The basement of the Boston Public Library, unused for ages and colder than the crew anticipated, was now the star of the movie and the viewer's climax - it was transformed into a ritual chamber with a cult's secrets unveiled. This was the big moment that Harry Jackson had been fantasizing about since the first draft of the script. After seven takes, there was still something off.
Harry was stationed next to the monitors, jaw clenched, arms crossed. Meanwhile, the crew was moving around him, whispering, looking down at their watches, and suffering through twelve hours of shooting.
"We got it," said Wally Pfister, the director of photography adjusting his glasses. "The lighting is consistent, the blocking is good. Let's move on."
Harry did not even look over. "No we can't - it's still too clean."
Daniel Hayes, dripping in fake blood and tired, stepped into the flame of the lights, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "What are we not capturing exactly?"
Harry gestured towards the storyboard on the wall next to the monitors. "This doesn't just a discovery scene place. This is dread. You have been exploring this story for the entire movie, and you are finally in the room. The experience should feel like the walls are closing in"
Daniel stared at Harry. "I am doing my best to look terrified; maybe you should just turn the AC down five degrees."
To the sarcasm, Harry continued. "Also the camera is too smooth; it is too confident. We are following a man, into the unknown. It should feel like we are hesitating with him"
Wally shifted his feet. "We have done dolly, we have done handheld, you want it to levitate now?"
Harry didn't rise to it. "Try it on the Easy-rig. Keep it loose, just enough sway to feel like breath."
Wally sighed. "That's a twenty-minutes reset"
"Then let's reset."
A quiet groan rolled through the crew. They all knew what was about to happen. As if they hadn't just lost the rhythm of the day. Again.
Gregory Lang, arms crossed, silently watching from the side of the room; he did not say anything, he rarely did - but the pinch in his brow said enough.
When they got a final take to do, Daniel reset at the door. The lights went darker. The candles burned flickered. The basement was in suspense.
Take 8.
Daniel stepped forward, shallow breaths. The camera moved forward too, but just enough to feel off. Harry was watching, maintaining hope. Daniel's face was catching the light right this time. It was thick in the air.
And then—
"Cut!" Harry yelled.
Daniel froze still soaking his foot halfway through a take. "Now what?"
Harry pointed toward the corner. "The candle at the far left. It's too bright. It's flattening your face."
The props assistant squinted. "You said you wanted it visible."
"I want it atmospheric, like not visual. Pull half the wax."
More waiting. The mood reset.
Javier Bardem, leaning on the fake stone altar in the back of the set, had been barely engaging, now he blankly raised his eyebrows as Harry walked past.
Take 12.
Daniel looked exhausted, in a way that he appreciated. He was trembling. In a sense, he was unsteady. He knew that he was swaying the camera, and though shaky cam was a common device he did not want to go that route to create an effect that would amuse him. When he got to the middle of the room and picked up the cult's ledger, sweat dripped down his neck. Harry nodded at the scene on the monitor. This was getting closer.
Then, just as Daniel opened the ledger, a creak of protest rang out, the old hinge of the basement door shifting behind him.
"Cut," Wally said, annoyed. "The door is creaking now."
But Harry's eyes were wild. "That's it. That sound. It's perfect."
Wally protested. "It was just an accident."
"It was authentic." Harry turned to Daniel. "The next time, when you hear that creaking sound, I want you to freeze. Like your body is shutting down."
Daniel spoke monotonously. "Over twelve times."
Harry stepped further towards him. "Then let's do thirteen."
The crew looked at each other and said nothing.
Take 14.
Daniel stepped through the door. The camera followed, even trembling a little, as if it was afraid of moving too fast. The light from the candles illuminated his face unevenly. He reached for the ledger again, and then the creak.
Daniel froze. He couldn't breathe. He was now looking wide-eyed and alert back, with sweat beaded on his forehead. For a second, he didn't look like an actor, he looked like he was trapped.
Harry craned his neck to get a look at the monitor.
"Print that," he said, quietly.
There was an audible release of breath around him from the crew. Someone clapped. Not Harry. He closed his eyes for a second and then turned away.
Wally found him by the equipment cart.
"You're pushing too hard," he said.
"I'm pushing for what's right," said Harry.
"You are going to burn people out."
Harry didn't argue. He just looked back at the monitor and started walking toward the stairs.
In the parking lot, twilight was just beginning to fall. Javier was leaning against his rental car with a cigarette in his hand. He offered one to Harry, who accepted tiredly with a nod.
"You were a bastard today," Javier said.
Harry lit the cigarette. "I had to be."
Javier didn't press. He exhaled a long plume of smoke into the cold air. "You're afraid it'll all fall apart."
Harry didn't answer.
Javier went on. "You try to control every frame because you think the film only works if you fight it into shape. But the best stuff, the moments people remember—they just happen."
Harry thought of the door. The groan. The freeze.
He didn't disagree. But he didn't respond either.
As the last truck left the library, the set now empty and silent, Harry stood alone by the loading dock, cigarette burning low between his fingers. The creak still echoed in his head.