-•✦--✦--✦•-
Our last leg of the flight mostly involved Mum going through all my documentation and faxing it out to the production company in Los Angeles. I spent time helping — or rather mostly bothering — Mum with that. She'd ask where a document was and I'd point to where it wasn't. After getting swatted a few times — and rightfully so — I ended up helping her. I was endlessly fascinated by the fact that private jets had a fax machine on board. After all, I suppose these were the exact people who'd need a fax machine while forty thousand feet in the air.
The immigration lawyer that Columbia TriStar — or rather Sony Entertainment Pictures, who owned them — stayed on the phone and discussed details with Mum. Through this, I found out that the O-1 visa for actors was exceptionally hard to obtain, even for established actors. Yet, after hearing all the details from my Mum and my agent from the other side of the Atlantic, the immigration lawyer hemmed and hawed before declaring that I could apply for the O-1 visa.
He listed six very hard requirements, such as having major awards nominations — which I was probably years away from achieving. Leading roles — which you could make some arguments for Great Expectations, because my screen time was about one third of the film. But if you asked anyone else, they'd say I was in a supporting role at best. So, I suppose a lawyer could spin that, but another requirement was proof of high salaries demanded due to fame, skills, and looks. I'd earned a decent wedge for myself, more than even my Mum — who was an adult — but calling that a high salary in the entertainment industry would be a stretch. The fourth requirement was news and/or other media critics and publications discussing me in regard to my work — proof that I was generating criticism in reputable sources, proof of my existence. Next, there was sponsorship required from a major studio — which I knew was the only thing I had. Finally, there was a requirement of needing testimonials from internationally recognised experts, critics, and organisations.
So, as any sane person would ask, how the hell was I eligible for it?
For a start, my agent had been preparing ever since he'd received the call from Cameron Crowe that I was highly sought after for the role of Young Miller. That director sat busy next to me as he spent his precious time writing a recommendation letter for me. Mum and Adrian instead discussed everything I'd done in the last year and a half. My agent's word was not enough for the USCIS, so Adrian magically produced all the reviews on Doctor Dolittle from dozens of newspapers. The musical — while not necessarily reviewed well — had made the news on all fronts due to famous names attached to it. I'd been in less than half of the shows, but I was at the most important ones, like the opening night. So it wasn't surprising that there were many newspaper articles from well-known critics that mentioned me and, in rare cases, even discussed my performance. The longest of such was one that went on for three sentences, which complimented my voice and happy attitude.
Adrian was a gift that kept on giving — he'd asked Franco for a testimony and one from his production company in Italy. I also had one from the BBC that Adrian had received a while back, and even Julian had written a letter for me after I'd flown off. My agent was more savvy than I'd ever given him credit for — it wasn't just his vast experience. It was the mark of his trust in me getting a role in an American production. He had thirty clients, and I was in a special bucket meant for an international career.
We also had to provide proof of having worked for actual shillings and pounds. So Adrian faxed in pay stubs and bank statements. If you've never acted professionally, then you might be surprised to learn that agents usually receive all pay on behalf of their clients. Adrian would then take his commission and send the rest to my account, which my Mum and Nain controlled. It didn't just end there — contracts that were signed with production companies, extensions signed with the Hammersmith Apollo Group, call sheets from all films — especially the current ones I was filming — were faxed to the lawyer as well. For some inexplicable reason, my father happened to be in London and in Hanover Gardens, so he faxed in all the call sheets from Doctor Dolittle that I'd made a habit of collecting. This involved posters, show programmes, newspaper ads, announcements of castings in films, etc. Basically, anything that mentioned me — it was all given to the lawyer.
It was as if every single person I knew — even my bosses — were working hard to help me secure this role. The fact that Adrian had collected these publications when I had mostly discarded them, or hadn't even seen them, was peculiar. I could only take it as undeniable proof that Adrian Baldini saw me as a future star. Pride from so many people believing in my skill and hard work had me smiling wide.
A smile which was rewarded with swats from my Mum, who cited that my head was "ballooning" up. As if…
By the end, I had 158 pages proving my work. If that number seems too high, most of it actually came from the massive amount of call sheets that I'd collected doing Doctor Dolittle. Also, if you've ever seen a contract for actors along with pay stubs, the number actually seems too little.
So, despite not having any awards nominations or international fame, I was able to tick three requirements. The prideful lawyer somehow managed to wink through the phone as he said that I wouldn't have to worry about it being accepted — because the studio had my back, because Cameron Crowe had my back.
Once the call finally ended, I looked at the tired director and librarian next to me.
"Am I imagining things, or did Mr Plymel wink over the phone?" I asked.
"I believe he did," Cameron said with a tired smile.
"He kept saying I was eligible as a lead character in Great Expectations, but that's Ioan Gruffudd who's leading the film. I'm still considered a supporting actor, right?" I asked again.
"No need to worry about it."
"Haven't you heard him say that if they find that I lied in my application later on, they'll deport me and ban me for five years from entering the USA?"
"Relax, Will. This is how the industry is. There's at least one new Canadian actor whose first credit is in an American film, shot right in Los Angeles. How do you think that happens?"
"I don't know… Does that really happen? Give me one example," I challenged.
"Charlize Theron — she'd never acted before coming to LA," Cameron answered easily.
"Isn't she from South Africa? Maybe she had family here. How about a Canadian?"
"Uhh," Cameron's eyes went glassy, and I knew that this was all me being too hopeful somehow.
"Jim Carrey!" Gail called out from behind.
I'd completely forgotten that she was even on the flight. Cameron nodded at her answer and had his own to share.
"Disney and Nickelodeon have many kid actors from Canada. Their first roles too — can't remember their names… Ryan Rawlings, Hosing or something like that, he's on screen. Saw that one on Goosebumps recently too. I'd bet he's got no credits before that," Cameron said.
"Yeah, there's more, I bet. Like Arnold Schwarzenegger. But most of them blend really well and you'd hardly know they're not American," Gail added.
"Huh," I said, realising that I might not be the only one, but I had to confirm. "I won't be deported or anything, am I?"
"No — not unless you do something illegal," Cameron chuckled.
"This isn't helping my heart. I don't even know if it's legal for me to get this visa," I whined.
"Oh, give it a rest, Wilf. You speak like your Granddad. 'Oh, my knee, my knee,'" Mum mocked.
"That's very rude, you can't speak like that about your father," I said indignantly.
"And you shouldn't be kicking your father's knees. But here we are. He's strong, but he needs his knees," Mum sighed.
I had no comeback for that. It seemed that I was somehow getting the O-1 visa and would be permitted to work in the US. What really helped me calm down was Cameron, who seemed to understand my reluctance better than Mum did.
"That's how lawyers are — they need you to know what they're doing is very important. So they throw in a few big words, warn you about this and that. It's all justifying what they charge at the end. Why do you think this jet has fancy trim, leather seats, and top-level service that keeps asking if you want more water — and serves it in a fancy glass? So you don't regret how much you're paying. That's all it is. Capitalism," Cameron said, enunciating every word.
By the time we landed, I'd forgotten what I'd been worried about. And even if I hadn't, the car waiting for us would have distracted me.
"Ignore them — the film's got a big budget, and they want to make sure I don't burn it all down," Cameron chuckled. "We'll get you in and out quickly, then the two of you can fly back. I've already taken care of the flight — hope you don't mind."
"Thank you. You've been very accommodating," Mum said.
I nodded along with her.
"Don't get too used to it. He'll be shouting your son's ear off once you're on set," Gail added.
"No, I won't. I like my working environment nice and relaxed," Cameron protested.
"That's what every director says before principal photography," Gail laughed, heading for the limousine.
"Ignore her — she's got her head in the clouds. Been watching tapes from all over the US, Canada, and I suppose England," Cameron said, pointedly.
We'd landed on a private strip off LAX and were out almost immediately. No one checked our rucksacks. No one asked for ID. We'd arrived by plane, and that seemed to be enough. The rich really did live by different rules.
"I was born in Palm Springs and raised in San Diego," Cameron said. "You can give me your honest opinion about LA."
"Is it normal to have five lanes on each side? And why are there so many car parks — and how are they all full?" The questions spilled out of me.
"We're on a highway — it's not always like this," Cameron said, laughing. "But parking? Everyone complains. There's never enough."
True to his word, we saw houses which were decidedly different from the terraced houses I'd become used to in London and England. The sky was blue — unlike the cold grey of England. The weather seemed drier even though we were a mile or two from the coast. Despite that, greenery was everywhere. Palm trees were rarer than I'd thought until we exited a suburban-like area and had palm trees on both sides of the wide road.
"All those buildings we've just passed — it's all Sony's," Cameron announced. "See the water tower all the way there? That's the other end."
I was speechless. The studio was almost a small city unto itself. What I'd been taking as a massive warehouse was instead the studio lots. The car turned, and a taller building with a blue Sony logo appeared. We passed it, then turned again — revealing a white gate with the words Sony Pictures Entertainment in silver.
"Welcome to Culver City," Cameron said.
The studio's gatehouse had a poster for a movie that would've been age-appropriate for me to play in — Big Daddy had Adam Sandler and one of the Sprouse twins taking a whizz against a wall. It must be interesting to be identical twins who could share a film and be able to work twice as long as other child actors.
On the tall building beside the gate stood three massive posters — 8MM, The Thirteenth Floor, and one that caught my attention more, Bicentennial Man. That one was directed by Chris Columbus, who would go on to direct Harry Potter. My future director — if I had any say in it.
"It's brilliant, this," I said, my accent entirely forgotten.
"Ah — there's the English kid I hired," Cameron said, practically bouncing on his heels. "We haven't got much time, but I'll give you the highlights. You're ten, right? Sony acquired MGM right as you were born. The studio itself's nearly a hundred years old. Come on — we'll take one of these."
We were crammed into a tiny golf cart one by one, Cameron already pulling away as soon as Gail took her seat. He took us down the thinnest road I'd seen in Los Angeles — the smallest vehicle on it too, considering the number of trucks lumbering past or parked beside a stage.
"What are all these buildings?" I asked, pointing at them one by one.
"That one's a power plant — I know that much. The rest?" He shrugged, still driving. "Engineers, electricians, grips over there on the right. Mailroom's tucked away in the back corner, I think."
"Lousy tour guide," Gail said dryly.
"That one — see it?" Cameron pointed sharply. "Stage 27. Most of The Wizard of Oz was filmed there. People like to say it was the first colour film — it wasn't — but it was the biggest of its kind. History was made here."
I barely caught a glimpse. Other stages blocked the view, stacked and staggered, with vans, trucks, and people hauling equipment in every direction.
"This one's getting torn down and rebuilt," Cameron went on, swerving slightly. "All the buildings are named after actors or producers. That's the Harry Cohn building — founder of Columbia Pictures. Bigwigs' headquarters now. There's a cracking coffee shop inside. Free coffee if you're lucky. Oh — we should get you lanyards. They know me here, but you lot?" He laughed. "Not so much."
He took a left by the headquarters and drove us past a cluster of smaller stages by virtue of comparison, not by true size. Everywhere I looked there was movement — crews rushing, doors opening and closing, lights being wheeled about. The Sony lot really was its own city — and a relentlessly productive one at that.
"Washington Row," Cameron said, slowing slightly. "Post-production and sound scoring on your right. Completely off-limits. They guard it like Fort Knox. Needs silence and no electrical interference. Trust me — I tried. My advice — Don't."
"That little building there," he added, nodding ahead, "that's the Joan Crawford building. If we were filming properly on the lot, that's where you'd be doing school. Plenty of famous names learned their craft in there and lazed about in equal measure."
We turned left again through another narrow street. Washington Row felt more like a real neighbourhood than the rest — compact buildings pressed close together, almost cosy compared to the industrial sprawl every else.
"Wardrobe on your right," Cameron said. "Stage 23 on your left. That's us."
He didn't really need to say it. Dozens of people loitered outside the stage — smoking, chatting, laughing loudly. Shooting the shit, as Americans liked to say.
"Cameron!" a dark-haired man with a carefully groomed moustache in salt and pepper, called out.
"John! I'm here!" Cameron said, hopping out and jogging over excitedly.
"Children," Gail muttered, shaking her head.
"Is that John Toll?" I asked, craning my neck.
"Yes," Gail said, already lighting a cigarette.
Everyone was smoking, whether I was in England or in the USA. John was too, but that man had won two Oscars in a row for his cinematography — one in Legends of the Fall and another with Braveheart. As far as I was concerned, he'd earned his bad habits. My revelations self didn't know much about the entertainment industry in detail, so I wasn't sure if he ever won for Almost Famous. But in this life I'd been following closely to the projects I was interested in. There was no one better than him to film this project.
Gail noticed her own people as well and ran over just as Cameron had, even though she'd called Cameron out for being childish. Her group was the actors that she'd cast, months of work had gone in to get this particular group of people in. Most radiant among them was Kate Hudson, who had a cigarette in her hand yet still managed to look like a million bucks despite it.
As soon as I shook myself awake from Kate Hudson's happy smile and charming personality, I noticed other cast members. Billy Crudup had grown a moustache along with some sideburns and a goatee that he didn't have in the actual film. Jason Lee was unrecognisable from his other films with the long hair and full beard. Frances McDormand, Anna Paquin, Noah Taylor, Fairuza Balk. Revelations didn't churn out information, but I was already seeing the movie that was in my mind. We were in a real Hollywood studio — only one of these stages was enough to spell out that the film was a bigger production than anything I'd been on. That alone would've been enough to stun me.
But with these star studded caste here, it felt so much more real. In scant few years, even the extras in this film would be A-listers in their own right. Gail Levin already had a reputation for being a good casting agent. She was still making careers and discovering talents everywhere she'd looked. In one day, I'd been booked for a role in a movie so close to my own heart. The one that my revelations-self knew about. Gail Levin had spotted me as a talent too and now I was here in a real studio with hundreds of millions poured in.
My heart beat faster and faster.
"Who is this cute fella?" Kate Hudson said, bending down to look me over.
Sun glinted in her eyes as she turned to ask my mother, one eye shut, blonde hair bouncing. Words stuck in my throat. So many famous people in one place. I'd been in such crowds and even been in films with a few, but this experience was somehow different from meeting the Three Lionesses. It had last happened when I was the boy with a pale face and a swollen throat back when I first laid eyes on Daniel Radcliffe. Revelations were as real as anything, but seeing the proof of it with my own eyes, with real people who had yet to become famous, the ones that I hadn't grown up watching. It highlighted that yes, I did have the power to see the future. Future that was falling in place with the time's passing.
"Sorry — he must be overwhelmed by the big studio glamour. My son, Wilfred Price. He's just been booked as young William Miller," Mum said, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder.
"This is my mum, Erin Price," I added, a beat too late, suddenly aware of how many eyes were on me.
"Oh my god, I love British accents," Kate Hudson said, already waving others over.
Billy Crudup was the first to the stand. Up close, he looked like a walking magazine cover — the kind of bloke destined to break at least one heart on this film set. I briefly wondered if Kate Hudson would be that girl, she gave off the feelings of a sweet and fiery romance.
"Hey, champ," he said easily. "You here for a costume test?"
"Yeah," I muttered.
"They've got boxes full of stuff back there. Want to go digging through it?" Billy suggested, already half turned.
"Betsy warned you off those," Anna Paquin cut in. "Stop trying to rope in others to your bad plans."
"No one wants to have fun around here," Billy sighed. "Do you play guitar? Want to hear me jam? I've learned it in only six weeks. I'm now a real band member."
"Let him breathe," Frances McDormand said, eyeing me. "He looks like an animal at the zoo."
"Are you going to be my mum?" I blurted out.
Everyone had surrounded me like a museum piece. Laughter rippled through the group. Frances fixed me with a mock-stern look.
"Is that because I'm the oldest person here?"
"What? No — I mean, I know you're cast as Elaine Miller," I said quickly. "It's almost like my mum's name — Erin Price."
Mum already had her face in her hands. The laughter only got louder.
"All right," Cameron said, arriving with John at his side. "Looks like you've met our young William. Where's the older William? Let's get moving."
"Daylight's burning — let's get to it," John added, clapping once.
"We're nice folks," Billy said quietly as he passed me. "Don't let them bully you."
I thought he was the one bullying me. But I was out of the spell they'd had me under.
"Come in — come on," crew called out.
We were ushered inside the stage. The moment I crossed the threshold, the outside world vanished — engines, voices, wind — all gone at once.
"The soundstage," Cameron said, as if that explained everything.
No one seemed to be surprised by it except me and my Mum, who'd never been in a real soundstage. This place was designed and padded everywhere to deaden all echoes. Wooden sets, rigging, metal frameworks completely barred our path until we walked half the length of the building. Finally, an opening presented itself, and through it I was presented with the filmmaking magic. Each corner of the massive set was a separate room. Tiled walls with a leather couch on one side, art gallery walls on another with Marshall amps and band equipment on display. A wall opposite us even looked like the concrete walls you'd see at a skate park or at the bottom of a massive bridge. The soundstage was ready and almost too dark to see in.
Cameron moved to the front of the crowd, clapping once to pull everyone's attention. He hopped up onto a wooden box, planting his feet wide as if addressing troops before battle.
"Thank you for coming, everyone. Betsy Heimann — my doll, my angel — has managed to procure almost all the costumes I asked for. A few more are still on the way, so this costume test will run at least two more days. Patrick — there you are. Anyone from out of town will be put up at the Culver Hotel just outside the lot. It's where the hundred actors who played the Munchkins stayed during The Wizard of Oz. As they say — if it's good enough for Munchkins, it's good enough for us."
"Do they say that?" someone called out.
A ripple of head-shaking followed.
"John and his crew have lights and rigging ready. Hair and makeup are along the walls where you came in. Let's relax and get some test shots in proper seventies wear, all right?" Cameron finished, clapping and rubbing his hands together.
"Hell yeah!" Kate Hudson said — excited enough for several people.
"Zooey, you're up first. Ready?" John asked.
Behind me, a young woman stepped forward. Her eyes were as blue as Arctic ice, her red air-hostess uniform looking more at home on the USS Enterprise than in the seventies. Her makeup was immaculate — warm pink blush, cropped hair styled boyish-short, the rest tucked beneath a sculpted cherry-red hat.
I must have made a noise. Whatever it was, it caught her attention. Her big eyes took me in and she smiled.
I hadn't hit puberty yet — but I would've been lying to myself if I denied the instant crush. Something rewired in my brain even as revelations struck me — electric rhythms of a song colliding with the simple fact that she existed, the movies she'd been in.
"Uh-oh," someone said. "Looks like you've got a big fan."
"He's completely enchanted," another voice added.
Laughter spread across the stage. Zooey ignored it. She walked straight over, knelt in front of me, and looked directly into my eyes. They were impossibly pale — so blue they sent a chill through me. She wore no earrings. But two little swirls of hair curved neatly by her ears.
She blinked once. Twice.
"One day," she said solemnly, "you'll be cool."
Then she leaned in for a hug.
I stepped back. I couldn't have said why.
"Oh no — you ruined the moment," Zooey said, laughing.
Everyone laughed again, the spell broken.
"I—" I started, swallowing.
"That's perfect," Cameron said. "We'll put Wilfred in costume and test-shoot that scene. If the audience is half as captivated as he is, we'll be printing money. All right — let's move."
He clapped again. The room burst back into motion, the third attempt finally sticking with the unruly cast.
Zooey tilted her head. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No," I said — steadier now that the crowd had dispersed. "You just have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
She froze. Her mouth formed a perfect O, eyes widening even further — then she laughed. Not the light, tinkling kind — her voice was deeper than that. Snorts even sprinkled that laughter.
"I think you're the youngest boy who's ever made that face at me," she said.
"I'll discipline him later," Mum said beside me, entirely unserious.
"Manic pixie dream girl," I muttered, too quietly for anyone to hear.
"What was that?" Mum asked sharply.
"Nothing. I'm sorry," I said quickly, already retreating. "Your outfit — and your eyes — they stunned me. Please do your test shoot. I'm heading to hair and makeup."
"Sorry about him," Mum added apologetically to Zooey — then followed me.
"Oh my god," I said, staring at the organised chaos around us. "This is huge, a real proper studio, this."
"You won't distract me that easily," Mum said, falling into step beside me. "You've got a crush."
"No, I don't," I said too fast.
"Aww — you do," she laughed, delighted. "That's adorable. Dwtty bach, come here."
—✦—
It took a while for me to peel off Mum so that I could start getting in costume or get my hot cheeks under control.
My outfit wasn't as flashy as Zooey's, nor was my makeup anything more than a touch-up to hide the faint eye bags I'd developed from changing time zones twice. I understood why I'd gotten those words. There was even a film made specifically for those who fell in love with someone like Zooey that she'd played in — 500 Days of Summer. I'd watched it while I put on shorts and tees. She'd probably have men falling in love with her at first sight for the rest of her life. I'd made a fool of myself, and I think this was the first moment I noticed that women were attractive to me in any form. She was like a dream come true.
After Zooey, Patrick also did some scene-specific shots with the air hostess uniform, with Patrick in half-dirty clothes. Anna went up next, and then it was my turn. Against the backdrop of a leather sofa, I was asked to sit down and look as cute as possible for the camera. There wasn't any requirement for me to act out a scene or do anything special. The costume test was essentially a test for how my costume looked under every light possible — night shots, day shoots, anything in between were simulated by the dimming and brightening lights as John Toll burned through film stock.
Then Zooey came in again. This time, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes averted. But she did her scene again, bending to look me in the eyes and inviting me into a staring contest that I immediately lost. She laughed then, snorting in a cute way, and John took all those shots. Her hairnets were all sorts of different colours, warm tones that contrasted with her ice-blue eyes.
"Very good, brother. Very good," Cameron said, shaking John's shoulders as he spoke excitedly back and forth between Betsy and John.
He kept repeating it, the same words again and again, as actors queued and my next costume waited to be tested. Betsy had captured the seventies so perfectly that Cameron's eyes had gone glassy. When Zooey walked in with a colourful outfit with her hair in hair rollers, he'd become withdrawn and quiet. He admitted, quietly, that his sister had left home with the very same hair rollers when he was still a child. Somehow, Betsy Heimann had found the exact make of those plastic rollers. Cameron was only in his early forties, yet the clothes and hair rollers reached back and caught him somewhere tender.
When Philip Seymour Hoffman stepped out in a red shirt and leather jacket, the tears finally spilled.
"Just ignore me. Go on. Go on," Cameron said — waving off assistants and actors alike.
He drifted to a quiet corner. I followed without really deciding to. I saw a sad person and felt that he needed company.
"It's all right," I said, softly.
Oddly, I had revelations about Lester Bangs where I didn't have much about other cast members of this film. He'd been a famous rock n' roll critic who'd worked at Creem and died young.
"It's like he's back in here," Cameron said, feelings all tangled up inside.
I didn't say a thing, only staying close by. Offering a ready ear that he could speak into.
"That shirt — it's his, you know. The Guess Who — it's a Canadian band. God, he was such an asshole,"
He laughed — short, fond, cracked sound.
"Always complaining about corporate America ruining rock merchandising, making it lifeless and cold. Then he'd wear all the free shirts that he received at Creem magazine — contributing to the great evil he swore off. The absolute hypocrite."
Sad laughter followed. A moment passed. He breathed in, steadying himself. When he spoke again, the sadness had softened.
"He'd send me letters on the backs of promotional photos. Couldn't bother finding fresh reams of paper, so he'd find old prints — signed pictures of the artists he'd interviewed, or traded for. Legends. He didn't know it then, but half the things he said came true."
Cameron wiped at his eyes, smiling now.
"He'll live on as a legend," he said. "I'll make sure of it."
I shifted closer, resting my hand lightly against his arm.
"He mattered," I said. "I can tell."
Cameron nodded. He reached out and gave my back a gentle pat.
"Come on," he said, voice lighter — steadier. "Let's finish this costume shoot. You've got England waiting for you."