star.” That set the producer off, when he refused to let her and Paul watch. Rehearsals were for the actors, not for the studio to show the director that he had better not sulk about the casting. When Fran barged in, he made everyone drop their scripts and do exercises. After thirty minutes of actors humming and tossing imaginary baseballs around the circle, she left in a huff. She had to—ever since the film festival, her main concern had been the budget: Time is money, Si .
Despite the squabble with Fran, h e had looked forward to working with his Julia. Ever since he read the underground classic Babylon in high school, he had lived with the antagonist Julia in his head—unscrupulous, as full of desire for revenge as of hunger for love, yet most actresses who had auditioned played her as plain evil, a standard-issue vamp. Not as someone born disfigured who begs and borrows her way to surgery that re-creates her as a beauty, a transformation from invisible to sought-after. A nice allegory for sudden fame, that.
A fter a five-minute break, Karen returned wan and mute, with only a shrug in response to his coaching.
She doesn’t trust me. She’s heard something since rehearsa l, or she’s afraid, thinks we’ve all discovered she’s a fraud.
That’s no secret: we ’re all frauds.
The lights burned down. Hot, still air, motes of dust hang -ing. Shouts. Gaffers and production assistants carried light cords and colored gels. Lunch break in fifteen minutes.
“ Julia,” he said.
At being called “Julia,” Karen’s mouth tightened and set.
“Karen. You’re the one who’s trapped here, if you don’t convince him. You lose everything. After all you’ve risked to erase Blake’s past and plant new memories while he thinks you’re help -ing him recover his old ones. Would Julia let that slip away?”
She shook her head, grabbed a handful of her hair in her fist. Swing gang crew watched through the doorway, laden with boxes. Waiting to start the next setup. He motioned for them to back up. They knew the rule: stay out of Karen’s eyeline during takes. He would have to fire one, or they’d think they could stop paying attention on set.
“I’m sorry,” said Karen. “I’ve never known how to say this line.”
She had a tremble to her lips, piercing yet sweet, like the tang of a raspberry bursting its velvet skin. Had something happened to her since that first day? Boyfriend trouble? Drugs? Had she spotted her first wrinkle?
Not that it took much to throw an actor off. Nothing to it, acting: just be willing to bare anything, from the psychic to the physical, without being able to see or censor it. Just trust the direct -or, a stranger, to settle for nothing less than your best work, to not let you underplay or go over the top. Actresses could expect matter-of-fact discussions of their breast size or perceived fuckability with regard to box-office draw.
“Let’s figure it out. Or d ’you want a break?” He leaned back and looked past her.
S he inclined toward him, tilted her head to catch his gaze. “I want to finish.”
She needs her audience of one, doesn’t she?
He was not sure yet what approach would work best with her, but his Indian side knew that the best way to calm a white person was to respond to him or her immediately, even if it meant making a mistake. White people would rather be lied to than feel ignored.
“O kay. You say this line to keep Blake from leaving. He’s been unpredictable, unreasonable, angry. He thinks he can dismiss you. If he shuts that door behind him, you’ll never see him again. He’ll never love you. ”
Ju st within their range of vision, Gunnar stifled a yawn and checked his phone.
Karen sighed, and her eyes grew cold.
Fucking hell. She’d almost been there. Karen had to simmer with vulnerability while almost managing to cover it up. Her need must come through subliminally. At least in his inter-pretation. Good actors could always surprise him.
“
Despite the squabble with Fran, h e had looked forward to working with his Julia. Ever since he read the underground classic Babylon in high school, he had lived with the antagonist Julia in his head—unscrupulous, as full of desire for revenge as of hunger for love, yet most actresses who had auditioned played her as plain evil, a standard-issue vamp. Not as someone born disfigured who begs and borrows her way to surgery that re-creates her as a beauty, a transformation from invisible to sought-after. A nice allegory for sudden fame, that.
A fter a five-minute break, Karen returned wan and mute, with only a shrug in response to his coaching.
She doesn’t trust me. She’s heard something since rehearsa l, or she’s afraid, thinks we’ve all discovered she’s a fraud.
That’s no secret: we ’re all frauds.
The lights burned down. Hot, still air, motes of dust hang -ing. Shouts. Gaffers and production assistants carried light cords and colored gels. Lunch break in fifteen minutes.
“ Julia,” he said.
At being called “Julia,” Karen’s mouth tightened and set.
“Karen. You’re the one who’s trapped here, if you don’t convince him. You lose everything. After all you’ve risked to erase Blake’s past and plant new memories while he thinks you’re help -ing him recover his old ones. Would Julia let that slip away?”
She shook her head, grabbed a handful of her hair in her fist. Swing gang crew watched through the doorway, laden with boxes. Waiting to start the next setup. He motioned for them to back up. They knew the rule: stay out of Karen’s eyeline during takes. He would have to fire one, or they’d think they could stop paying attention on set.
“I’m sorry,” said Karen. “I’ve never known how to say this line.”
She had a tremble to her lips, piercing yet sweet, like the tang of a raspberry bursting its velvet skin. Had something happened to her since that first day? Boyfriend trouble? Drugs? Had she spotted her first wrinkle?
Not that it took much to throw an actor off. Nothing to it, acting: just be willing to bare anything, from the psychic to the physical, without being able to see or censor it. Just trust the direct -or, a stranger, to settle for nothing less than your best work, to not let you underplay or go over the top. Actresses could expect matter-of-fact discussions of their breast size or perceived fuckability with regard to box-office draw.
“Let’s figure it out. Or d ’you want a break?” He leaned back and looked past her.
S he inclined toward him, tilted her head to catch his gaze. “I want to finish.”
She needs her audience of one, doesn’t she?
He was not sure yet what approach would work best with her, but his Indian side knew that the best way to calm a white person was to respond to him or her immediately, even if it meant making a mistake. White people would rather be lied to than feel ignored.
“O kay. You say this line to keep Blake from leaving. He’s been unpredictable, unreasonable, angry. He thinks he can dismiss you. If he shuts that door behind him, you’ll never see him again. He’ll never love you. ”
Ju st within their range of vision, Gunnar stifled a yawn and checked his phone.
Karen sighed, and her eyes grew cold.
Fucking hell. She’d almost been there. Karen had to simmer with vulnerability while almost managing to cover it up. Her need must come through subliminally. At least in his inter-pretation. Good actors could always surprise him.
“
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