood type. I wonder what Cary Elwes is doing these days? I should ring up his agent.” Someone liked men in tights.
“Good luck with that. Seeing as that’s all you need me for, I think I’ll take the rest of the day off.” Nothing better in the corporate world than taking a 10 a.m. lunch.
“Not so fast. I’ll make more use of you. Did you honestly think I had you pop ‘round for five minutes’ worth of work?”
“Yes?” No.
Fiona didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she nodded at the script supervisor, who bent down and reached under the table, producing a box filled to the brim with profiles of young ginger girls. “Come along, grab a seat. You’re going to help me choose your own mother. Specifically, for the flashback scenes.”
Damn it! I knew this was a trap! “How does that make any sense? I don’t even share any scenes with her.” Seeing as how Harry wouldn’t be giving pep talks to the most tragically named children in the epilogue scene in this rendition of the story.
“Question neither the creative process nor my methods, Bas.” She kicked out the plastic folding chair propped opposite her and tapped impatiently on the box. “Mother’s have maternal instinct, I’m sure children have their own version of that particular sixth sens-”
“Like what? Some sort of umbilical sonar? Do you not hear how ridiculous that sounds? I’m an orphan, woman!” Absolutely, I’m playing that card. I really really don’t want to do this.
“All the more reason. Higher chance you’ll latch on to someone - definitely explains your proclivities.”
With a quivering lip, I cast one last glance down at the first profile at the top of the stack. Nearly blinding myself via the buck-toothed grin of a hopeful young girl. Internally, I lamented, feeling my resolve almost crumble at the sight. How was I supposed to judge these optimistic little faces without feeling like an utter son of a bitch?
One last ditch effort. “Hey Supes, what about your sprat? Never too early to get them started on their career.” Nepotism? You’re saying it wrong, it’s pronounced pragmatism.
“Barely out of toddling years, and the last time I brought him to set, Voldemort made him cry. Also, if it wasn’t already apparent, he is a boy.”
“No worries! Slap on a red wig, no one will be able to tell the difference.” I wonder how to get a hold of those special Hollywood growth hormones?
“Denied.”
“Stop stalling, Bas. Quicker we get through these, the quicker you can toss your producer cap and go back to being an actor.”
“Wait till my mother hears about this!” Felton would have every right to call me out for stealing his lines, but these two Cruella de Vils were robbing my innocence. Don’t they know Mrs Stephens was number one on my speed dia-? Nevermind; I just found my solution.
Comments
Kieran M
Thank you
Leafninja91
This was a great chapter. thank you so much.
David Karlsson
Her or Anita maybe for the resurrection stone scene? She opted to become an agent instead of actress after she found out how sleezy the business was iirc from the Japan POV hotel chapter. Though I'm not sure whether the Goblet of Fire scene for Lily was visible enough for the casting to be consistent, same with book 1 mirror. Or if they're only casting 10 year old Lily and perhaps a 15 year old for Snapes worst memory
Darkanlan
Using Mrs Stephens is a great choice. No better woman to grant the role to than the one he can actually relate to as a parent to him.
David Karlsson
Wonder if Bas gets to make any extra decisions on characterization as a producer? If Yates has bad takes like OtL and MC can improve things
