Chapter 123 – Rapid Progress
Wayne and production manager John chatted casually as they walked. Though the pre-shoot phase had been rocky, once filming began, Nicolas Cage truly lived up to his reputation as a genius.
That was a huge relief for the core team. While crew synergy couldn't be forged overnight, it could always be honed with time on set. But the actor's state—that was the soul of a film. And this particular movie was, after all, a pure one-man show centered entirely around Arthur.
"Wayne, we've got something special for you," Zack Snyder called out, walking over with Robert, both grinning like schoolboys. In Zack's hand was a metal film canister. "I'm willing to bet you'll love this."
The two of them beamed with pride, motioned toward the case… and then promptly walked away with it, without handing it over.
"What the hell was that?" Wayne muttered, utterly confused, turning to look at John.
The production manager chuckled and pointed after the pair. "That dance scene you did earlier—Zack probably took the footage to add some music or effects. When it's done, make sure to get me a copy. I want to keep it as a souvenir!"
Wayne could only sigh in exasperation. He hadn't expected them to have the time—or the audacity—to record that moment.
"Fine. Whatever makes them happy."
—
The crew's massive convoy rolled through the streets of New York. It was still early, so they thankfully avoided rush-hour traffic and made it back to the hotel without incident.
Once they arrived, Wayne specifically asked Nina to grab a few local newspapers from a nearby stand. He wanted to check if the morning incident had made any waves.
If any bold tabloid decided to paint Nicolas Cage as some kind of addict, the production could quickly become a magnet for endless scrutiny, not to mention official investigations.
Even Merrill Lynch's ever-silent insurance rep—who had been tagging along with the crew—might pull Warner's coverage on Cage. Without that insurance, the actors' union would raise hell, leading to a cascade of problems.
Back at the hotel, Nina diligently combed through all the tabloids she could get her hands on. Unsurprisingly, the incident was being sensationalized—but thankfully, nothing was too damaging. Most of the coverage painted it as a humorous "Hollywood-star-gets-robbed-in-NYC" kind of story.
That put Wayne's mind at ease. As long as the fallout remained manageable, he wasn't afraid of a little noise.
From a filmmaking standpoint, Wayne was extremely satisfied. Compared to his earlier, small-scale indie sets, Joker's large crew was far more professional. Every department—from camera to lighting to set design—ran smoother, and Wayne himself had matured as a director.
Even top-tier talent, once unimaginable to him, now surrounded him daily.
As per the initial shooting schedule, they spent two days completing all the scenes on that city block. Then, they moved into the interiors. After a few more days of shooting, with the crew getting increasingly comfortable, they dove into the more complex indoor sequences.
"Nicolas, you don't have superpowers. You don't have some hidden, cosmic force guiding you. And you never will—not in this film," Wayne said firmly.
The two of them were standing in a fully transformed apartment set in Lower Manhattan, now split into various sections by the props and scenic departments.
"This might be a DC character," Wayne continued, "but you need to forget that. Don't think of Arthur as a comic book figure. I want you to treat him like a real man—flesh and blood, emotions and trauma. Strip it all down."
What worried Wayne most wasn't Cage's acting ability, but whether he truly grasped this vision. Since Cage was the one breathing life into the role, his understanding of the director's vision was critical.
Once the props were finalized and camera angles confirmed, Wayne stepped away from the set's center, quietly retreating behind the monitor to observe Cage's performance from afar.
On screen, Arthur sat at one end of a desk, the other end occupied by a therapist.
"I just… I just feel like I'd be better off locked up in a hospital," Arthur said softly, eyes haunted, voice trembling.
The camera slowly pushed in, capturing the raw detail in Nicolas Cage's expression—every twitch, every hesitation, every flicker of suppressed emotion.
If the cameras hadn't still been rolling, Wayne would've applauded Cage's performance on the spot.
Across from him, the Black female therapist maintained a cold, unreadable expression.
"Have you ever wondered why you were locked up?"
"Cut! Good take. Get ready—we're moving into the next shot," Wayne called out. The two actors didn't move. The next scene continued seamlessly in the same location, though it would later be intercut with two of Arthur's imagined sequences during editing.
The makeup artist rushed over to do touch-ups on both Cage and the actress, while the clapperboard snapped shut again.
The camera rolled. Arthur suddenly burst into laughter. The therapist studied him silently.
"Why are you laughing?"
"I just thought of something funny."
With just those two lines exchanged, Robert shifted the focus, centering the frame on Nicolas Cage and the clock mounted behind him.
Wayne's face darkened immediately.
He didn't stop the scene, but simply let them finish.
"Cut! Take five. Nicolas, Kelly—you were both excellent. We'll run it again in a bit."
Wayne walked over to the wall clock behind Arthur and frowned.
"Zack," he barked, "get me a real clock. I want something that actually ticks—not this cheap, fake-looking prop!"
Zack Snyder pulled the clock off the wall, examined it, and looked like he was about to curse.
It was one of Warner Bros.' standard-issue props—made of painted plaster, good enough to use in background scenes but nowhere near convincing up close.
As Zack hurried off to find a replacement, Wayne rubbed his stubbled jaw and took a long, thoughtful look around the set.
That clock wasn't just a prop—it was a clue. A deliberately planted detail meant to raise a question: Is what you're seeing real?
Wayne's entire goal was to plant doubt. To subtly show that much of what the audience experiences is filtered through Arthur's fractured psyche.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, Zack came running back, new clock in hand.
Filming resumed smoothly. Ever since they'd transitioned to interior scenes, the crew had found its rhythm. By the time they reached the end of October, Wayne was pleasantly surprised to find they were more than a week ahead of schedule.
That progress was thanks to two things: a crew stacked with seasoned professionals, and a cast—especially Cage—hitting their stride. The early stumbling blocks had helped everyone find their groove.
Ever since the second week of shooting, Jonathan Keller had been making quiet, periodic visits to the set. He never disturbed anyone, just observed, then had private conversations with John.
Wayne knew full well what this meant—Keller had been watching the dailies. And since the only full footage copies were secured with the production manager, the message was clear:
If Keller wasn't giving notes, he was satisfied.
That, at least, meant the film wasn't disrupting DC's broader universe strategy.
While they focused on real-location shooting in New York, Wayne's secondary unit—occasionally led by Zack—captured background plates and inserts.
But the largest exterior sequences hadn't been touched yet. Those required street closures and full city permits. Everything had to be meticulously planned.
Wayne had just begun feeling confident that they might wrap location shooting early when trouble struck.
One of Warner Bros.' assigned assistant directors, Karen, got arrested by the NYPD!
While his absence didn't immediately paralyze the shoot—he was never particularly crucial—it threatened their ability to film the remaining street scenes. The New York City government was now considering terminating their location filming permits.
"What the hell happened this time?" Wayne's voice was laced with fury.
He had worked tirelessly to keep the crew on track. Sure, minor screwups happened, but nothing had ever disrupted production—or reached him—until now.
He had deliberately saved the complex city scenes for last. Especially the climactic sequences. Losing those would be devastating.
"Honestly, he didn't do much," John sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked utterly worn out. "He got rear-ended by a cab. Hit his face against the dashboard and panicked. Two cops came over to help him, and for some reason—looking suspicious as hell—he refused assistance and tried to walk away."
"That absolute idiot," the production manager suddenly growled, his temper finally boiling over.