"Are you okay, Troy?" Chris Nolan asked worriedly as soon as he saw me inside my trailer. "I was worried sick when I heard you were in the hospital. We can postpone this part of the shoot for a few months if you're unwell."
"Nah, I'm as good as I can be," I said assuredly in my Joker voice. "And remember, I am Frank, not Troy."
Chris sighed. "Back to being your character, huh? And Gary was boasting that he stomped that part out of you."
I cackled maniacally before licking my lips. "He tried." Then I got serious. "Before others start noticing your absence, I wanted to discuss one of today's scenes. The hospital one."
Chris nodded. "Of course. That scene is rather simple—for you, that is. You get out of the hospital and start walking toward the school bus parked right in front of it, all while the hospital blows up behind you. We've taken great care to make sure you won't be hurt, so you have nothing to worry about."
Initially, this scene was supposed to be shot near the beginning, when we were filming in Chicago. For reasons still unknown to me, the Chicago government didn't grant us the permit to blow up a real building there. I vividly remember they had originally used an abandoned building in Chicago for this particular scene, but somehow my presence had changed things.
Now, we were shooting the scene in Manchester instead, where an old abandoned office building was scheduled for demolition. The production team had painstakingly dressed up the place as a hospital, and it looked pretty convincing. There was just one thing I had to clarify with Chris.
"I had an idea for this scene." Seeing Chris's undivided attention, I explained further, "What if, when I'm walking out of the building that's blowing up behind me, I stop in my tracks in confusion? I turn around, only to realize the big explosion didn't happen. I take out the remote control from my pocket."
Here, I took out the remote that the production team had already included in my costume. And what a costume it was—I don't think I'm ever wearing a female nurse's outfit again.
Not thinking too much about it, I turned to face Chris before pressing the button. When nothing happened, I spread my arms in frustration before manically pressing the button a few more times.
"And then the bomb detonates," I said, taking a step back.
Chris looked contemplative as he murmured, "So, you want a cinematic pause between the time you first press the detonator and the time the actual blast happens—just so you can do a little improv in between. Did I get that right?"
"When you say it like that, it makes me look bad," I pointed out. "Didn't it look good to you?"
"It did," he conceded. "But think about it from my perspective. We have just one chance to nail this scene. If we make even a small mistake, we'll have to do it using CGI—something I don't want at all."
That was a fair reason for not doing it. The problem was that in the original version, Heath Ledger's improvisation made this scene iconic. Now I wanted to replicate that. The problem was, the bomb not detonating had been a coincidence in the original timeline—and you can't replicate a coincidence.
"It doesn't have to be a one-take, does it?" I asked.
"No," he shook his head. "We'll be recording it from multiple angles. All of our cameras will be trained on the blast, and then we'll edit them in post."
"Then what's the issue?" I asked. "I give you my word—I won't break character even if there's a real disaster on set. Just let me do this one."
Chris mulled it over silently before saying, "You haven't disappointed me till now. Out of everyone on set, I respect your dedication more than anyone else." He closed his eyes for a moment before nodding. "I'll talk to the stunt team and delay the blast by ten seconds. Is that acceptable to you?"
"It's perfect," I said gratefully, then adopted a serious demeanor. "Now shoo. Let me get ready for the scene."
"Ten minutes," he said before leaving my trailer.
(Break)
Aaron Eckhart was amazed to see Chris Nolan looking so uncoordinated on a set. Most of the scenes he'd shot with Chris had been nothing short of perfection, but it was strange to see this other side of the man.
"You look awfully tense today, Chris," Aaron pointed out. "Stress doesn't suit you."
Chris paused mid-step and took a deep breath. "Of course I'm stressed. Today is Joker's last day on set, and we're doing the film's most important scene—the one that flips the entire script on its head."
Aaron nodded in agreement, then reminded him, "But only in the second half. Right now, we have to focus on Joker and Harvey Dent's scene, so forget everything else. No one else will be at the top of their game if you're not."
Chris looked ready to argue, but thought better of it.
"You're right, Aaron. It's just that—we came very close to postponing today's shoot. Until yesterday, we didn't even know for sure if we'd be filming. And now that we are, everything has to be perfect."
"What happened?" Aaron asked, suddenly concerned. He had no idea the shoot had been at risk of being delayed. No one had told him anything.
Chris shook his head. "Can't tell you. NDA. Sorry."
"It's fine," Aaron waved it off and placed a hand on Chris's shoulder. "Didn't you say last week that we were under budget? Then what's the issue? As long as you're saving Warner money overall, they won't do shit to you. We both know that."
Chris chuckled. "You know, it's supposed to be my job to keep your mindset in check while filming—not the other way around."
"My pleasure," Aaron said, bowing theatrically.
Chris then motioned toward the bed Aaron was supposed to occupy. "Go and take your position. Try to get in your character's headspace. Frank will be out any moment now."
Ah. The mysterious Frank—infamous on set for different reasons. Half the people who had worked with him wanted nothing to do with him, like Maggie Gyllenhaal. The other half, like Christian Bale, couldn't praise Frank's acting genius enough. No one had neutral opinions about him—except maybe Aaron.
That's because Aaron hadn't had the pleasure of working with Frank up close until now. All their previous scenes had been with other actors, so he didn't know how to treat the recluse.
He was lost in that thought when he noticed someone standing in the corner of the room, muttering to himself. Aaron hadn't seen the man up close before, but the nurse's costume, combined with the grotesque makeup, suddenly made sense. Now he understood why so many of his co-actors had been hesitant to work with this guy.
"Hi," Aaron said, walking over and offering a hand. "I'm Aaron."
"No, you're Dent. And I'm the Joker. Let's practice our scene."
His voice was thick and raspy, his eyes bloodthirsty, and an ever-present smirk twisted on his lips. If Christian Bale hadn't already warned Aaron about Frank's behavior, he might have assumed the man had a serious problem with him. The worst part of it all was that he didn't shake Aaron's hand.
"I don't think you need practice," Aaron muttered under his breath, but took his position anyway—lying on the hospital bed. The right side of his face was dotted with small green tracking markers for CGI work later. As much as Nolan wanted to keep everything 100% practical, this part simply wasn't possible—he had no intention of burning off half Aaron's face.
Frank raised three fingers in the air, silently counted down to zero, and started the scene.
He stood across the room, seemingly lost in his own world, then began stalking toward the bed. He muttered something illegible under his breath as he reached over and propped the bed up.
Frank—no, the Joker—looked utterly menacing as he peeled off his surgical mask. A fake red wig sat atop his head, making the white-painted face, black-rimmed eyes, and carved red lips look even more sinister.
Aaron strained against his restraints, trying to reach him, but didn't get far—he was meant to be bound during this part of the scene.
"Hi," the Joker said, almost apologetically, before removing the wig and letting his green-dyed hair spill free. "You know, I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us, Harvey. When you and—"
The script clearly stated that the Joker remembered Rachel's name, so him skipping over it was a little frustrating to Aaron.
"RACHEL!" he shouted.
The Joker raised his hands in mock surrender and continued as if nothing had happened. "—Rachel were being abducted, I was sitting in Gordon's cage. I didn't rig those charges."
"Your men, your plan."
The Joker leaned forward gleefully. Aaron's heart rate spiked with every word, and he was this close to socking the other man in the jaw with everything he had. He didn't know what it was—but the infuriating smirk etched across that painted face was grating on his nerves.
"Do I look like a guy with a plan? I'm just a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it!"
His voice trembled with a perverse sort of pleasure that sent chills straight down Aaron's spine.
"The mob has plans. The cops have plans. Gordon's got plans. You know—they're schemers. Schemers trying to control their little worlds. I'm not a schemer. I try to show these schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are."
Then he leaned forward and forcefully took Aaron's hand in his own.
"So when I say that you and your girlfriend were nothing personal, you know I'm telling the truth. It's the schemers…"
Aaron forgot what he was supposed to do next.
Just moments ago, he'd been annoyed by this man sitting beside him. But now, watching Frank up close, he couldn't deny that the guy had something. Something dangerous and unpredictable. Small details—like tucking his wild green hair behind his ear, or grabbing Harvey's hand to assure him of his sincerity—spoke volumes about the level of nuance and thought Frank had poured into the role.
Or… maybe it all came naturally to him?
Aaron had heard that about method actors. Some got so deeply immersed in their characters that their actions weren't choices—they were instincts. Aaron had tried method acting once. It didn't suit him. But it clearly did wonders for Frank.
This was the kind of performance Aaron would pay to watch, over and over again, and still never tire of. It was the sort of performance actors learned from.
"Dent," the Joker snapped his fingers in front of Aaron's face, jolting him out of his daze. "It's your line."
Aaron blinked, thrown. He'd completely lost track of the scene.
"You've got just one line. Four words," Frank reminded him, twisting the knife a little. "Come on, it's not that hard."
"I'm sorry," Aaron said quickly. "Can we do it again? I lost the scene because of your intense performance."
The Joker huffed—still in character—and stepped back from the bed.
Aaron didn't like this guy. Not one bit.
What followed was an intense hour of rehearsal while the crew continued setting up the main shot. Aaron soon realized that Frank loved improvisation. He'd change lines, push buttons, try different tactics every time. Once, he ruffled Aaron's hair like a parent would to a child. Another time, he burst into fake crocodile tears just to unnerve him.
Each time, it worked.
And each time, Aaron's dislike for the man deepened.
So when Chris finally said, "Cut, print, check the gate," after the first official take, Aaron was genuinely surprised.
"That's it?" he asked aloud.
"Oh yes," Chris nodded. "You were fantastic. The rage you brought—that was exactly what we needed for this scene. Frank was on fire, as usual. So we don't need a retake. Unless you want one, Frank?"
Frank simply shook his head.
"Okay then. You can get changed, Aaron. You're done for the day. Frank, stay behind for the explosion scene. Everything's almost set. We'll begin in half an hour, hopefully."
Aaron got up from the bed uneasily, the anger inside him replaced now by something else—wonder. The Joker, no, Frank, who had spent the last hour giving him subtle but unnerving glances, had suddenly stopped acknowledging his existence altogether. He simply moved to a corner, leaned against the wall, and began muttering under his breath again.
Nolan didn't allow chairs on his set. Everyone stood while scenes were being reset.
Aaron turned to Christopher Nolan, who was momentarily free after overseeing the crew planting explosives across the set.
"Is that normal behavior for that Frank guy?" he asked hesitantly.
"No," Chris shook his head. "In a way, yes. But today… today, he took it to another level. I haven't seen that kind of fire in him before. The weight behind his words, the way he moved—it wasn't there the last time."
He paused, looked Aaron square in the eye.
"Mark my words, that guy is getting an Oscar next year."
Aaron chuckled. "Don't you mean he'll get nominated next year?"
"No," Chris said flatly, leaving no room for interpretation. Then he turned and walked off to continue his work.
Aaron was tempted to return to his trailer and peel out of the hospital gown he'd been wearing for hours—but something kept him rooted. Chris's words echoed in his mind. He wanted to see Frank's final scene. The way people talked about it, this was the scene of the movie.
It was a highly technical sequence, loaded with practical effects and carefully choreographed explosions. A stunt assistant nearby reassured Aaron that each explosion was rigged with multiple switches for safety—they'd only detonate if all were triggered simultaneously, minimizing the chance of mishaps.
"Action!"
The moment the word rang out, the energy on set shifted. Not just Frank—everyone was ready. This was the big one.
Frank, in character as the Joker, rubbed sanitizer on his hands and began strolling down the hospital corridor. When he reached the end, he pressed a button on the remote he carried.
Behind him, a series of massive explosions ripped through the hospital.
Frank kept walking, arms outstretched, swaying slightly, as if reveling in the chaos. Every step looked effortless, improvised—but it was perfectly timed. The stunt team behind the scenes worked in perfect sync, triggering charges with exact precision.
Outside the hospital now, Frank turned to face it, arms wide, eyes closed—waiting.
Nothing.
No final explosion.
He turned around, confused. Clicked the remote a few times. Still nothing.
He smacked it. Clicked again, and stomped his feet on the ground in a comical fashion, as if a child throwing a fit. This time, the big explosion went off. His body jolted with mock fear, then shifted into a delighted shiver of perverse pleasure.
Without missing a beat, he climbed onto the yellow school bus behind him. As it sped away, the hospital behind him collapsed in a thunderous, glorious heap.
"Wow," Aaron whispered, eyes wide.
He wasn't the only one. As soon as the director called cut, the crew erupted into cheers and applause. They'd nailed it on the first try. Just as planned.
Later, when Aaron returned to his trailer, he was surprised to find someone already waiting outside.
Frank.
He looked different now. The makeup was still there, but his manic grin was definitely gone now. He looked less like a psychopath and more like a man.
"What're you doing here?" Aaron asked, wary.
Frank shrugged. "Just wanted to apologize for earlier. I like playing the asshole, but I'm not one. I push buttons, but only because it gets the best out of my scene partners when the script calls for hate or fear. It's nothing personal." He echoed the words of his character.
Aaron was caught off guard—but genuinely moved.
"I won't hold a grudge," he said honestly.
Frank nodded. "Thanks."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Aaron called out. "Who are you?"
Frank didn't stop walking. "You'll find out one day."
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AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
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