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Saturday, April 24th, 1999 — La Compagnie Lagarde, Vauxhall, London
A caramel-skinned girl stood before me, she had a prominent cheek and brown eyes the size of saucers. But that was probably due to my overt attempts at making a conversation with her.
"When did you start dancing?"
"When I was three?" she replied, the end tilting upwards like she wasn't entirely sure.
"Which dance do you like most?"
"Ballet!" This time the answer came sharp and certain.
I pulled a face. This wasn't working. I needed better questions — open-ended ones, ones that actually got a person talking.
"Your accent… where are you from?"
"Dominica and St Lucia. Oh — but my accent's from Southend."
Brilliant. Open-ended questions were hard. Still, it was the longest string of words she'd managed since that flustered introduction.
"Have you been in any other musicals?"
"No, this is my first one. Mum's really excited."
"Aren't you?"
"Well…" She glanced down at her hands. "I'm excited too, but it's the first audition I've ever passed. She's over the moon, but I still don't believe it." She gave a small, awkward smile.
"I've done a hundred and forty-two auditions," I said idly,
"So many?" Her eyes somehow widened even further.
"Yes. Go on, guess how many I've actually booked."
"Umm… thirty?" She tried,
I burst out laughing. Thirty credits — even adults I'd worked with didn't have that many.
"Oh my god, is it more? Or less?" Nathalie flushed scarlet.
"No, sorry, it's just — that's loads. Thank you for the vote of confidence. But no, I've only ever booked four."
"Whoa, I haven't even done ten auditions yet." She remarked,
"Yeah, don't worry about booking now. Loads of people audition their whole lives without a single role. My agent said ten percent is good booking rate for established actors. One job for every ten auditions."
"Like me?"
"You're doing better than the average. Better than some actual stars," I said with a grin.
"Thanks… Are you also in The Lion King?" she asked, as politely as possible.
"Oh — no. They didn't like my face, too ugly for it." I said smiling, "I go to Gilles' classes."
"He employs Gilles," Georgie chimed in. I'd honestly forgotten she was still in the room.
"No, I don't. But I was his only student in London for a month or two. That's why she keeps saying that." I explained,
"He's really nice!" Nathalie said earnestly.
Georgie stepped back into the conversation and I had to wait, biting my tongue until I could ask more questions.
"I heard you're really good at dancing. Do you mind showing me later?"
Nathalie turned red again. Either I was catastrophically bad at small talk or she was simply this shy.
"Yes. I practise after I finish Georgie's class."
My ears pricked up. That class. The supposed advanced class. The one everyone thought she was in. It turned out that was just acting class, but here was another morsel of information. Maybe those kids hadn't been wrong after all. She's really training at a higher level.
"Can I join that class?" I asked Georgie.
"Oh, have you only remembered I exist because you want something?"
"Never mind, I'll ask Aurélie," I said, turning away.
"No!" Georgie grasped for me, "Yes. You already did the earlier class. But you can join the other one, I'll let Gilles know."
"What do you mean 'the other one'?" I asked,
"Cub Academy classes," Georgie explained.
More pointed questions followed before I finally pieced it together: Nathalie wasn't in any advanced class. She'd simply been moved to a different Cub Academy slot because Georgie was only free at the hour she was assigned to. The mystery dissolved into nothing, though I let it rattle around my head for a bit.
Still, I kept the questions coming — and to my relief, she kept answering.
—✦—
"Why don't you give Nathalie a bit of rest?" Georgie said, folding her arms.
"I don't think she needs rest. We've been sitting this whole time," I countered.
"Let the girl speak for herself." Georgie commanded,
"But—"
"No ifs, ands, or buts." Georgie jabbed a finger in my direction. "Now then, Nathalie — would you like to see how audition self-tapes are filmed? We can have him do one and we'll critique it together."
"Yes, please!" Nathalie said, her excitement bubbling over.
I suppose that was fine. I'd bothered Nathalie about a lot of things just as I did with Luke. My reward was largely useless information about Nathalie and her family. She was from Southend-on-Sea, which sane people just referred to as Southend, a small city east of London. As much as I called it a small city, it was probably bigger than Chester owing to its coastal nature. It was an hour or two's drive from London and her mother drove her to and from London every single day.
Just from that I could derive more information, such as Nathalie had really supportive parents, especially her Mum who sounded unemployed. That meant her family was well off too because she has been attending drama and dance classes since she was but a toddler. To add onto it, she was also in a private school which seemed to reinforce the theory even more. Though private schools could be really expensive like the King's School that me and Mum visited or decently affordable. But, I was sure that her family was more well of than mine.
Surprisingly, my revelations held little about her beyond a small role in Game of Thrones, where she played a handmaid and advisor to the Dragon Queen. From everything I'd heard today, it seemed she might have gone into a dance career afterward, or perhaps returned to musical theatre. Either way, my revelations self didn't know much about her. Still, the image forming in my mind was that of a worthy rival — someone who could actually push me forward.
It was time to show myself. A matador presents the red cloth to provoke the bull — in much the same way, I had to deliver a performance that would inflame her into taking me on. Our dance would be brutal, but we would emerge as Bull and Lioness. That was the legacy of the Three Lionesses, and it felt fitting, considering Nathalie was playing Nala — a lion cub — in the West End. Though, I'd need a better animal to represent me. Something to think about.
I ruffled through my rucksack to hand Georgie a copy of sides. I hadn't been able to pack my dancing shoes or much else; the bag was weighed down with papers and folders of creative material. The massive script for Great Expectations — production starting in two days — and two copies of every set of sides I'd prepared for my audition tapes.
"Here's one for Unbreakable, by M. Night Shyamalan."
"Sorry — by who?" Georgie blinked at me.
"You heard me. Don't ask me to repeat myself." I smirked.
"I think you've had a stroke in there or maybe I did."
"Har-har. You're being culturally insensitive. He's foreign, you know."
"Oh? I do like an exotic man. Especially one that writes, they see the world in a different way." Georgie teased.
"He's American. And he's the director of the film." I laughed.
"Directors too, they see the world in different colours," she grinned.
"Ughh. Here's your copy. We'll do the first scene I've highlighted."
"Have you got the tapes? We've not actually filmed anything with this one yet." Georgie tapped the ancient, bulky camera Gilles had bought from some production company that recently went bankrupt.
"Yep." I handed her a couple of Kodak Super 8 tapes.
It took us a while to set everything up — partly because the equipment was almost prehistoric, mostly because Georgie was taking her sweet time explaining every step of filming or auditioning to Nathalie.
"Stage is different to film and telly," Georgie said, adopting her 'teaching voice'. "Directors in theatre stay with you right up until opening night, so everything's done in person. But films? Half the time the director's in America or sunning themselves somewhere in Europe. They only get involved when filming starts, which is only the small part of making a movie. As far as you're concerned, the casting director does all the legwork — they'll film you with a camera like this one and send it off, or keep it until a decision's made."
I gave some rundowns of my own when Georgie deigned to include me. I had more experience auditioning for films and movies than even Georgie because she'd only decided to transition to the screen recently. Though, it was guaranteed she'd overtake me very soon. There were just way more roles for a young woman in her twenties than there were for child actors. Children were included reluctantly and avoided if possible due to British checks and balances imposed on employing a child actor.
Georgie then started to read the side, making sure to include Nathalie and explain as much as possible.
"At the top of the sides you'll see the breakdown," Georgie said, tapping the page. "It says Megan is the mother, David is the father, Jeremy is the son. These breakdowns can be really vague or really detailed. 'Eight to thirteen-year-old boy' for Jeremy, 'early forties' for both parents. No other information."
"What does this mean?" Nathalie pointed at a line.
"'Beat'. It just means a pause — you pause during a dialogue. Let the moment hold, it's a place that you can insert emotions or your own acting choice." Georgie nodded towards me. "Wilf, do you want to explain your process on how you're imagining these characters?"
I couldn't exactly say I was picturing Bruce Willis and Robin Wright. These drafts were so early the character names didn't even match what I knew from my revelations. Night — the director — had written a fresh new script while The Sixth Sense was in post-production. He didn't yet know he'd made a phenomenon as the movie wasn't released yet. As soon as it released Haley Joel Osment would become the biggest child actor in the world. I still kicked myself for missing the audition out of pure ignorance.
"I'm imagining someone bald with a kind face — sort of like Bruce Willis, who's in another movie of his that's about to release soon" I said carefully. "And the mum… I'm thinking of a blonde woman. Hard to describe exactly what she looks like. I'm more interested in her vibes. She is more colder than David, she is more distant. Like she's my mother but at the same time, not…" I explained,
"That's fine, Wilf." Georgie turned back to Nathalie. "Remember — you can use as much or as little imagination as you like when acting. You can even pull from your own life. For example, this father and mother roles, you could think of your own mum and dad. Goal is for you to perform at your best and that means you might like more imagination or less. It's very personal."
We went back and forth as I broke down the moments in the scene. This was the most important scene in the whole film for my character — and pretty important one even for David, who'd spent the entire movie denying he had superpowers. His son pushing him to the brink is what finally snaps him out of it and forces growth from everyone involved.
"You can be Meghan," Georgie said.
"But I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Nathalie said, worry apparent on her face.
"You don't have to. All you're doing is reading the lines. Wilf is the focus here — we just need to make sure he can deliver. This is important too: look him in the eye. Real conversation requires eye contact. Remember that."
"Okay." Nathalie straightened, a bit of resolve showing.
We tried nearly a dozen takes. My granddad even wandered in once to check on us. I usually didn't stay this long at Compagnie Lagarde. Georgie played my father, David, and she only needed two passes to find the emotional shape for the scene. Nathalie, meanwhile, struggled with her shorter section and was the reason for my struggle. I gave both her and Georgie as much detail as I could — where the camera would be positioned, how the reveal worked, how the tension should rise. The revelations helped, and I found that I could share certain details so long as I framed them as a personal interpretation.
Night's draft included explicit action beats. Scene started with David washing dishes as he talks with Megan. Afterwards he goes silent and looks back, stunned. Meghan then notices it, turns around and screams. Such simple words with no description of how the actor should act that out. An actor had to imagine the scene clearly, transform into their character and build the moment themselves. So I sold the revelation's knowledge as if it were just my own way of picturing the script coming to life.
"From the top," Georgie said.
I sat at the desk, the chair angled just right, the camera framing me at eye level from a medium distance. Georgie would have to shift angles halfway through — a technique she'd perfected in the last twenty attempts.
"Oh. Elijah Price came to visit me at the centre today." Nathalie read the line — wooden in her delivery.
"Jesus," Georgie muttered under her breath.
"He didn't do anything. He just told me his theory… It's sad when patients get like that. They lose reality." Nathalie continued, still more reading than acting.
"Jeremy, what the hell are you doing?" Georgie said, calm but with a low worry underneath.
That was my cue. I lifted my head, eyes distant, fingers inching towards the banana on the table.
"Ahh!" Nathalie yelped, trying for a gasp and a scream in one go.
Poor attempt and hilarious, I almost cracked but somehow kept it going. My method helped keep me grounded.
Much of the scene in the side I received was different from the film I'd watched in my mind. As much as the revelation allowed some revealing of information within the context of imagination, it clearly didn't want me to reveal the adjusted scenes in the finished film. So, I had to stick to the current draft.
"You don't believe," I said, tears already streaking down my cheeks. "I'll show you… You can't get hurt."
"Jeremy, did you load the gun?" Georgie asked with worry.
"Yes!" I cried, tightening my grip on the banana like it were cold gunmetal.
"Elijah was wrong," Georgie insisted.
"Sometimes when people are sick or hurt for a long time, like Elijah, their mind gets hurt too," Nathalie said.
My eyes flicked to her. You always look your scene partner in the eye — even if they're off-camera. It reads. Casting director can tell. Anyone could tell even if they couldn't pinpoint why it felt wrong.
"They start to think things that aren't true. He told me what he thought about your father. It isn't true," she added, a little better this time, but still too bland, too timid.
"I'll show you," I said, my banana's barrel lifting towards Georgie.
She shifted subtly left, lining herself up for the angle change she'd perfected. My banana tracked her like a real gun. She had to stop and think of a new method to disarm me.
"You know the story about the kid who almost drowned in the pool? That was me they were talking about. I almost died. That was me."
"You're lying!" I snapped.
"I'm not. I just didn't connect it," Georgie cut in sharply.
"Jeremy, your father was injured in college — you know that. You know all about that." Nathalie added.
I let my gaze slide back to Nathalie — fear first, then confusion, all genuine. My custom new method didn't have a name yet, but it always started with feeling. I imagined Jeremy — who would later be renamed Joseph — as a boy desperate for a strong father, a cool father. Someone extraordinary, someone special that he could brag about to his friends. David was a simple security guard, it wasn't enough for Jeremy. Also I imagined my own father: rough voice, wiry build, strong as an ox, softening to a kind guy when around me. All of it wove together, imagination, memories, creativity. My method gave birth to Jeremy. He was scared, confused and wanted so much to believe.
The tears kept coming, hot and constant. My breathing hitched into quick, shallow bursts — nearly hyperventilating.
"Don't do it. He'll die, Jeremy!" Nathalie cried out.
This time, I didn't look at her. My focus stayed fixed on Georgie — she was my father here. I had to shoot her! To prove that he was special!
"I'll just shoot him once." I negotiated,
"Jeremy, listen to what your mo—" Georgie cried,
I mimed cocking the banana with my thumb, my hands suddenly steady. My posture screamed that I was about to do it. Tensed shoulders, drawing my lips into a line, deep breath. Body language to indicate my decision, decision to pull the trigger.
"Don't be scared," I whispered, rising to my feet. I stepped sideways, slowly, deliberately.
Georgie adjusted the camera slightly. Capturing me unobstructed by either the desk or the chair.
Then she erupted — her voice loud, breaking, desperate. She was in the scene, fully. Pleading for her life. Pleading as if a real gun were pointed at her chest. She had to stop me from shooting her. Because she knew the bullet would kill her.
"—Jeremy! If you pull that trigger I'm going to leave! I'm going to go to New York!" Georgie tried in desperate attempt to talk me down,
I kept the banana trained on her, shifting my stance, licking dry lips — all done by instinct. My method meant surrendering to whatever the character's body would naturally do in that moment. Seeing me not react, Georgie tried again. She agreed with me.
"You're right… If you shoot me, that bullet is going to bounce off me and I won't get hurt… but then I'm going to go upstairs and pack. And then leave to New York," she warned.
Her voice tripped over some words or emphasised clearly in all the right places. If I hadn't already been deep in character, she'd have dragged me there by force. Acting was reacting. My father, who I respected was now threatening to leave me behind. My eyes watered again.
"Why?" I choked, my face twisting into something raw, ugly, helpless.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling so hard the banana wobbled. It wouldn't last after this scene.
"JEREMY!" Georgie yelled, sharp and hurried. "You're about to get into BIG trouble! I'm your FATHER, and I'm telling you to put that gun down right now, God DAMN it!"
She'd gone from logic, to emotion, to authority — logos, pathos and ethos. Three pillars of rhetoric employed by M Night, he was proving himself as a great writer. It just happened that ethos, the appeal to authority of the speaker was the only thing a boy like Jeremy would obey. He loved his father, he worshipped his father.
"One!…" Georgie counted,
My hands shook harder. But I kept my feet planted, ready to pull the trigger.
"Two…" Georgie counted, more slowly.
All my strength seemed to leave me in a breath. I threw the banana onto the table as if it was burning me.
Georgie stopped reading her part, she tracked me with the camera as I collapsed back against the wall. I slid down it slowly, the adrenaline draining out of me in waves. I wiped my tears with my jacket sleeves, still sniffling, still coming down from the scene. The camera stayed on me the entire time.
When I was steady enough, I looked up and murmured in a small and wounded tone:
"You didn't have to yell…" I blamed,
"Cut," Georgie said — then burst out laughing.
"How was that?" I asked, finally out of the storm of my method.
"Hold up," she said, fiddling with the massive camera.
I reflected on the scene. Usually, coming down from something that emotional required space — real space — a minute to breathe and scrape the character off my skin. This was the first time a camera had required to see the comedown as well. It made the whole thing feel strange, as if the performance wasn't finished when the scene ended but carried on in this blurry after-state. Something to think about for layered scenes in the future. And what if, later on, I had to play a character who was acting inside the story itself? That would be chaos to internalise. My method's weakness seemed to be with acting in layers. It made me smile, it was an obstacle to overcome, a problem to be solved.