STS Ch-45

“I want to make a feature-length film for this year’s assignment,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I sat across from my film teacher. “I’ve got my own camera and sound equipment that I brought with me to Harvard, so that part shouldn’t be a problem.”

Mr. Gardner leaned back in his chair and inclined his head, considering me over the rim of his glasses. “Usually, students go for the two short films. Ever since this class started, only one student tried making a thirty-minute film instead of two ten-minute ones. And once it was done, even he regretted that decision.”

“No, sir,” I said, shaking my head. “You misunderstand. I don’t want to make just a student film. I want to make a full-length, two-hour commercial feature film, and then maybe sell it to a distributor if everything goes well.”

That finally did it. His eyebrows rose, and he straightened in his chair, clearly caught off guard by the turn the conversation had taken.

“What would it be about?” he asked.

“It’s a mix of science fiction and comedy,” I said. “The hook and main attraction would be time travel, but at the end of the day, it’s a coming-of-age story that shows the growth of the protagonist.”

He studied me with renewed interest, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk. “I’d love to hear more about it in detail later. But before that, do you have any idea what kind of budget you’d need to make a film of that length?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve secured funding, and it should be more than enough to make the film. And I can even get a loan if things go a little overboard.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched me closely, as if searching my face for some hint of exaggeration or dishonesty. After a few moments, he finally said, “Alright. What do you need from me, then?”

“I’d need a faculty advisor if I’m taking on a project this big,” I said. “Especially since I might have to hire outsiders to work as part of the crew.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Done. I’ll sign off on whatever you need to bring in an external crew, and I’ll officially supervise the project. Anything else?”

I nodded again, feeling my stomach tighten. This was the hardest request, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy to sell.

“I want this to be a VES project,” I began carefully. “I want the external crew to be as limited as possible. For that to happen, I want to hire my fellow VES students, not just from my year but from all four years. I know it’d be a huge commitment that could span the entire year, so I was wondering if it’d be possible to give the students who participate some leeway in their coursework.”

I already planned to hire film students from the university and fully intended to pay them. Still, a little extra incentive from a professor would go a long way in convincing people to commit.

Mr. Gardner fell silent, mulling it over. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

“I can’t allow that,” he said. “At least not that freely. How would I know who did how much work? Sure, they’d get practical experience working on a real movie, but as a teacher, it’d be difficult to quantify who contributed what. And what if the film isn’t finished by the end of the year?”

He raised some valid points, and I’d expected that. Naturally, I already had a solution.

“What if you served as a line producer on the film?” I offered. “I’ll pay for your expertise, of course. That way, you’d be able to see who’s doing how much work, and you could personally assess your students based on that.”

The line producer was the second most important role on a film set. They handled the day-to-day logistics and managed the details a director could easily overlook. If Mr. Gardner took on that position, it’d serve two purposes. First, he was an experienced filmmaker, and his guidance would be invaluable. Second, his involvement would give the project legitimacy. It’d become far easier to approach fellow VES students and ask them to commit to the production.

“I’ll have to read the script before I agree to anything,” he said after a moment. “You’ll also need to walk me through your plan. Your budget, your casting ideas, everything.”

“Of course,” I said. “I can bring you the script whenever you want, and we can go through it in detail, along with my production plans.”

“I’m free right now,” Mr. Gardner said suddenly. “Why don’t you narrate the story to me? Unless you’ve got another class to get to.”

“I’m free too,” I said, nodding.

We walked down the quiet hallway to his office. I started narrating the story as soon as we sat down. From the way he leaned forward and followed the characters from the very beginning, I knew I had him.

(Break)

“I told you I don’t care about you anymore!” Julie shouted, her voice echoing through the room. “You might be a big shot wherever you come from, and yes, I know I’m a simple girl, but that gives you no right to play with my emotions like that.”

Her voice trembled as she delivered the line, thick with emotion. Her chest rose and fell as she drew in deep breaths, the outburst clearly draining her. What left me speechless, though, was her face. Every trace of betrayal was written there. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and there was an indescribable pain in them that pierced straight through me.

She turned away sharply and walked in the opposite direction, her footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.

“And scene!” a middle-aged woman announced, clapping her hands together. “That was wonderful, Julie. Absolutely out of this world.”

Julie looked exhausted but satisfied as she caught her breath. “Thank you, Pam.”

Mrs. Pamela Thacker, or Pam, as she insisted we all call her, was one of the drama instructors at Harvard. Even though I didn’t plan to major in drama, there was no harm in taking a few classes. After all, despite my interest in filmmaking, I had no intention of giving up on acting any time soon. I wasn’t surprised to see Julie enrolled in the same course. She was a far better actor than I was, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy at her effortless, natural talent.

“That was some of the finest acting I’ve seen from you, Julie,” I said honestly as she returned to her seat beside me. “You have improved a lot since The Blue Lagoon.”

“Thank you,” she said with a bright, satisfied smile. “Now it’s your turn, I guess.”

I glanced at Pam, who was already watching me with an expectant expression. I stood and walked to the center of the room. Seeing the judging faces of my fellow actors beside me, I felt a little nervous, but then I stomped it down and focused back on my teacher.

“Noah,” she said, “your theme for today is this: You’ve just come home from work and discover that your wife is cheating on you with your best friend. Take two minutes to think about it, and decide how far you want to take the scene before you begin.”

The exercise for the day was improvisation. Pam gave each of us a scenario, and we had to build a scene around it using nothing but our imagination.

I immediately started constructing a backstory for my character. Let’s call him Tom.

Tom was a blue-collar worker. A carpenter felt right. Dad had been one, and I knew the rhythm of that life well. Tom came home after a long, exhausting day, only to find his wife, Lindsay, in bed with his best friend, Jeff.

Once I’d worked out a few more details, I gave Pam a small nod to signal that I was ready, and I began.

“Honey, I’m home,” I said cheerfully. “Is Jeff here? I saw his car in the drive…”

I stopped mid-sentence, as if I’d just opened the front door. My gaze locked onto an invisible point in front of me, where the two of them were supposedly scrambling to get dressed.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I shouted, my voice rising. “No, no, no. This is exactly what it looks like. In what other scenario would my wife be naked in my bed with my best friend? You cheating piece of shit.”

I stepped forward and grabbed imaginary Jeff by the collar, my hand clenched tight around his neck. “And you, Jeff? How could you do this to me? I considered you my brother, for Christ’s sake.”

My voice cracked as I released him and let the emotion take over. A sob escaped before I forced myself to breathe. I turned away and stormed toward the exit, then stopped halfway.

“Don’t you fucking dare block my path, you slut,” I yelled furiously, my voice coming out as a hiss. “I’m leaving, and by the time I get back, you’d better be at your parents’ house. I want a divorce.”

“And scene!” Pam called out before I could go any further. “That was a great scene, Noah.”

“Thank you,” I said, nodding at her, immediately getting back to my normal demeanor.

“However,” she added, her tone thoughtful, “I couldn’t help feeling like you were treating it as a movie scene.”

I blinked a couple of times. Was I really that obvious? Theater had never felt like my medium. Even while performing, I’d been imagining it as a scene for the camera.

“What gave me away?” I asked, genuinely curious.

She laughed. “You were thinking about camera blocking, weren’t you? I could see the exact moments where a screen actor would be careful about where not to look, but still keep facing. You even had specific spots you kept returning to.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. She was good.

Her expression hardened as she continued. “While it’s good that you’re aware of camera spots, we’re practicing for the stage right now. Remember, the stage is where real actors are made, while the camera is for stars, not actors. I want all my students to be stage actors first and foremost before trying anything else. That’s always the superior medium.”

I didn’t agree with her, but I didn’t argue either. From what I’d learned during my lessons with Michelle, most acting teachers who’d trained on stage took it personally if anyone suggested that film was a better storytelling medium. Stage plays were seen by very few people and were usually limited to a single location. Even when a production toured, it often featured different actors playing the same roles in different cities.

Take my new neighbor, Al Pacino, for example, one of the greatest actors of all time. If he delivered a phenomenal stage performance in New York, how would someone in London, Sydney, or Rome ever see it? Even closer to home, how would someone in Boston watch it without traveling to New York? That same Al Pacino could give an equally powerful, performance on camera. With retakes and careful framing, that performance could be even better than the stage one, and will be preserved and shared with audiences all over the world, not just a few people sitting in a theater.

“That said,” Pam continued, her tone softening, “your performance overall was good. I think you’d have done even better with more time to prepare, or if the scene hadn’t involved multiple characters. That one’s on me, though, for giving you such a scenario.”

I gave her a short nod and returned to my seat as the class moved on. Oddly enough, I was learning more here than I was in my filmmaking class. Acting wasn’t as technical as filmmaking, and everyone had their own way of stepping into a character.

When the class ended, Julie and I stood and quickly approached the other students before anyone could leave. Like the filmmaking course, this class was small, with fewer than twenty students. Acting demanded a more personal approach from the instructor, so a bigger class will defeat the purpose.

“Hey, guys,” I called out, raising my voice just enough to catch everyone’s attention. Thankfully, no one had left yet.

“What’s up, man?” one of the guys said, bumping fists with me. “You were great today.”

“Thanks, man,” I said with a grateful nod. “You were great too. All of you were. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve got an opportunity I think you shouldn’t miss.”

“And what is that?” a girl asked, folding her arms with interest.

I took a deep breath before starting my pitch. “I’m making a film that’ll begin production in less than a month, and I’ll need actors for it. It’s not just a student film. It’s a full-length feature with funding. I’ll even pay you guys a fixed daily rate if you’re selected for a role.”

That did the trick. The moment I mentioned money, most of them visibly perked up, exchanging quick glances with one another.

“Wait, you’re serious?” the same guy from earlier asked, clearly confused. “You’ll actually pay us to be in a movie when most of us would do it for free, just for the experience?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I want proper contracts signed to make everything official.”

I’d thought this through carefully. Background actors with no lines wouldn’t be paid, but anyone with a speaking role would be compensated and required to sign a contract. That way, no one could derail the production by walking away halfway through. If pay was not involved, no one would sign anything. At least I wouldn’t have.

“Alright, man,” he said with a grin, nodding. “I’m in. When are the auditions?”

“This weekend,” I said, then gestured toward the girl standing beside me. “Julie and I will be playing the lead roles, so only supporting roles are available. I won’t be handing out the script yet. Auditions start at eight on Saturday morning. Anyone can audition, not just drama students, so if you’ve got friends interested in acting in a movie, tell them to come by. Though non-drama students will need to prepare a two-minute contemporary monologue of their choice before we give them the lines for the audition.”

I handed out flyers to the rest of the class and answered a few more questions before heading out, with Julie just a step behind me.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this with me,” I said, genuinely grateful.

She waved it off. “Of course. Who else would let me play the lead in a movie while still attending my classes? And haven’t you heard? If you keep your directors happy, they’ll give you more chances to make movies with them.”

She rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to my lips.

I laughed softly. “True. You make me very happy.”

We walked through Harvard Yard for a full minute, quietly observing the students passing by. At some point, without even realizing it, I’d grown used to this place, and I was loving every moment of it.

“So,” Julie said casually, “you’ve got your crew?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. But it’s only Monday. I’ll have it sorted before Saturday. I need people to help run the auditions.”

“You’d better move fast,” Julie said with a hint of warning. “I’ve already put the flyer up on my dorm notice board and told all my friends. A lot of people are interested, especially since it’s a paid gig.”

“I’ll handle it,” I assured her. “If it comes down to it, I’ll ask Peter and Ash to drive here and help me out.”

Peter and Ash were the two friends I could trust blindly. I knew that the moment I asked them to come here for anything, they would.