บท 257: Extras
Renly looked around, trying to find a place to sit down and slowly flip through the script. However, this was clearly not an easy task.
Burbank's film set was divided into company zones, each with its corresponding cafes and restaurants serving the crew, making the positions within highly sought after. However, Universal Pictures was different; fundamentally, it was a tourist attraction with no complete segregation of visitor areas. Thus, there was no designated public rest area near the studio.
Within Renly's current line of sight stretched a straight road, flanked by props and crates covered with gray waterproof sheets. White lines marked parking areas, but at the moment, it was all empty. There wasn't even a spot to stand and shield oneself from the sun, let alone sit and rest.
Of course, for those top-tier celebrities, they could demand luxurious trailers and rest comfortably inside, not having to worry about being observed or exposed to the sun.
Clearly, this was what the prankster hoped for: caught in a dilemma. Going back might disrupt the shooting, while staying put would be just as awkward. Renly found himself in an incredibly awkward position.
Regardless of the mastermind behind this prank, Renly had to admit, it was a shrewd move.
Nathan opened the back door of the car and took out the script from his bag. But after some consideration, his indignation couldn't be quelled. Why would someone target Renly like this? Why would someone want to play this prank? And why did Renly seem entirely unbothered?
"Renly! I think we should tell Andy about this!" The more Nathan thought about it, the angrier he became, yet he didn't know how to handle the situation. His first instinct was to seek help from Andy. He pulled out the script and slammed the back door shut, but the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
He watched as Renly casually sat on the hood of a car, tilting his head slightly back, basking in the gentle morning sunlight. A soft breeze caressed him, lifting his cropped hair, giving him an air of contentment.
"Of course, you should call him now," Renly said in passing when he heard Nathan's hesitation.
Back when Renly was on the set of "The Pacific", he didn't have a manager; he handled things himself. Now with a manager, it made sense to fully utilize that resource. Besides, this incident involved two production assistants. It was better for the manager to step in.
Observing Renly's carefree demeanor, Nathan's irritation had reached a boiling point. This was far from normal. He couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you angry, Renly?"
"Of course, I'm angry. I'm not Jesus; I don't just silently endure whatever suffering others throw at me and then forgive them with a generous heart." Renly's humorous words were laced with sarcasm and ease. Nathan paused for a moment, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "But, being angry doesn't mean losing control. I think the puppet master behind all this would love to see me lose my composure. Then the issue would escalate, and I'd end up alienating the entire crew. That's when the real trouble begins."
"So... are we just going to let this slide?" Nathan's smile faded, but he still couldn't quite swallow the frustration.
Renly's expression suddenly turned serious. "Of course not. So you'd better call Andy right now. I mean, right now! And give me the script."
Nathan quickly handed the script to Renly and took out his phone from his pocket, dialing Andy's number. However, to avoid disturbing Renly's reading, he stepped away, walking to the side.
Renly lowered his head and began perusing the script. Once neat and orderly, the script now bore various colored stickers on the sides. Pulling the stickers open revealed pages marked with yellow highlighter, all of Renly's scenes and lines, easily discernible.
Nathan had prepared these notes in advance; it was the same on the first day Renly received the script.
The script reading for "Fast 5" differed from any of Renly's previous works. He didn't need to meticulously study every line or scene because there was no need. Strictly speaking, the lines were not extensive, nor were they profound. After conceptualizing and positioning Hobbs' character, finding his style, the foundational work was done. What remained was to improvise on the spot.
Nevertheless, Renly remained enthusiastic about perusing the script. On one hand, it was due to an actor's affection for scripts, and on the other, a curiosity about the construction and utilization of film shots.
A script was mundane and flat. It could describe scenes and lines, but transforming it from paper to visuals required the director's processing and imagination, along with the actor's understanding and portrayal.
Compared to the scripts for "Buried" and "Like Crazy", the script for "Fast 5" seemed considerably thinner. This led Renly to inevitably compare the script to scenes from his previous life. It was a magical process, allowing him to deeply feel the enchantment and marvel of the film production industry.
The passage of time started to blur. The sun gradually ascended, and Renly began to feel the heat. Whispered conversations reached his ears, causing him to raise his head, breaking free from the script's composition.
"Oh haha, no, no, he never communicates with us on set. His stance is that he's a top-tier celebrity, and he doesn't need to communicate with us."
"But, in the media promotions, he always seems to get along well with the crew members, doesn't he? I know the news always emphasizes the positive. But the industry rumors are the same. I thought..."
"Yes, he always gets along well with the crew members. He buys donuts for afternoon tea, and he even prepares morning coffee. You know, assistants bring food carts, and the entire crew can help themselves. He's impeccable at these public relations tasks. But it's restricted to the crew members. For us extras, you know."
The chattering voices from the side drifted over. Nathan was in conversation with a middle-aged man. Both of them consciously lowered their voices, yet the studio's corridor had some echo effect, and even the slightest sound brushed against the air. It was unavoidable. It was clear they were engaged in a lively discussion.
The old man sitting beside Nathan appeared to be around fifty or sixty years old. His hair was mostly gray, somewhere between gray and silver. He had a bit of a bald spot, and the middle part showed a faint shine. His skin sagged with pronounced wrinkles, a testament to the power of time. His half-closed eyes highlighted the crow's feet at the corners, and he absentmindedly tucked his lower lip beneath the upper, occasionally smacking his lips. His right hand unconsciously reached to his mouth, a telltale sign of an old smoker.
That world-weary countenance lacked any distinctiveness, resembling just another ordinary American middle-aged person. Perhaps there was a hint of a drinking problem, life neither in shambles nor affluent—a representation of the majority in society. Yet, it always left one feeling oddly familiar, unsure whether it bore resemblance to some unfamiliar passerby from the company or to a security guard in some building. That sensation of recognition, inexplicably familiar but impossible to pinpoint, carried a hint of the absurd.
"So, what are you all looking forward to?" Renly's voice rang out. The two people sitting on the opposite steps, engrossed in their conversation, were interrupted. They turned their heads simultaneously, flustered as they stood up.
Nathan's expression was somewhat awkward. He had thought his conversation might have been too loud and disturbed Renly. After scrutinizing for a moment, seeing the hint of a smile at the corner of Renly's mouth, he felt slightly relieved.
Not receiving an answer, Renly repeated his question and added that as an actor, his PR work was already well-done, at least in terms of maintaining appearances. So, what are you looking forward to?"
The old man chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, I'm just jealous of his popularity. Or perhaps envious that everyone speaks highly of him. It makes me want to throw a little dirt." His self-deprecating words were laced with wisdom, effortlessly defusing any attack Renly might have launched.
He was a seasoned pro.
The old man approached briskly. "Good morning, Renly." From a distance, he extended his right hand, the deliberately respectful gesture seemingly testing Renly's response, and he had no intention of concealing it. It was quite amusing, prompting a smile to appear on Renly's face. "I'm Alfred Wayne, an extra actor. Today, I have three scenes on set, playing a bystander."
Renly hopped down from the car hood, adjusted his clothing, and then solemnly extended his right hand, gripping the other man's right hand. "Good morning, I'm Renly Hall."
This simple gesture left Alfred momentarily stupefied. Respect—Renly's action just now had exuded respect, placing both of them on an equal footing. In fact, this was what every background actor yearned for.
They didn't seek condescending favors, nor did they expect to be treated differently just because they were big stars. They didn't even need the other person to remember their names. After all, there were far too many background actors. Even they themselves might not remember every colleague's name. All they wanted was respect, a smile, a nod, a glance. That was all.
When Alfred mentioned George Clooney earlier, he disliked George. Not because George had offended him, nor because George was too perfect. It was because George was a politician. Everything he did was just a display for the public, every move oozing insincerity and pretense.
It could be said that he was overthinking things or that he harbored envy, jealousy, and resentment. But the fact remained.
So, was the Renly before them truly as he appeared, or was he just wearing an even more perfect mask?
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