Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

Meeting Evan again was like healing a long-festering wound. I didn’t apologize to him. Nor did he to me. We just went back to how things were before our little fight. That’s the best part of being a child. If we had had this dispute as adults, it would have been almost impossible to get back to the same point where we left off so easily. Evan’s parents, who had accompanied him to Cannes, left soon after and we began our trip.

It was great being away from fame for such a long time. Don’t get me wrong, I love working on a film set and meeting different people, including fans, it was the reporters and the paparazzi that I detested. Our month was spent on remote islands, beaches, historical monuments, crowded cities, you name it and we’ve likely been there this past month alone. Many people recognized me in big cities, but we tried to blend in as much as we could and most of our time was spent in anonymity. It was a great experience, one that I never wanted to end, but deep down I knew that was unrealistic. Every good thing comes to an end one day or another. So did our trip.

At the end of the amazing trip, Evan went back to his home in LA, and he didn’t have to fly alone. For the next step of my career, I had to begin preparations for [AI]. As the shooting for the film was to take place mostly at Burbank Studios, three of us flew directly to Los Angeles, while Dad went back to London to oversee the completion of the first [Harry Potter] film and the pre-production of the second one, which would begin shooting soon enough.

The worst part about this film was that I didn’t have Dad with me to help prepare for the role. All of my four films till now have been practiced diligently by me under the direct supervision of Daddy Dearest. That couldn’t be the case this time around due to our conflicting schedules. So of course, I had to use other resources available to me.

“Alright, Troy,” Steven Spielberg commanded. “Walk up to me in your best robotic expression and say your lines.”

I blanked my face and mechanically walked towards Steven, stopped just a foot away from him, and smiled, “Hello!” I chirped out, “I’m David. I’ll be your new son.”

“You blinked,” Steven pointed out immediately. “Why would a robot blink?”

I could think of at least ten reasons why a robot would blink. But I didn’t voice them. The most prominent one off the top of my head was that the robot company added that feature so that real humans aren’t weirded out by the non-blinking robots. If Steven Spielberg is saying I shouldn't blink, he must be right. Yet, it would be agonizing if I couldn’t blink even once while shooting this film over four months so I had to confirm one important thing.

“If you shoot every scene with me not blinking at all, the number of retakes would go up a lot,” I voiced my concern hesitantly.

Steven deliberated on the issue for a moment before saying, “Retakes don’t matter that much in the grand scheme of things. The audience should be able to recognize you as a machine from your tells like movements, voice, and lack of blinking. Then there would be other tells like lack of tears or excessive facial expressions.”

I nodded in understanding. Just because something made sense on paper doesn’t mean it would look equally compelling on screen. Steven Spielberg was a master of manipulating human emotions as far as cinema was concerned. He knew exactly what would or wouldn’t look good on screen. Over the years, I have practically seen all of Spielberg’s movies, and not even a single film was terrible. There are a few mediocre ones in his long list of filmography story-wise, but technically speaking, even the mediocre ones were stunning pieces of cinematic history.

So if such a person thinks that it is better for my character to not blink, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

“Okay,” Steven said. “Let’s practice your lines and I’ll guide you through each of them as you requested. Meanwhile, I have homework for you. Try to practice the walk you just did, all day every day for the next three weeks.”

Given that the film was to begin shooting in three weeks, Steven was essentially asking me to remain in character until the film began.

“I can do that,” I replied before picking up the script that was given to me to practice my lines from when we’d signed the contract.

The benefit of signing another Warner movie was that they knew the exact details of my fees for [Harry Potter]. And although it was unreleased at the moment, I did have an additional leverage to ask for a higher salary: my Oscar win. Initially they had offered me the same $2 million as for Harry Potter. Even that amount was entirely too much for a child star. Yet, Mum didn't relent on that amount so easily and bargained hard knowing how they will not make the film without me. In the end, they agreed to pay me $5m. Other than Macaulay Culkin, I was the highest-paid child in Hollywood. And I’m pretty sure I’ll overtake Culkin later this year when I get the box office share of [Harry Potter].

Warner Bros had offered me a similar revenue-sharing deal for [AI], as was the case with [Harry Potter] if I were to forgo my upfront salary, but I declined them. Reason? Simple. The film wasn’t a hit last time around. It did average business only and upon its initial release, it didn’t break even until years later. Initially, critics were cleanly divided into lauding it and deriding it. Decades later, when artificial intelligence became a real thing, people did come back to the film with a positive outlook, but that was too late for me. My appearance in the film may change things and the film’s perception, but I didn’t want to take that risk with my salary. For now, I’d be happy with my $5 million payday.

“Alright Troy,” Spielberg broke me out of my thoughts and I realized one of Spielberg’s servants was standing behind him. “It’s your time to go home. Your mother is here. Remember that tomorrow we have to work on creating that body mold we talked about.”

“I remember. See you tomorrow,” I waved him for good measure before making my way to the front door of his mansion and of course, Mum was there to escort me back. Which was strange given that they had hired Roger for me for this very purpose.

“Where’s Roger?” I asked as soon as we were safely tucked in the car and driving towards our new home. A new car wasn’t the only thing we purchased from our newfound prosperity. While we lived most of the time in London, Dad had decided to buy a Beverly Hills mansion for investment and tax purposes on a loan. It was a logical decision given that we juggle most of our time between LA and London.

“He had a family emergency,” Mum replied. “He had to go back to London for a few days. I think we should get you a new security guy exclusive to LA.”

“Probably better,” I grimaced at that thought. LA being LA, everyone expected to meet stars everywhere. If I were to go to, say, Philadelphia where people aren’t expecting me, I’m much less likely to be hounded by everyone 24/7. Here in LA, it’s a different scene. I can’t walk outside for more than a few minutes without someone recognizing me and asking for a photograph/autograph. It’s irritating on some level, but I had gotten used to it by now mostly. Still, I won’t go anywhere alone because a lot of people want to take advantage of the fact that I was a kid. They could easily overpower me, if nothing else.

“So, how are the rehearsals going?” Mum asked conversationally.

“It’s good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

I sighed, “Okay, don’t tell this to Dad, I don’t want to inflate his ego, but he is a much better person to practice scenes with. Spielberg is alright, but Dad is Dad. You know what I mean?”

“Not entirely,” Mum confessed. “Tell me why you didn’t like Spielberg’s approach. Maybe I can help you out there.”

That was a good question about which I hadn’t thought much, to be honest. Why didn’t I like Spielberg’s direction personally? After some contemplation, I could come to only one conclusion: because he’s Steven Spielberg. All the other directors that I have worked with, be it Dad, Shyamalan, Daldry, or even Columbus, none of them were as acclaimed or famous as Spielberg. None of the other directors were a brand name in themselves when we began shooting. Shyamalan achieved that status after [The Sixth Sense], but while shooting he was just an average guy. Same for Daldry who became a big director in my past life after [Billy Elliot]. Chris Columbus was the most renowned director I have worked with before Spielberg, thanks to his [Home Alone] films and [Mrs. Doubtfire], but he has also given his share of flop and mediocre films. People won’t just go and watch any of these directors’ films for the heck of it, but they will for Spielberg.

“I’m too afraid to correct what he is saying,” I said slowly. “I think he knows better than me whenever I have a suggestion about the film or my role.”

“There you go,” Mum beamed. “If you could reach that conclusion on your own, I’m sure you must have thought of the solution as well.”

I nodded, though Mum couldn’t see me as her eyes were fixed on the road so I verbalized it as well, “Yeah. I have to start speaking up. He is also a human after all.”

“Exactly,” Mum nodded. “What’s the worst that would happen? Either he would accept your suggestions or would tell you why he didn’t want to go in that direction and that’s it. One thing I can tell you for sure is that he would be mad that you didn’t voice your opinion, not that your opinion was wrong. Like any good director would.”

“Hmm,” I grunted in confirmation as I thought about what Mum had said. It made a surprising amount of sense.

When we reached home, instead of letting me do my thing, Mum sat me down in the living room and said in a serious tone, “Are you sure you want to do the [Billy Elliot] stage musical, Troy?”

I was confused for a moment before slowly nodding my head, “Yes. Why are you asking like that?”

Mum went quiet for a few seconds before saying, “Because a stage musical is a very big deal. Not only will you have to stay in London or New York for months, if not a full year, but it will have severe repercussions on your schoolwork as well.”

I sighed out loud. Of course, it had to be about my damning schoolwork. I had succeeded in finishing another year of my schoolwork while filming [Harry Potter]. So now, instead of starting seventh grade, as most 11-year-olds would in the UK, I was meant to start with tenth grade (or freshman year of high school as per American terminology). After the eleventh grade, I was meant to take my GCSE, and my A-levels after the thirteenth grade.

“What about my schoolwork?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’m already three years ahead.”

“Oh, I know that,” Mum said. “The problem comes with Actors’ Union and child labor laws. They have this rule that a child actor can work only so many hours a week on stage. This includes rehearsal hours as well. A successful play can have as many as eight and sometimes nine shows per week. No child can do that many shows within the hours set by those rules.”

That was a problem I had not thought about. At some level, I knew about this because on stage there were always two or three different actors portraying Billy on different days. I hadn’t given the legal side of that much thought. Now that Mum explained it, it made much sense.

“Is there no exception to this rule?” I asked hopefully.

Mum looked conflicted for a few moments, “There is. But, I don’t want to give that out to you.”

“Oh, come on Mum!” I begged. “Tell me already or I’ll look it up on the internet.”

“That is why I’m not hiding it from you,” Mum grumbled. “Bloody internet. The only exception to that rule is if the actor in question has passed out of high school. So if you clear your GEDs in the US or A-level in the UK, you can work full hours.”

“That’s it?” I asked happily. “Why didn’t you tell that to me earlier?”

“Because I didn’t want you to cram four years’ worth of education in one year while shooting big-budget films year-round,” Mum retorted. “You barely have any free time left as it is.”

“Mum,” I spoke softly. “The play hasn’t even been written yet.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Mum smiled back at me. “The film’s script is right there. They don’t need to write an entirely new story or deviate too much from the dialogue. It will take less than a month for a competent writer to make the necessary changes to the main plot. A task that Lee Hall has already begun.”

I sat there silently absorbing the information. Lee Hall was the writer of [Billy Elliot] who had taken inspiration from his own life and multiple others’ to pen down this beautiful story.

“Your Dad contacted him back in London with the idea and Lee was very enthusiastic about it,” Mum continued with the explanation for her worries. “He immediately started working on it after your father secured the stage adaptation rights from the other producers. Lee has begun talks with Stephen Daldry and Elton John to direct and score the film respectively.”

“How much did Dad pay for the adaptation rights?”

“$1 million,” Mum replied.

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