AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I think back to the time when Sarah was nothing more than one of Cory’s famous friends he brought on as my acting coach. Before I knew the stakes of this movie.
“The key to acting is not acting,” I repeat her words back.
“Don’t be the character. Let the character wear you.”
Before this moment, I didn’t understand what this meant. I thought it was like a lot of mythical sayings, like ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it too’: no one really understood what it meant, but we all went along with it because we didn’t want to look stupid. But after ten failures in which I’ve been trying my hardest to put my feet in the character’s shoes, I get it. I’ve been going about it the wrong way.
“Let her be me,” I parrot back.
Sarah nods at me, backs away, and soon we're ready to roll again.
This time, I close my eyes before someone Cory has had stand in for him calls for the cameras to start another take. I imagine my soul leaving my body while the soul of the character inhibits my shell. She becomes me, with all her experiences, personal truths, and convictions.
This time, instead of trying to remember the lines and read them off the teleprompter in my head, I just react the way my character would. I’m not sure if I hit the lines word for word, but Cory’s stand-in doesn’t stop the scene. We keep going, making it to the part where the car battery’s clamped to my legs. It’s at this point, when I have to convulse as though I’m in unbearable pain, that I wonder what this will look like on the big screen.
Covered in muck and oil. Wearing nothing but panties soaked through with the muddy water coating the floor. My nipples clear through my tank top. Even the lighting is unflattering. This is how audiences will remember me for years to come: disgusting to the point of being a turn off for men, despite how close I am to being completely nude.
This thought leads to a break in focus. The cameras stop. The scene is reset. And I have to remind myself to let go of myself.
In the next take, I nail it.
My lines are spot on. I pull off the torture scene. The monologue and its accompanying tears. Even the laughter at the end is convincing. When a voice calls for us to cut, I get ready to stand, sure that we’re done. My thoughts are already on the shower that needs to happen posthaste.
“One more time from the top,” the stand-in director then calls out.
While I should be feeling relief that I got through the whole scene once, and that it felt good to me, all that’s flowing through my blood is resentment. Not just that I’m being made to go through these actions yet again, but that Cory didn’t even see me absolutely crush this scene. Even now, he still hasn’t returned.
Once more, I get through all the tears, lines and laughs. I feel more tired this time around, and I’m not sure I hit the same emotional peaks I did earlier, but it felt okay at least.
“One more time,” th
e stand-in director calls out yet again. He’s someone I don’t recognize. Maybe he was here working in the shadows the last time I came on set for filming. And while he might be absolutely amazing at this, he’s not Cory. “Can you give me a little longer laugh this time around?” he asks after stooping down to talk to me.
“Where’s Cory?” I ask instead of answering him.
“Not sure. Said he had to run off and check something out.”
“He left the studio?”
The stand-in gives a non-committal answer. Then he stands, hefting his heavy belly up. “Longer laugh,” he says. “Ready to go again?”
I nod, because I can’t speak. I’m just so fucking furious with Cory right now. I can only imagine that whatever has dragged him away has to do with the moving company or some paperwork that needs to be completed. But what could be more important than helping me get through this scene right now?
Déjà vu passes over me as I think back to the day I gave birth to Lizzie. Although I’m not in any pain now, I’m pushing through something I wish I could just skip over while uncomfortably naked in front of a whole lot of people I don’t know on a first-name basis. Most importantly, I’m without Cory when I most need him by my side.
We get through the scene once more. The lines are engraving themselves in my memory, which should be a good thing, but to my ears the delivery is sounding less and less authentic each time the words pass through my lips. I make a point to really lay on the maniacal laughter at the end of this scene. In fact, I drag it on and on, waiting for the new director to stop me, but he lets it on until I finally decide to stop.
“Great,” he calls out, which I take to mean I can finally get that shower. Then he says, “This time, I want you to take the scene in your own direction.”
“What?”
“If you’ve got any lines you want to ad-lib, this is your chance.”
Somehow I’ve been put even more on the spot, which should be impossible. Not only do I have to go through this scene one more time, but now I have to be creative with it. If I just go through the exact same lines, the crew might see that my talent doesn’t actually extend beyond the script. So I’m furiously running through possible things I can add to this scene when the director calls for the crew to fall into silence.
“Action,” he calls out, and I’m back at it.
The first ninety percent of the scene, I add nothing new. It’s exactly the same as the past few times I’ve done it. Same tears. Same screams. Same lines. I’m getting to the end when I fall back into my own shoes. Instead of thinking like the character, I’m wondering why Cory has left me. Why he can’t seem to commit to my life in the same way I’ve committed to his. I’ve come all this way out to California, uprooting mine and my daughter’s life, while he can’t even say that he loves me. Or talk to Lizzie about the revelation I let slip last night.
