want. Saints, martyrs, the Passion . . . Or is there something else you want now?”
Thursday, May 25, 8 a.m. Day 4 of shooting.
Simon left Soundstage 12 for his meeting with John. The second-unit director stood a few hundred yards away, under a small stand of trees flanked by a hedge. John brandished a bullhorn at a crowd, and Nadia helped him herd stunt men for the first few action shots of the brawl scene; Simon would take over directing the dialogue portion tomorrow. The fight choreographer, a dimin-utive figure in a green track suit, spoke with two tall, thin men of equal height: Victor and his stunt double, Ricky. They had gotten it wrong, whatever Nadia had been teaching them, and she demonstrated again on Ricky.
She ran through the move slowly first, then took him down like a folding chair. She turned to Victor, explaining, then gestured to him as if to say, Now you try .
As Simon drew near, Ricky said, “Watch out, mate. She’s little but mighty!”
Nadia regarded him as though he were an insect and she had not decided whether to swat or crush him.
“No hard feelings, eh, love? Didn’t mean to undermine your authority.”
“Do you need me to show you again?” Leah unzipped the jacket of her track suit. Underneath she wore a white T-shirt that read “Napa Valley Jujitsu.”
“Not me, hon. I’m a natural.”
Simon did not stay to hear Nadia’s reply. He had met with John, who claimed she was incompetent. He could give no specifics, so Simon chalked it up to clashing personalities. On his way back to the soundstage, he would not have looked her way except that a strong Aussie tenor belted out an earnest, sugary song about how he hoped he “got it.” Some show tune or other . . . from A Chorus Line ? Simon turned. Ricky knelt at Nadia’s feet, arms spread and forehead creased, while heads swiveled.
A few crew members laughed, but Nadia appeared pleased by the serenade, as though she were indulging a prized student. Before the stunt double could sing the chorus a second time, she said, “Thank you, Ricky. That was very good. I wonder if you’re finished singing. You might want to snap out of it and get back to work.”
Ricky lurched to his feet and blinked, grinning at some inner vision of triumph. His smile faded as laughter rose around him.
As John restored order, Nadia met Simon’s eyes and nodded a greeting.
There was something fishy about Nadia, with her olive and her impromptu job interview behind security barriers at the film festival. Was she hiding something? Simon drew her aside.
“About this brawl scene,” he said. “Brian and I want a little extra focus on the two guys who’re going after Blake, so we thought we’d undercrank the bit with the tray of drinks and use lots of angles. What d’you think?”
His question made no sense. Some martial-arts pictures used undercranking, or fast motion, to speed up fight sequences, not to emphasize a particular element. But whatever answer she gave would be revealing.
Nadia blinked, shoulders suddenly tense. “Yes, if that’s what you want.”
She could have looked at him oddly because of the strange-ness of his question, but it was more like she had not understood him.
“Great. I look forward to seeing the dailies . So you think we should undercrank?”
“I’m sorry; I was wondering about the need to focus on the thugs who go after Blake. Was there a rewrite? I didn’t think they even had names in the script.”
“You know, you’re right. I must’ve got the scenes mixed up.”
She had given a decent answer without revealing whether she understood. Good enough—for now. He would quiz her on technique the next chance he got.
Chapter 5
Thursday, May 25, 11:45 a.m. Day 4 of shooting.
Karen would not look at Simon.
Everything had been fine for the first scene between Julia and Blake, the hero. And she had been aloof but professional during rehearsals—rehearsals Fran had wanted to attend “to sup-port my
Thursday, May 25, 8 a.m. Day 4 of shooting.
Simon left Soundstage 12 for his meeting with John. The second-unit director stood a few hundred yards away, under a small stand of trees flanked by a hedge. John brandished a bullhorn at a crowd, and Nadia helped him herd stunt men for the first few action shots of the brawl scene; Simon would take over directing the dialogue portion tomorrow. The fight choreographer, a dimin-utive figure in a green track suit, spoke with two tall, thin men of equal height: Victor and his stunt double, Ricky. They had gotten it wrong, whatever Nadia had been teaching them, and she demonstrated again on Ricky.
She ran through the move slowly first, then took him down like a folding chair. She turned to Victor, explaining, then gestured to him as if to say, Now you try .
As Simon drew near, Ricky said, “Watch out, mate. She’s little but mighty!”
Nadia regarded him as though he were an insect and she had not decided whether to swat or crush him.
“No hard feelings, eh, love? Didn’t mean to undermine your authority.”
“Do you need me to show you again?” Leah unzipped the jacket of her track suit. Underneath she wore a white T-shirt that read “Napa Valley Jujitsu.”
“Not me, hon. I’m a natural.”
Simon did not stay to hear Nadia’s reply. He had met with John, who claimed she was incompetent. He could give no specifics, so Simon chalked it up to clashing personalities. On his way back to the soundstage, he would not have looked her way except that a strong Aussie tenor belted out an earnest, sugary song about how he hoped he “got it.” Some show tune or other . . . from A Chorus Line ? Simon turned. Ricky knelt at Nadia’s feet, arms spread and forehead creased, while heads swiveled.
A few crew members laughed, but Nadia appeared pleased by the serenade, as though she were indulging a prized student. Before the stunt double could sing the chorus a second time, she said, “Thank you, Ricky. That was very good. I wonder if you’re finished singing. You might want to snap out of it and get back to work.”
Ricky lurched to his feet and blinked, grinning at some inner vision of triumph. His smile faded as laughter rose around him.
As John restored order, Nadia met Simon’s eyes and nodded a greeting.
There was something fishy about Nadia, with her olive and her impromptu job interview behind security barriers at the film festival. Was she hiding something? Simon drew her aside.
“About this brawl scene,” he said. “Brian and I want a little extra focus on the two guys who’re going after Blake, so we thought we’d undercrank the bit with the tray of drinks and use lots of angles. What d’you think?”
His question made no sense. Some martial-arts pictures used undercranking, or fast motion, to speed up fight sequences, not to emphasize a particular element. But whatever answer she gave would be revealing.
Nadia blinked, shoulders suddenly tense. “Yes, if that’s what you want.”
She could have looked at him oddly because of the strange-ness of his question, but it was more like she had not understood him.
“Great. I look forward to seeing the dailies . So you think we should undercrank?”
“I’m sorry; I was wondering about the need to focus on the thugs who go after Blake. Was there a rewrite? I didn’t think they even had names in the script.”
“You know, you’re right. I must’ve got the scenes mixed up.”
She had given a decent answer without revealing whether she understood. Good enough—for now. He would quiz her on technique the next chance he got.
Chapter 5
Thursday, May 25, 11:45 a.m. Day 4 of shooting.
Karen would not look at Simon.
Everything had been fine for the first scene between Julia and Blake, the hero. And she had been aloof but professional during rehearsals—rehearsals Fran had wanted to attend “to sup-port my
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