Chapter 32: The Half-Wit Ponce (Patreon)

Chapter 32: The Half-Wit Ponce

Leavesden Studios, UK. October 2007.

Dilemmas did diddly-squat when it came to delaying production. If the money train was full speed ahead, there wasn’t any thought going into the trolley problem. It wouldn’t matter who and how many were tied to the tracks, rather than choose, the train would skillfully drift on to both rails at the same time and run everyone over just to be safe. 

Needless to say, the Hogwarts Express was chugging along.

While he walked around trying to get a sit-down with the higher-ups at WB, David Heyman hammered down upon production and told us to get to work. Thankfully, the hammer that hit my head was inflatable and made squeaky noises. 

Sure, there were scenes that had been parked back at the depot for maintenance, but aside from them, plenty of lines were operational and left to be said. 

Case in point: the unbreakable vow scene with Snape and the Black sisters played by Alan Rickman, Helen McRory, and the generally gothic Helena Bonham Carter.

Often, when there were scenes I wasn’t involved in, I liked to observe and take notes. 

Cinematography, editing, you name it. Direction was at least temporarily off the table, so I found myself at the sound station with both ears tuned into the three actors as they put a bow on the scene.

“I do believe we’ve got the shot. That’ll be all for today, I think. Thank you all for your cooperation.” My self righteousness allowed me to duck and weave that last little jab from Yates on his way off set.

I’d have smirked, but the smile on my face was supplanted by chagrin, “Bas. Come over here… immediately,” when Alan Rickman beckoned me. Stupid of me to think I’d be able to avoid every blow. 

Wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to feel like a criminal when my mentor reeled me in with a crook of his finger. 

Not needing any more evidence against me, I flipped the switches that shut off the sound recording before marching up to my trial.

“How’s ever-” 

“Sit!” Alan didn’t even let me meet anyone before getting to the meat of the issue. I parked my rump steak on the open seat next to Helen with her two-tone hairdo. This was my first official introduction to her, so I turned to say a quick hello, and Alan in turn used the prop newspaper in his hand to say how-do-you-do to his favourite target - the back of my head.

Whap! Tut-tut-tut… That crooked finger was now wagging in my face. “Pleasantries will…be reserved for after I’m done doling out the unpleasantries.” 

Sheepishly rubbing the back of my head, I rapidly realized I’d walked right into the middle of a pack of wolves, like a lamb for slaughter. HBC didn’t bother holding back the cackle that Helen politely stifled behind her painted nails. 

“You know, I’ve remained quite proud of myself over the years I’ve been watching over your progress. I take full credit for sowing the seeds of your sprouting skill and pruning your pubescent penchant for pussy.” Which was true enough considering I hadn’t chased tail for nearly a year now, but that didn’t mean Rickman could get his jollies by dangling my bits so publicly. 

That last comment tickled both the women, as well as my flaming cheeks, pink. “Must you go straight for the twig and berries?”

Undeterred, Alan continued to cut me down to size. “Never would I have expected such hubris from you, Bas. Churlishly stomping out over a script dispute… Disappointing.” 

He wasn’t there, and neither was the present company beside us, but word travels fast. “That word’s been said to me so many times over the last week that it’s starting to lose all meaning.” But I must persevere for the greater good. “Bad form. I get it. But it’s not like I’m skiving off. This isn’t even my set, but I’m still showing up to it.”

Alan’s fake copy of the daily prophet looked like it wanted to take another swipe. With how comfortably he was wielding it, was it any wonder Snape was so good with his wand?

“Do lay off the poor boy.” Helen’s hand raised up to shield my forehead. “Which one of us hasn’t gotten too impassioned over a script?”

HBC, on the other hand, wasn’t quite interested in letting me have it ez. “Better he learn now than later. You’ll soon understand that directors are far more stubborn than most. Take my husband, for instance. Do you know what response actors get when they approach Tim Burton with their unwanted ideas? He just scribbles on his storyboards until they get tired and go away. And I assure you, these are big names and bigger egos. I’m his wife, and on set, even I can’t get a word in edgewise.” And with a guy like Tim Burton, there was plenty of edge to be had.

I’d have loved to make a corpse bride joke right about now, but even my underdeveloped sense of self preservation told me that the table between us wouldn’t pose any obstacle. Bellatrix wasn’t half as crazy as HBC was. 

“Given your aversion to the script, I instead urge you to read…” Alan’s eyes narrowed, “my…” he stooped his neck, “lips.” And leaned in inches away from my face. “I consider you a fine actor. You must control your emotions - you are fully capable of it regardless of your circumstances.” 

Instinctually, I wanted to shift back from his looming and press deeper into Helen. But the weight of his sincerity sat heavier on my shoulders than her arm did. “While I have you in my personal space… D’you remember last year when you taught me about anger being easy?”

“Ridding myself of the intensely therapeutic memory of dunking your head into a tub of water again and again would undo years of healing.” C’mon man…

“Ah, I wish I could’ve been there. Or even participated.” 

Leaping over that particular table, I continued running. “My point is, if there’s one thing I can promise you, what I’m doing right now is firmly in the realm of difficult.” Alan’s nostrils flared in an attempt to sniff out any bullshit. But for once, I wasn’t speaking any. Just don’t ask for details, because I couldn’t divulge.

“Hmm…” Maybe the lighting guy had been playing around on his console, but I swear when Alan peeled his face away from mine and sat cozily back in his chair, the room - to my eyes - became a lot brighter. “Perhaps I should be listening to my own lessons. Anger is… too easy.” What I had failed to notice, however, was that even though his face was no longer a hair’s breadth away, his hand, complete with rolled newspaper, was still very much within reach, until a nice tight swat! met my temple. “And you are too clever by half.” 

–

Leavesden Studios, UK. October 2007.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to our continued coverage of Beat-Bas’-Butt-Like-A Big-Bass-Drum-lympics. In our next event, let’s go live to the Weasley’s Burrow set for the last round of dodge-Bas for the day.

Plates and plates of the prop, but actual food that’d been decorating the Weasley dinner table were piled on trays and carried away, leaving the surface as devoid as the stilted conversations I was growing accustomed to with my co-stars. “So I guess we know what’s on the menu today.” Rupert, bless his heart, wore his awkward heart on his tattered sweater sleeve. He was the only redhead left at the table after Karen Gillan and the Phelps twins had left.

“Honestly, they could stand to pluck up just a little bit of courage. It’s not like you bit their heads off, Bas.” They could stuff all the lovey-dovey nonsense they wanted into the script, but Emma clearly wasn’t feeling it outside of her takes.

“Don’t worry, they’ll get over it, Em. Right now I’m the guy who farted in a crowded elevator. It’s only natural people are going to avoid me until the smell stops lingering.” 

Though I do have to give full credit to them for keeping that sentiment buried during shooting. And even if my patience was being burnt to cinders, at least in this rendition of the movie, the Burrow wouldn’t be.

“Well, there goes my appetite.” 

“Not the worst thing in the world, Grint.” This table I felt much more secure in crossing when I grabbed Rupert’s wrists and flapped his arms. “You’re one more bite of bread away from being called doughy.” 

“Oi, mate!” He snatched his hands away and buried a fistful of knuckles deep into my upper arm. The wife-beater the wardrobe department had stuffed him into was making a lot more sense. “And you’re one less bloke away from being that lonely tosser talking to himself in the corner.” Good thing I, at least, had to wear longer sleeves, because that bitch was gonna bruise.

And with how hard Emma slapped her palm to her forehead, she was at risk of that, too. “Can the both of you please take this seriously? I’d actually like to be able to enjoy a meal with my friends - which includes you, Bas - without having to sit through silence and scratchy cutlery.”

“Hey, look, right now everyone who was at the table read thinks I’m like one of the pimples on their face. Ready to pop-”

“Thank you very much for that visual.”

“I can punch you again if that’s what you want.”

“Give them a few more days. They’ll see that I’ve cooled off, and we’ll all happily return to the status quo. In the meantime, I need the two of you to make nice so that when I come bearing an apology, I have an in. Can you do that for me?” 

“Spread the misery, why don’t you?”

“I think what he means is, yes, of course. Come along, Rupert.” Never doubted my two little minions for a moment.

“It seems zat zey too, have abandoned you mon ami.” Though clearly someone else erroneously did. Lea Seydoux, who reprised her role as Fleur Delacour cleared her phlegm and slunk in from whatever corner she was hiding in. “Come, mon degenere, let us take la pause dejeuner togezer.” 

Not the most flattering title, but I wasn’t about to spurn the lunch invite. “After you.” And then my phone rang. It was Anita. “Maybe not.” I was changing her name Cock Blockula first thing after this call. “I’m sorry, Lea. Can’t avoid this call, I’m afraid. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Maybe I do not have an appetite for you, zen.” If I ever had a rival when it came to flirting, Lea would undoubtedly be her. “Such a pretty face on you, such a shame you shall die alone.” I retract my previous statement. Without even a second glance at me, she twirled around and sashayed away. My eyes immediately followed her exaggeratedly swaying hips. I retract my retraction.

“Took you long enough.” Anita complained as soon as I answered her call.

“This better be good. I’m skipping out on a very special lunch for this.” 

“Oh, yeah? So I’m guessing you don’t want to hear about how I successfully sniffed out your potential next project.” With a little help from Tom Cruise’s people, who had in fact gotten in touch with Anita like he’d promised.

“Please spare me the snapping. I’ll become a turtle if everyone keeps pushing me. So, was it true?”

“TC isn’t involved but his longtime buddy, Jerry Bruckheimer, is extending his deal with Disney to produce another tent-pole franchise now that Pirates is finished. It’s still early days but I’ve already gone and put your name in the ring for contention. I’ll get you in a room with them as soon as feasible.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Now let’s bolster the other scheme I have running as well. “Do me a favour and discretely float this up to WB.” Hopefully this’ll light a fire under their butts and help Heyman get some headway.

“Consider it done. And some quick extra advice, learn something called parkour in your off time. I don’t know what that is, but there was a lot of it being discussed for this movie.”

More French past times were in my immediate future.