•✦—✦•
April 3rd, Buckinghamshire, England
According to Andrew the director, we would be filming the TV series in reverse order. The reason was so that the adult actors would get a week off and kids with limited amount of complicated scenes would be off the set. Rehearsals, as it turned out, had nothing to do with us acting or practicing lines. Sure, we were encouraged to read them, but mostly we just stood around on various marks while the camera crew and electricians watched and took notes. Growing slightly bored with not doing anything, I asked for help from the nearest friendly person. A balding man with a beer belly gave me a rundown on what he was doing.
"We're setting up the lighting so we can frame you all just right. Time is important, so we'll mark all the details so we know how each scene will be lit. Got to have the timing right and the light consistent with exactly where you'll be standing." Paul explained.
"What's the name of your job?"
"I'm the gaffer," Paul replied proudly.
"I thought Peter was our boss. Are you also a producer?" I asked, surprised.
"Ha, no. I get that a lot, but it just means that I'm responsible for the lights and all the electrical stuff. I help the director and the photographer, just like that guy. Oi! Jose, you done with the dolly track?" Paul shouted out to the most stereotypical Italian guy I'd ever seen.
"Yeah, sound mate," Jose replied in a Liverpudlian accent. Odd how all the Italians I met had the most English accents ever.
"Once we start shooting, things will go at lightspeed. Kid, you watch car races, Formula One, rally, the lot?" Paul asked as he fumbled over a box light.
I nodded.
"Yeah, it'll be hectic once we get going. Now I'm just oiling the engine and tightening the screws, and when we're on the road, I yell out 'Turn right in ten seconds' and the driver does. If I do my job well, we will have a smooth ride and finish on time."
"Thanks," I said, unsure. Simple explanation was fine but I wanted to know things on a more technical level. A ringing noise caught my attention.
"What's that?" I pointed to a man in leather overalls hammering on an actual anvil.
"Oh, that's Charlie. He is fitting the armor to one of the actors. Genuine armorer. You won't see that on many sets." Paul shook his head, a faint smile on his ruddy cheeks.
I wanted to go speak to Charlie, but I was working at this moment. My entire job today was to stand one place, let them take notes, while they went over their blocking and adjusted me or the light. The director was behind the camera speaking to Nick, who would be operating the camera when the real shoot begins. Dan, a clapper loader—a hilarious name—was on his knees marking out all the spots. Us kids were being moved from one place to another as if a giant kid were playing with their toys. Most of the movement that actors would do were to be taken on by the older actors. Tom and Joanna were to lead most of the scenes with all the children around. Danny, Emily and I had only one scene each where we'd be the focus of the camera. I couldn't fault it, after all it was only practical to put the least responsibility on the youngest actors.
Once we were done with the blocking for all the scenes we'd shoot, we were relieved from our standing around duty and instead started our sitting around duty. There were five women who made up the Costume and Makeup department, all extremely friendly and very talkative. Their job was to get us through a fitting of our costumes so that it would all look right on camera. I was given a padded light-blue jacket, a dirtied-up white loose shirt. Next came some nondescript brown trousers and very old-looking leather boots. All in all, I looked every bit the common boy of pre-industrial England. A woman came over to take photos of me in the costume, directing me in various poses and spinning me around. Then Mum was called over by the costume designer for the next costume. I was to be restrained and chained like a criminal.
An ugly old cloak with sewn-on leaves and loose cords was brought to me. Next came gray linen trousers so straight and wide that Anne, the designer, got out her needles and chalk to mark out a taper so she could fix it before the shoot. To complete the getup, I was put in an earlier version of manacles, a thick wooden shaft with rope on both ends. Anne tightened the rope around my ankles and I found that my movement was restricted. Mum laughed as I tried walking with it on. My steps had to come in exactly right time and distance or I risked a fall.
"It's not funny," I grumbled.
"Oh, it's plenty funny, bach. So dwt," Mum laughed on and on.
I was annoyed and chased her around until I fell over twice on the soft grass.
"Hey, better cut it out now. We need that costume for the shoot," Anne warned.
"Sorry." Mum and I both replied at the same time, making us laugh.
"Come for makeup." Anne gestured me over to one of the ladies, Lorraine if I recalled it right.
"Want to see how you look like bleeding? Come on, you'll be surprised how good it looks," Lorraine said in a baby voice.
Damn it, this treatment again. It was annoying to be small but exhausting to be treated like a kid on top of it.
My mood lifted as Lorraine worked her magic around my ankles and shin, making it look like I had welts, raised skin and scabs. From where small bits of blood had oozed out and seemingly dried out.
"Whoa, how'd you do that?" I said in shock at the realism.
"This little thing." Lorraine pointed to a dark bottle taped with a note that said [Dried Blood (Dark)].
"Oh," I replied, not expecting there to be a ready-made product for it.
"Think a guy in London mixes these up. Everyone in my line of work swears by them. Really hard to get, but better than Mehron's and cheaper too," Lorraine informed me and soon was in a long rant about makeup brands with another makeup artist.
A lady with a large camera came over to take photos of me close up. She focused on my ankles, makeup, and the fake dirt on my face and finished with some full body shots. Before today I had only had a headshot done with Adrian's photographer friend. In just one day, I suddenly had more photos of my ankles than had ever been taken of my face.
Pamela strode over with brisk confidence and clapped her hands drawing our attention.
"Meal break. Child actors only—it's mandated."
The photographer darted to my fellow actors, snapping a few last shots before we were led away.
"This is a lot more serious than I thought," Mum murmured.
"Why?"
"I just thought they'd be taking the piss. I mean, not being truthful about the protocols. But look at this." She lifted her wrist, showing me her watch. "Exactly three hours on the dot."
I grinned. "That's brilliant. I just hope dinner's good."
Truth was, I was starving—hungry from a whole day of doing a whole lot of nothing.
—
Since Dorney was quite a distance away from civilization (five miles!) and there was a lack of infrastructure to house all the new people within the town limits. So. BBC had hired chefs to cook us meals at the basecamp. I went for the chicken enchilada which came with a side of salad. I slid it over to Mum and received a Cornish pasty in return. I liked pastries and pies; they reminded me of every place that my parents took me out to. A football game? A pasty or sausage rolls. Out on the street? Kebabs and butty. We finished our meal and hung out with the other kids for a full hour due to the laws involved. Kids weren't allowed to be on set for extended periods and had to take minimum breaks before they could work again.
"Kids are back," one of the ADs shouted at Andrew as we made our way.
"Oh, finally, we need to get some scenes while it's dark. Come on, on your marks. Alex, get them sorted," Andrew shouted.
Movement on set was a chaotic mess that I found oddly beautiful. People were busy and completely focused on their tasks. Even if their role was name clapper loader.
"Only two scenes, get the interior first."
"Alright, kids, get to your marks at the dinner table again."
So we did and sat in various places as the director and his cinematographer came uncomfortably close to us with the camera pointed right at our faces. Another AD held a candle at various places until Andrew would deem it satisfactory. There had been five chairs around the dinner table for us to not sit on. Oddly the chairs were there to be filmed when we were not on it but they were removed when we were supposedly sitting on it. Instead, we sat on stools with adjustable height. Mine was set lower than Danny's so that Pablo looked smaller than the other kids, while Joanna and Tom sat on the tallest stools. It felt stupid and unnatural to me. But when I spied Andrew going over the footage, I realized how different it looked. Wrong to my eye, but completely natural on camera. Movie magic, so to say.
More of the same happened. For example, Tom was framed at the end of the table to symbolise his leadership over the kids. And in a scene where he would lead a prayer Tom was to stand on a step stool. I got the sense that it would make him look imposing and taller like the main character he was.
Inside the house we went through all kinds of angles that would be used in the shoot. The adult actors were called in to get their scenes blocked too. Rob and the fifth man to be named Peter in the basecamp, were to play my kidnappers. Scene continued with Malcolm Storry, who played Jacob, a caretaker to the Beverley children to come in and save me. I was directed to run from spot A to spot B; when I arrived on my mark, Rob would grab me and lift me up.
"No, that doesn't look right. It looks too violent, this is a kid's show. Try grabbing him by the scruff of his neck," Andrew instructed Rob.
"I recommend the collar of the costume. Don't actually touch the boy, he could get injured," Pam added coolly.
Andrew scoffed but accepted it with a nod. I wasn't wearing a costume, so I was given my hoodie by Mum to wear. The hood that Rob enjoyed using to stop me from running off.
"Try and struggle. Don't actually try to run off, just pivot from one side to the other. Like this." Andrew mimed having his arms hugging his own chest and moving his shoulders from side to side.
I attempted it to a ridiculous ease. With how Rob was lifting a good portion of my weight, I actually swung left and right almost uncontrollably, my tiny movement looking exaggerated like a true struggle. Andrew nodded briefly behind his camera. He wasn't a director for nothing.
"Remember that, that's how we'll shoot it," Andrew said. "Stunt's next. Rob, you have to hand off Will over to Peter. Peter, pretend that Will is still struggling. You'll be in the background, but Will won't be. Rolling."
I was handed off to Fancy, the outlaw. Peter, numero Cinco simply hugged me close to his leg and shifted his weight from side to side. I was told to make struggling noises, one of the few fun things I did today.
"I want a second camera at the back, Medium Close-up on Tom," Andrew continued with his direction.
Ten minutes passed as we stood on our marks while the director broke down the camera work. When it finally stopped, I was again in a struggling position as Rob held me and threw me away to Tom. Malcolm coming into the scene added chaos, but I was cringing as I watched the stunt fight happen in real time. Camera made some angles that looked weird in real life actually right on screen. However, I doubted even the camera could save that poor scene.
Andrew, on the other hand, seemed very enthusiastic and called for a dolly to be set up so the camera could follow left and right to focus on the men wrestling each other off the frame. Stunt director Andy was left in charge while we followed Andrew outside for our only scene to be shot outside at night. The clapper loader marked all our final locations as bid by the director.
Honestly, I expected my first day on set to feel more special. Instead, I just stood around while people scribbled notes. The costume fitting had been the only fun part; the rest was boring beyond belief. If this was what film sets were really like, I wasn't sure acting was all it was cracked up to be.