Chapter 52: Roll Camera
The sudden turn of events completely caught Wayne off guard—but he reacted fast. Just as Halle Berry's hands were about to touch his belt, he kicked against the desk, sending his rolling chair sliding backward a full meter with a loud scrape.
Halle, caught by surprise and leaning too far forward, lost her balance.
"Ah!" she cried out as her knees slammed hard against the floor with a dull thud.
"Miss Halle Berry!" Wayne stood up abruptly, stepping back to put distance between them. His tone was sharp and unyielding. "Let me say this one more time—you are not suited for this role!"
Halle slowly rose to her feet, eyes locked on the serious-faced director. "Or maybe… this place isn't convenient? You can pick anywhere you want. Just give me this opportunity. Until the film is finished, you can come to me any time."
Wayne looked at her—the bold, persistent "Black Pearl" who was still trying to play her last card—and sighed with frustration.
He raised his voice. "Nina! Nina! Get in here."
Nina, just outside the director's office, heard the urgency and rushed inside. "Yes, boss?"
"Please escort Miss Berry out," Wayne said, pointing to the now slightly flustered actress. "All the way to the studio gates."
Though she didn't know exactly what had happened, Nina understood the message loud and clear. She stepped up beside Halle and said flatly, "Let's go, Miss Berry."
Halle took one last long look at Wayne. She picked up her purse and walked out the door, her expression cold with fury—so much so that even Nina could feel the heat radiating off her.
Wayne let out a tired breath and dragged his chair back into place. He sat down and focused again on the pre-production documents spread across his desk.
---
By 10 a.m., in the same conference room, the same trio—Wayne, John, and Luke—were back at it, diving into the long, repetitive audition process. But today, the very first Black actor who stepped into the room gave them a pleasant surprise.
Once the performance ended, Luke didn't immediately call for the next person. Instead, he glanced at the others.
"I think this guy's pretty solid. He fits the image of the grandfather character well, and his acting is passable."
John, watching the playback, nodded. "Agreed. He's not outstanding, but for this role, he works."
"Alright, he's in," Wayne said without hesitation. "Luke, give his agent a call after auditions wrap up."
"Next one!"
The door opened again, and another young Black man stepped inside—noticeably big ears and a playful grin on his face. He began introducing himself with a confident swagger.
"My name's Will Smith. I'm from Philly. Started out as a hip-hop artist, now transitioning into acting. Did a guest spot on ABC's Afterschool Special, and right now I'm starring in a sitcom, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, airing on NBC…"
"My latest album Homebase hit number four on the Billboard charts this year," Will Smith said confidently. "And my group just won Best Rap Performance by a Duo or Group at the 34th Grammy Awards."
As he introduced himself, Luke and John exchanged a glance—both quietly doubtful. Despite the charisma, they figured this guy's asking price wouldn't be low. Yes, it was the lead role, but the film's budget was small. They weren't sure if he'd settle for less.
"Mr. Smith," Wayne interrupted, ignoring their doubts, "show me a serious expression… now a frightened one. Good, very good."
To his surprise, Will delivered. He wasn't famous for his acting yet, but he clearly had raw talent—and more importantly, natural screen presence.
"Alright, Will," Wayne leaned forward slightly, "this film's lead role is yours—if you want it. But this is a low-budget project, so your pay will be modest. Can you accept that?"
"The lead?" Will raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, the lead," Wayne replied, straight to the point. "You and I both know there aren't many major roles in Hollywood for Black leads right now."
"Then I'm in," Will said, grinning.
"You don't want to check with your agent first?"
"No need. If it's the lead, I can make the call."
Wayne smiled. "Alright then. We'll contact your agent. Contracts can be signed tomorrow. Here's to a great collaboration."
"Sounds good. Looking forward to it."
As Will walked out the door, Wayne let out a deep breath. Finally, the lead role was locked in—and Will Smith was more than capable. Compared to where his career would go in the future, this role was nothing.
"You really believe in this guy?" Luke asked. He hadn't seen Wayne so confident in anyone—not even Naomi Watts.
"Absolutely," Wayne said, lighting a cigarette. "He's going to be a star. I swear it."
With the lead actor confirmed, the rest of the cast fell into place. By the third day, they had chosen newcomer Maisie Shelley as the housekeeper and Aidan Reesman as the protagonist's father—also a fresh face.
Once all the major and minor roles were finalized and the contracts signed, the production machine kicked into high gear.
---
The final pre-shoot meeting was underway.
"We start rolling tomorrow. Is there anything left unfinished?" Wayne asked, standing confidently before a room full of crew members.
This time around, things were smoother than his last production. With the backing of Warner Bros., the scale had expanded significantly.
Unlike the indie feel of his previous film, Warner provided a complete infrastructure—cinematographers, lighting teams, props, set designers, and multiple assistant departments. Everything ran like a well-oiled machine.
"All good," said John, the production manager, instantly catching Wayne's glance. "Merrill Insurance is on board. Funds are fully cleared and ready to use."
"Great."
"No issues with cast either," Luke added, flipping through his notebook. "Everyone's been notified. All major actors will be at the studio on time tomorrow."
"Perfect. We'll block-shoot everything on set. We won't leave the Warner lot until all studio scenes are wrapped."
Wayne felt euphoric. The authority, the focus of attention—it was intoxicating. He finally understood why directors on big commercial films fought so fiercely for creative control.
This was a relatively small production, yet the power was already addictive. He could only imagine what it felt like to command a thousand-person crew on a major blockbuster.
"We're scheduled to shoot for three months. Most scenes will be on sound stages, and many of you are working together for the first time. I expect fast synergy, and I trust your professionalism."
He scanned the room one last time and waved to dismiss the meeting.
---
"Feels like being a king, doesn't it?" Jimmy joked as they headed back to the office.
With pre-production going so smoothly, spirits were high. Having Warner Bros. as their umbrella made everything easier.
"It does, Jimmy," Wayne admitted, "but with all this control comes pressure you can't imagine."
He wasn't exaggerating. From the moment pre-production began, the weight had shifted squarely onto his shoulders. The longer it went, the heavier it felt.
"You'll crush it, just like last time. I believe in you." Jimmy smiled warmly. "By the way, your deal with CAA is still a trial contract. Let's find a time to formalize that, yeah?"
"Sure, whenever. You've earned it."
"I'll draft it this week—don't worry, I'll make sure it works in your favor."
"Sounds good. You coming? I need to head back early today—got to prep for tomorrow."
They grabbed Nina and all rode out of the studio together in an electric cart.
---
Next Morning — 8 a.m.
The studio was dead quiet. Every crew member was laser-focused, performing final checks. No one wanted to screw up on Day One.
Wayne sat behind the monitor, reviewing the first day's shot list.
"Director Garfield, am I up first?"
He looked up to see Will Smith standing nearby, flashing his signature smile. Wayne liked that about him—easygoing but focused. He was a classic "Black on the outside, white on the inside" performer, and Wayne meant that in the best way possible.
"Yes, your scene is simple," Wayne reassured him. "Trust me, it's nothing you can't handle. You'll be tied to that chair. When you hear the sound of the teacup, your expression needs to shift—dazed, confused."
"Got it. No problem!"
Wayne always followed the same tactic: shoot the easiest scenes first. That way, cast and crew could warm up, find rhythm, and build chemistry gradually.
"Alright everyone, positions! Robert, adjust your camera angle," Wayne called out.
The crew cleared the floor. Will, Aidan (playing the dad), and Rebecca (the mom) gave the thumbs-up.
"Get Out, Scene One. First take. Action!"
Wayne leaned in, eyes glued to the monitor. With no need to operate the camera himself this time, he could fully focus on the actors.
"Cut! Not bad!" he called out, walking toward the set.
"Rebecca," he said, turning to the actress, "when you tap the teacup, I want a touch more eerie smugness. Think of yourself as a creepy psychiatrist—calm, but unsettling."
"Got it, Director," Rebecca nodded confidently.
"Alright, reset. Let's run it again. If it's good, we'll move to the real take."
Back in his chair, Wayne signaled Luke.
"Get Out, Scene One. Take Two. Action!"
Just as the production kicked into high gear inside the studio, a swarm of reporters with cameras and mics began flooding the gates of Warner Bros.
And right as Wayne finished that take and moved to reposition the cameras, a disheveled Jimmy came running toward him.
"Well, well… Jimmy," Wayne said, eyeing his crumpled shirt. "You're not usually this messy. What happened?"
"Wayne, turn on the TV. Get John. We need to talk. Now."