-•✦--✦--✦•-
Hall scenes went by quickly and I was suddenly all smiles. Those scenes were fun to shoot because Dorothea messed up her continuity and we had to start from the top once.
"One-nil." I muttered under my breath as I passed her.
She glared at me so I gave her a smirk. Her only response was to look away in shame. That's right. I was ahead.
The halls inside had not gone through renovation as the outside of the Thoresby Hall had. Walls were torn, some were knocked down or were in process of getting knocked down. Dust from construction work seemed to hover in the air and covered everything.
"From 'After you Miss'."
I saw the marks on the floor and started to slide into Pip's skin. Dorothea's presence and the set design should help me dive into the character rather than be distracted by the construction zone. Time to get serious.
The massive double doors stood before me, Estella stepped aside to let me pass. Pip was a country bumpkin, a boy with no etiquette but that didn't mean I didn't know some genteel behaviour that any man should display.
"Erm — after you, Miss." I gestured to let her pass.
"Don't be ridiculous boy. I'm not going in." Dorothea scoffed.
I took off my hat and fidgeted with it in my hand. Gulping, I stepped forward and knocked on the thick wood of the massive door. Dorothea had her hands on her hips and looked at me in disdain before deigning to open the door for me. Though she made sure to get a barb in.
"Go on!" she grit out.
Stepping forward I opened the other door. Don't ask, it was for the camera rather than any sensibility on Pip's part.
"Steadicam!" Julian shouted.
There was a mark for me already on the ground, the one I had seen and practised with the day before. Pip had to be taken aback by the room but curious enough to explore it. Something I didn't need to act out, this room had been transformed within a day. Creepy mannequins wearing old dresses. Actual porcelain dolls in wedding dresses that even Dorothea in her current getup and sporting an evil grin could never surpass for creepiness factor. Old clocks, glass boxes, bronze statues, dirty mirrors. All seemed to say that they were abandoned for decades in here even though I knew it had arrived here a day ago.
I noticed all the clocks were stuck on eight forty. Pip in this specific moment didn't know why, so I only gave it a moment's glance before moving away.
No sound came from front or backwards, the set had gone silent. The audio had to be just right if we didn't need to re-record lines in a studio. Steadicam operator behind me seemed to stop walking so I started with the next part of my act. Everything was a cue for an actor.
Second camera came up to my side on the tracks. Julian had told me that I could interact with anything for the scene but to telegraph what I was going for to let the cameraman make snap judgements on filming the scene right. Pip the character I was putting on was interested in the jewellery box but I crushed that thought. Camera B was on my left and it demanded that I go left to right to stay in frame. I moved a picture frame on my left a bit then ran my fingers through the metal decoration. My fingers came up grey with dust. Camera on the track seemed to pan to get closer look, so I held my hands in the air to let him capture details as I rubbed my fingers. My hands then tested other things, makeup implements, broken and decaying, mirrors and decorations all dirty from disuse. My hands moved steadily in the air, letting the camera follow it before settling in front of the jewellery box. I opened it expecting to see the rich that Miss Havisham hoarded.
There was nothing inside.
Camera panned back to me, I masked a disappointed expression and looked to my right to make sure I was alone in the room. But my attention couldn't skip over a glass of perfume, something that Pip had never seen before. Even with all the dust over it, the object seemed to show the worksmanship that went into it. Glass was coloured and crystal-like, the cap on the bottle was made of silver and had exquisite craftsmanship. It was an object I was required to interact with. Something a smith's boy would be interested in. Something conveniently in place for the next event.
Squaring up myself perfectly on the mark, I rubbed at the perfume bottle even as the third camera rolled on the tracks to capture me just right. Once there were no more sounds again, I let my eyes wander away from the perfume bottle, noticing my reflection in the mirror.
I rubbed at the perfume again and glanced up to the mirror. Within the short moment I'd looked away, Charlotte had walked up behind me. Even knowing that she was to appear behind me, I was taken aback by her ghostly appearance. I froze seeing her and turned to her with a sharp intake of breath. Damn it, I'd almost missed the mark there because of a natural reaction of my own body.
"Who are you?" the living corpse before me asked.
"Pip, ma'am." I answered with as much etiquette as I could bring forth.
"Pip?" she repeated, her eyes dim.
She'd forgotten who was to visit today. But I doubted she even knew what world she was on. That expression, this decaying mansion. This woman was only going through with the motions of living for she had no joy left in her heart.
"Mr Pumblechook's boy." I reminded.
Her hands came up to touch my cheeks. As if testing if I was real.
"Sometimes I have sick fancies," she said absentmindedly, her mouth curled up but her eyes didn't follow.
I gulped, opened my mouth but shut it just as quickly. Dorothea's trick, wildly useful in portraying emotion.
"I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. So, please…" she said walking away from me.
Each of her words seemed to come out with a second of pause as if a ghost struggling to communicate with the mortal plane. Her steps were unsure and uneven but she got to the high-backed chair safely and sat down. Charlotte the actor was gone, in her place was Miss Havisham, a tragic woman.
"Play!" she said, her arms the only thing I could see from my vantage point. "Play… Play!" she demanded.
Her harsh word, whipping hand and snappy voice. I couldn't help but wince. Sister had beaten me all the time, that gesture and the tone of voice never meant anything good. It always meant a beating or worse, her verbal assaults. So, I started to play, only Pip was an orphan boy who'd never played with other children. Pip hardly knew any games, so I did the best impression of the children I'd seen playing about. My wrists went over each other, going up and down like a butterfly wing, I hopped up and down as if I was riding a horse. It looked something out of Monty Python when King Arthur rode into view, though I had no servant to bang two coconuts behind me.
"Hyahh," I shouted as I circled the room.
Ms. Havisham shook her head fiercely, "No… No!"
I stopped on a dime and looked up fearfully at her. Sister beat me when she said those words and unlike Ms Havisham, she looked a normal person. What would this ghoul-like figure do to me?
"Are you afraid of me?" she asked, her head tilting creepily to the side. Though her expression remained frozen.
"I'm afraid of not pleasing you. I should get into trouble with me sister, if you wouldn't favour me." I let out, revealing my secret task without any prodding.
It was better than the beating that sister would give me if Miss Havisham showed no favour.
"Fetch Estella." Ms Havisham commanded, as if I'd not spoken.
"She —" I started.
"Fetch her!" the command came again.
I turned around awkwardly and walked towards the exit where a camera captured me. At one side of the room, hidden from the main camera's view, the steadicam operator was curled up. My hands went up to grasp at my lapels, my eyes studied the ceilings and floor. Estella wasn't up there, but you had to play it up for the camera. A creak sounded behind one of the massive doors and I walked past it to see Estella hiding. Her face tried to assume the proud dignity that she often displayed, but she'd been caught redhanded eavesdropping.
"CUT!" Julian yelled out.
I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes just long enough for Pip to slip away. Not too far — but just enough for me to feel like Wilfred again.
"We'll check the monitors for continuity. Hold on." Julian announced.
"Not bad," Dorothea commented, casual as anything.
"You too," I said generously.
After all, I was winning. By the end of the day, Dorothea would have to swallow her pride and give me the respect I was due.
"Me? I was perfect." Dorothea scoffed.
"We had to restart your shot. I'd count that as a retake."
"It were the floor that stuck to my shoes. Merely an accident," Dorothea insisted, crisp vowels clashing with the excuse. She almost tripped over the sentence — rare for her. I was getting to her.
She still wasn't dropping Estella's lingo. Fine. I could speak in kind.
"Aye, and we'll be counting how many floor get stuck on yer shoes. Soon we'll be out of planks for the floor," I said in the bumpkin accent she hated so much.
If Julian called print on this shot, I'd pull ahead properly. Then I'd dismantle her, scene by scene, take after take. Let's see how her precious poise held up once the pressure mounted.
"Perfect. Charlotte, you've stood right on the mark. Your face is perfectly framed in the reflection of the mirror. We're printing," Julian said.
"Thank god, I was so worried," Charlotte beamed.
She looked like a princess who'd fallen face-first into a sack of flour — the complete opposite of the character she was portraying. It made me uneasy that she was the ghostly figure with a dead expression a minute back.
"Let's set up the card scene. Give us a few."
I wasn't looking forward to this. Wide shots, three characters, plenty of action, an overhead shot… and not enough cameras to get everything in one take. No chance of a one-take miracle. We'd have to repeat and repeat, each pass only catching some of the reactions. Minimum two attempts per scene — if we did it perfectly. And I had to do it perfectly to really show off to Dorothea. Theatre was famous for repeating a scene, I could deliver the exact same performance even with all the moving parts and multiple takes.
"Here's your sides." Kayla approached with two copies of the script.
"I don't need that," I said.
"No, thanks," Dorothea scoffed, exactly at the same moment.
It would've been a landmine if I'd taken my sides and she'd refused. It wouldn't count for our game, but everyone knew a proper actor stayed off-book. Still, as soon as we both rejected them, I secretly hoped Dorothea might flub a line or two. I glanced over — she looked infuriatingly confident. Maybe not. She'd been in too many productions to make a rookie mistake, and she hadn't been shooting before today. Surely, she would've spent her time memorising.
"Alright, follow me." Nicola, another AD, guided us over and sat us down on our marks.
"Have you played this game before?" Dorothea asked while camera crew fussed around us.
"Yes, with my grandparents. I wanted to make sure I knew the game."
"How do you like it?"
"It's random and involves no skill. Not my idea of fun."
"Since it's all luck, want to make another bet? Loser owes a reasonable wish to the winner." Dorothea smirked.
I only scoffed. This whole scene was designed for me to lose — my pile of cards laid out in an exact order to hammer home the gap between our characters: me the orphan, she the noble lady. She would win even if no skill existed in the competition. That was the point.
And knowing that, she still offered a bet. The nerve. The thing that really pissed me off was her hinting that I was stupid enough to take it.
Another evil smirk on her face. Could she be more annoying?
"Quiet on set!"
"Rolling. Speed."
"Slate!"
"Action!"
Overhead camera took shots while we "played", we performed the scene as written in the script even though no camera was recording us. Only the card game was being captured that time.
The second take, the cameras were running. One camera taking a master shot from a wide angle while two extra were sitting at angles to capture me and Dorothea from up close. Charlotte had no camera on her as any camera on her would be visible from the master shot.
"Beggared again." Estella said laughing.
I paid the taxes of two cards and Estella hit me back with a jack, frustrated I dropped the tax of one card. Fortunately, it happened to be another jack.
Smiling I said, "Two jacks, now we have to go to war."
Estella laughed and gave Ms Havisham a look. The look seemed to say, 'look how stupid he is'?
"He calls the knaves, jacks," Dorothea said, searching for approval from Ms Havisham.
I opened my mouth as the scene demanded, showing unfamiliarity and worry about offending Ms Havisham. She didn't answer either of us. Cards seemed to agree with Estella as she kept putting down face card after face card. I was out of cards, she'd won.
"Look at how coarse his hands are," Estella said in disgust, not even celebrating her win. She expected to win, she'd won at life by being born in a noble house.
Gathering the cards, I tried to hide my hands under it. Pip wouldn't be able to take the teasing and the shame.
"And what thick boots," Estella added.
I drew my feet in, so my boots were under my legs, invisible to her judging gaze from where she sat.
I was on the ground while she was sitting on a fancier yet disused chair. A shot composition to show our power imbalance and wealth disparity.
"You say nothing of her," Ms Havisham noted. "What do you think of her?"
I shook my head, embarrassed and shy to make a comment on her.
"Tell me in my ear," Ms Havisham said conspiratorially.
Unwilling to make her displeased, I stepped up beside her.
"Camera C. Tight angle, Camera B on Estella!"
I whispered into Ms Havisham's ear. Honesty was the best policy. When I said enough, Ms Havisham moved her head away to look at Estella. Her eyes twinkled, finally some life to her dim look.
"He thinks you are very proud and insulting," she immediately notified.
Pip didn't expect she'd reveal what I'd told in confidence, so I got a bit flustered. But then Miss Havisham continued, telling a complete lie.
"And very pretty." Ms Havisham finished.
That wasn't what I said! Flushing with anger at the accusation and my inability to speak against the words of a noble lady. I decided there was only one move I could make. The smile on Estella's face helped me say the words.
"I think I should like to go 'ome now." I let out.
"And never see her again? Though she is so pretty."
"I'm not sure I shouldn't like to see her again, but I should like to go 'ome now." I said in a childish tone.
"Come back after six days, you hear?" Ms Havisham told me.
"Yes, ma'am." I nodded.
"Estella, take him down. Give him something to eat, let him roam around."
"Wait for camera… Go!"
Estella stood up and grabbed me by my lapel to lead me away as if I was some dog.
"Cut! Pip, you missed your mark. We didn't have your shot, also try to whisper a bit louder so the boom mic can pick it up. I want more flushes too if you can swing it. Going again!"
"One all." Dorothea counted with a smile.
I brushed off her hand from my lapel. Now that she'd scored, she was counting our retakes. We went through the scene again.
"Cut! I want some movement, Pip. Step back and forth like you're holding in your pee. Show you're uncomfortable having your words bared in front of Estella. Two Havishams, keep doing what you're doing. Go again!" Julian said.
"Two, one." Dorothea reminded before the scene started.
I messed that one up because I looked more angry than flustered. Dorothea was getting under my nerves.
"Three, one."
…
"Four, one."
…
"Five, one." Dorothea giggled.
…
"Cut! Print it. Right, courtyard scenes next. Charlotte let's film your hanging scene while they're setting up the shots. We won't need more than one camera."
Finally it was over. Dorothea was messing with me and it was getting harder and harder to keep in character. I couldn't even give Dorothea the stink-eye for the shame I was feeling. I'd went from winning to being behind four points. Dorothea on the other hand had gotten exactly zero direction from Julian. She was killing it.
"Oh, you look positively like a beaten dog. Come." Dorothea moved in for a hug.
I stepped back as though she were a wet mouse someone had dropped in my direction.
"I won't hurt you… not yet." Dorothea smirked, "Let's walk over to the courtyard. I've heard Bruce has some dog food."
Who Bruce was, I had no idea. I kept quiet and trailed after her. Grip and gaffer crews darted about, rigging cameras and lighting. One camera was already rolling on a different set-up while the rest were being prepared.
I halted. Charlotte hung in the air with a noose around her neck, gently swaying.
The sight snapped me out of my sulk and straight into a different sort of worry. That shot looked dangerous — what if she was actually being hurt?
"CUT!" Julian shouted.
Charlotte — Miss Havisham moments ago — suddenly brightened.
"Someone get me off these cables," she commanded with a laugh.
Two crew came in with a step for her to stand on and unhooked her from the safety rigging hidden down her back. I let out a breath. Of course they'd done it safely. Still a bloody creepy thing to walk in on.
"Tear stick?" Kayla offered at my side.
"Erm—no, that's okay," I said, still distracted.
"Alright. We're set up already. Julian's coming over soon." She moved on.
I closed my eyes and settled into the scene. Anger needed to land on screen — sharp, relatable, enough movement to look volatile without alienating the audience. Pip had to be furious, but not so violent to turn away the cheering audience. He was the main character after all, he was who you rooted for. How to balance that?
"You know," Dorothea murmured beside me, "I thought you were better than this. But five retakes is… well, a bit tragic."
"Shush, I'm trying to prepare for my scene."
"Oh? Are you cross because you took five takes? Should I avoid mentioning it now?" Dorothea's tone was sweet poison.
I clamped my mouth shut. Anything I said would sound petty. She was winning — and she knew it. If she kept delivering flawless takes, my only chance to claw back at her would be during the dance duel. Then I could be the one with the cutting remarks.
"Three productions is too little practice; I can't blame you. Would you like some instruction? Like I gave you on your first day?" Dorothea asked, her voice almost sincere.
"No, thanks," I muttered.
"It's your funeral. Or hanging, as it were." She glanced towards Charlotte, still being unstrapped from the rig.
"Hey, Bruce," she said suddenly, her voice dripping charm.
"Oh, there you are, looking so pretty," came Bruce's reply — presumably Bruce, anyway.
I listened in and pieced it together: Bruce was head of the property department. One by one grip, gaffer, assistants and assorted crew drifted over to her, handing out compliments. Every single one called her Estella — a cold, distancing habit if you weren't in the middle of a take.
But they were all friendly with her. Far too friendly.
"Steve, how do you rig that?" Dorothea asked.
"Oh, this thing." Steve said laughing and went on to explain in simple terms.
I couldn't help but notice how Dorothea was paying full attention to the process. She even asked follow-up questions that showed she had real prior knowledge of the rigging. My eyes narrowed. I'd assumed she hung around set to gossip, but she was learning from every single person. In fact, she seemed to know the entire crew on a first-name basis. She'd made connections and friends. She was using them for lessons now, but later those connections could become something more. Who knew which among them would become a director one day and call up a nice girl they'd met before — a professional who never flubbed a line or messed up a take.
I gulped.
My brain worked to dissect the day's events. Dorothea had around the same number of lines as I did for today's scenes. She was also featured prominently in every shot, a pretty girl in a fancy dress — the future love interest of the main character. And except for when she slipped, which I now suspected was actually due to the floor, she hadn't failed once. She delivered every line, every emotion, without a single note from Julian. Meanwhile, he directed me endlessly, handing me notes one after another, and only ever commended the two women. I'd thought myself a much improved actor, but it turned out there was a great deal more to learn.
And Dorothea — I studied her again.
"Back to your marks," Kayla called from behind me.
A crew member whose name I didn't know scattered dried red leaves over the ground. They blew around, adding a burst of colour against the green moss on the stone wall of the building. From where the camera stood, this corner of the stable would look exceptional. Properly cinematic, even. The smashed window reflecting the overcast grey sky, the blue doors and faded blue gutters — all of it taking on the muted palette England was known for. Two cameras were ready on parallel tracks, set to follow as I walked along the wall. One for the close shot, one for the wider angle. A camera operator stood with a steadicam, prepared to get in close for the tightest shots. Every camera the production owned was in use; it was an important scene and a particularly difficult one to shoot.
"Estella and Pip, behind the doors," Kayla instructed.
I noticed Dorothea had a small costume change — a silk scarf draped over her arms. A crew member opened the doors, and we stepped into what must once have been a stable, judging from the smell. When the door shut behind us, the world fell instantly into darkness.
"I thought a country bumpkin like you would know how to play bumpkin," Dorothea mused.
Gritting my teeth, I stayed still, trying to summon Pip — the version of him who had just seen Miss Havisham. The snapshot system I'd been developing for my method. Strangely, Dorothea's remark brought up frustration that actually helped me settle into the scene.
"I've heard from Richie that you only got the job because you're Welsh. But he swears he's never seen you speak it. Is that true? Did you lie to get the role?" Dorothea asked. Even in the darkness, I could hear the accusation in her voice.
Who even was Richie? I had no idea. But she'd made friends with everyone on the production, I didn't even know the crew that had decorated the set. I turned towards her, ready to erupt. She was worse than the character she played — no wonder she'd landed the role. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd gone around badmouthing me too. Worst of all, I'd caused five retakes today. She'd beaten me in skill, and now she was attacking my integrity. My face burned. Casting had made a point of my Welsh heritage. It was possible — painfully possible — that I'd been hired for my birth rather than my talent.
I opened my mouth to say something I hadn't even thought through yet, but Julian called for quiet on set. The scene was about to start.
"Get behind me," Dorothea ordered.
Swallowing my anger, I tried to put Pip back on. But he wasn't there. My method wasn't responding. When the call for action came, I was still searching for him — his personality, his memories, the emotional imprint I used to transform into character. All gone. There was only Wilfred. A bitter boy, furious at losing to a girl.
"What are you doing?" Dorothea hissed at me. "Open the door."
My body seemed to move on its own. My mind was busy, shocked, still reeling from my failures — still searching for Pip.
I opened the door for her to pass. She was holding a tray of food and stepped quickly to get onto the set where three cameras and one steadicam sat waiting.
Wind blew in my face as I got out and followed her. Wilfred walked behind Estella. I was defeated, she'd unsettled me enough for me to fail at acting entirely. I accepted that our score would be six and one soon. Maybe I'd need as many as a hundred takes to get through whatever this was.
My leg kept on moving for some reason, coming up in front of my mark, which was the only space that the red leaves didn't mark. The only bare stone visible in the shot. Dorothea placed the tray of food right in front of the spot as if setting out a bowl for a dog. She walked off casually, without a word, without concern. She had won. I was so far beneath her that I didn't even warrant a barb.
Somewhere in losing my character, I'd forgotten to keep my hand on my jacket collar. My hands were in my trouser pockets. My mind snapped to awareness of my shoulders — raised slightly, burning with anger. I watched Dorothea leave, then my gaze fell to the food she had set out for me.
Leg of some animal, more bones and sinew than meat. Rotten too.
Brown bread so old it had turned to brick, the only thing keeping it from complete decay.
A beaten-up pitcher of brackish green water.
My anger boiled over, and somehow I channelled it into the scene. Pip returned to me, even though I hadn't been thinking of him at all.
The camera on the track closed in. Anger bubbled up, threatening to erupt. My nose flared, wrinkling as my eyes went cold. I moved to kick the tray of food, fit only for flies.
"Wait!" Julian called out right before I erupted.
It felt like steam was coming out of my ears, like a kettle whistling as my anger kept building up. Camera took ages to get back into the position.
"Camera B ready. Camera A ready. Go!"
Mount Vesuvius erupted. I made an ugly face as I kicked away at the food. The water splashed, the meat rolled across the ground, the metal tray and pitcher clanking as they went. I imagined Estella in their place — a girl so mean and unkind, a girl who'd treated me like dirt.
Wilfred had failed at today's competition.
In much the same way, Pip had failed at his task of earning Miss Havisham's favour. His sister would beat him for it.
Wilfred, meanwhile, would go back to his hotel room and admit that Dorothea was his superior.
I hit the wall with my fist. I didn't even feel the pain through the white-hot rage coursing through me. Reaching the end of the wall, I turned and walked beside the camera tracks. They followed, capturing the eruption of Mount Vesuvius for future archaeologists to study.
I kicked the wall with my steel‑toe boots. The kicks came quick and vicious, then settled into a rhythm. I tried to curse, but only the script's words came out.
"Beat. It. Out! Beat! It. Out!" I grunted, the rhythm of the lyrics matching the useless kicks and blows I was raining down on the wall.
"Old CLEM!" I shouted, driving my boot hard into the wall.
It was the stupid song Joe kept singing at the forge — the only entertainment Pip knew, the only culture he'd ever had. Miss Havisham was from another world entirely, and Estella had made that painfully clear.
Even through the rage, my toes throbbed. The pain snapped something back into place — reminded me of the scene, the one I'd been doing purely on instinct. Pain reminded me I'd forgotten something. Tears. I had to cry. I'd refused the tear stick because I was certain I could cry on cue.
My hands beat against the bricks and limestone; my legs lashed out one by one. Anger made the tears easy. They came at once, hot and spilling down my cheeks.
"Camera A get in position. Three, two, one. STOP!" Julian called in low volume.
There was no more Wilfred, beating at the wall. Pip stood there and looked up in sudden fear and shock. Pip took a step back. My memories helped to bring up the image of Charlotte who'd been hanging from a noose up there just five minutes earlier. I sniffled and wiped at my tears with my jacket sleeve.
There was nothing at where I was staring but Pip was supposed to see Ms Havisham hanging and then he'd see Estella once he'd wiped off his tears. Estella would stand there, taunting me with the chain of keys in her hand. She'd locked the gate and wasn't letting me leave. I imagined her evil smile again. The one that seemed to say she was better than me. No! One that knew she was superior to me.
My anger came back again, gritting my teeth I started to run after her ghostly image.
"CUT!" Julian called.
All my anger suddenly left me. Pip was gone and Wilfred was back in place. Stumbling, I came to a stop, even my head seemed to hurt from the jarring sensation of the character I was playing and the person that I was. The anger had seemingly been exhausted, I tried to summon it back. Anger felt better than the emptiness. But it was gone. My toe was hurting, my hand was hurting. I was an empty vessel with nothing to give.
"Jackpot! Print that." Julian laughed behind me. His hands resting on my shoulders proudly.
"Those tears, you can really squeeze them out when you want huh? Brilliant work kid, brilliant! I thought this scene would take ages to film, I haven't even called the kid playing Herbert on set. What a performance." Julian chuckled.
My gaze looked straight ahead as Julian's words faded into the background. Dorothea kept needling me, pricking me, prodding me. All those stings had built up within me for days until I'd erupted. But that eruption had somehow helped me nail the hardest scene in the movie in one take.
I wanted to thank Dorothea. I also wanted to scream at her. God knows, she deserved it both.