Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

“$1 million,” Mum replied.

“Holy…” I stopped myself before Mum could intensify her gaze any more. “Didn’t Dad say that musical rights are cheaper?”

“Your Dad doesn’t know everything.” Mum smiled, “It all depends on the perceived value of the product. While most musicals are cheaper compared to their movie counterparts, this will be more expensive than the original [Billy Elliot] because its budget was too low and stage actors have their minimum wages set at a much higher rate than film actors. Along with the fact that your image would be used to market this musical, they almost didn’t want to sell it, rather make it themselves with you as the lead. Dad declined, saying you would only appear if we were producing it fully. As you now know, they relented, but for a steep price.”

That was quite fascinating to hear.

“The musical will take at least another $5 million to produce. You have agreed to pay with your money. This includes salaries of writers, musicians, directors, and all crew and cast members included in the rehearsals and the first few weeks of performances. Then there are set decorations, props, lights, costumes, and so much more to accommodate.”

“Okay,” I stopped her from going any further. “I think we are deviating from our main topic.”

“You’re right,” Mum gave me an apologetic look. “As I was saying, Lee Hall and Elton John have begun work on the play and the songs actively, and it shouldn’t take them more than half a year to complete the first draft. That’s when we’re supposed to have a workshop of sorts. The problem is that we’ll begin shooting [HP 2] by then. All in all, we won’t be able to begin workshops and practice before the summer of 2001.”

“That gives me a full year to complete my schooling,” I mused out loud.

“You forgot a few things,” Mum said. At my raised eyebrow, she continued, “You have two films to shoot in that period. And if you’re serious about doing this musical, you’ll have to begin your dance lessons again.”

I winced at that reminder. I had kind of slowly stopped taking my dance lessons. Initially, I joined as a fun recreational activity in addition to my music lessons and as a substitute to martial arts. I only wanted to do it until the shooting of [Harry Potter] began. But then [Billy Elliot] inspired me to continue dancing even after the shooting wrapped up. And I did it until I couldn’t. A person can have only so many hours in a day. I had to choose between either martial arts, or dance. In the end, I chose martial arts, and dance was cut off from my schedule. Now and then, I would still dance to a couple of my old routines, but not with the rigor that a professional dance class brings.

“Do you now see why I don’t want you to do the musical?” Mum asked rhetorically. “You just don’t have the time.”

I closed my eyes and pondered over the problem. Should I just accept that I won’t be able to do it? Or should I fight for what I want? To be honest with you, there is another reason I want to do the musical: a small little trophy called the Tony Awards. The fact that I had already won an Oscar and an Emmy at my age hadn’t escaped me. Winning a Tony would complete a trifecta of acting awards, known as the Triple Crown of Acting, the highest American honor for any actor. A status that only 13 people in history have achieved. I checked. I want to be the youngest person to achieve the trifecta and the fastest as well, from the first award to the last. That was the biggest reason I was pushing for [Billy Elliot: The Musical] because I know that the lead actors got a joint Tony for their performance in the original timeline. Of course, then I’d have to work for a Grammy to complete the circle of EGOT, but that is an issue for later.

There was this one line I had heard from a famous actor that I still remember: "If you want to achieve your dreams, become greedy and don’t stop making efforts for them."

With that statement in mind, I had already decided what to do. The problem is that this is a very delicate situation. I didn’t want Mum to think of me as an obsessive workaholic who can’t think of anything beyond his next project.

I can’t drop my music lessons because I’d need to sing songs in the musical, for which I’d need regular vocal practice to keep my voice in top shape. I can’t skip dance or acting for obvious reasons. That left the only thing that I could axe from my schedule: martial arts. But not just that, I would have to convince Mum to let me finish my schooling early, so I can devote my full time to the musical when the time comes.

Time to cook up some stories.

“I think I’d like to take up my GCSEs in the coming month,” I declared.

Mum looked at me surprised, but before she could decline my request, I said, “Mum, I have already finished all my subjects up to that level. I just didn’t want you or Dad to think that I was rushing or not enjoying my life, so I never brought it up.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mum asked incredulously. “That’s not possible.”

“Believe me, Mum, I won’t even be the youngest person to complete my schooling. A kid from Hawaii completed it when he was 6 in 1990. Then, I can finish my sixth form (Grade 13) by next year. That would free me from all the union regulations.”

Mum didn’t speak for a few moments. I knew she was thinking about the dilemma and I let her.

After a full minute, I got an answer I wasn’t expecting, “Okay.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked.

Mum chuckled, “Weren’t expecting that, huh?”

“No,” I admitted honestly.

“Your Dad and I have talked about this at length. We both knew this day was coming sooner rather than later, but I had not expected it to come this early.” She ruffled my hair playfully while looking deep into my eyes. “My little tyke is all grown up and ready to start college.”

“Mum!” I groaned but didn’t push her away.

Ignoring my feeble protests, she continued, “Do you think you can finish your preparations within the next three weeks? Then we won’t have to worry about your shooting schedule.”

“That is a good idea,” I mused. “Okay, I’ll do it in three weeks. Just some revision would be needed, and we’d have to take a flight to London and back. Let’s put a pause on my music and dance classes for some time and finish this pesky thing called GCSE.”

Mum laughed, “Pesky, huh? Yes, let’s.”

I grinned widely at her response.

 

(Break)

 

One thing I’ve gotten to know after getting rich is that money opens a lot of doors. Doors that stand as hurdles in the path of a poor person. Hurdles like, ‘You can’t take a GCSE without booking it at least two months in advance’ were quickly solved after giving a little ‘donation’ to the right people on the education board.

They backdated a few documents, making it seem like I had applied for it months ago. Thank God GCSE doesn’t have an age limit. And voila! Just like that, my exams were to be conducted in two weeks. A week before we were set to begin shooting [AI].

Steven Spielberg was very understanding when Mum told him about my plan to take my exams early and freed me for the next two weeks from practice sessions so I could focus on my studies. I just had to do basic stuff like costume fittings and a body mold of my entire self from head to toe. (That one was quite creepy and claustrophobic.) I couldn’t continue walking and talking like the robot David, but Steven assured me that that wouldn’t be too much of an issue.

When I came back from the UK two weeks later, I was more than just a little relieved at being done with my coursework. All in all, my exams went much better than I had expected. This challenge was rapidly thrown my way and I didn’t have a choice but to take it up. As per my original plan, I had intended to finish my studies by 14, thus giving me more than enough time to score perfect grades. But since I was so short on time and with no intention of going to university, what’s the matter with above-average grades? I would enjoy my life either way.

And if for some bizarre reason, I change my mind about going to university, I can always make a big donation to one of those Ivy League schools and get a spot for me. I didn’t even care about the results of the test because it didn’t matter too much in the grand scheme of things.

 

(Break)

 

“Action!”

I was staring up at the decorations around the room in wonder. It was truly a marvelous place to be before looking down at my bed. I turned with a sudden mechanical jerk towards the couple standing beside me and smiled.

“Would you like me to sleep now?” I said in my robotic voice.

The middle-aged man nodded minutely, “Good idea. Good idea. Monica?” He turned towards his wife.

The woman was fidgety as she replied, “Uh, well, it’s late, you know. It’s after 9.” Then she turned to me, “How late do they let you stay up?”

“I can never go to sleep,” I replied in the same monotonous voice. “But I can lay quietly and not make a peep.”

“So, those pajamas will fit you,” the woman said while moving towards the exit. I followed her movement with my gaze. “We’ll be in to check on you first thing in the morning.”

Seeing her inching away, I asked as innocently as I could, “Dress me?” while raising the clothes in my hands toward her.

“Yeah, I’m gonna say good night while you boys be boys.” The woman was exiting the room while I followed her with my arms raised. She closed the door before I could follow her anymore. Then the man from before came up to me and took my clothes from me.

“Raise your arms,” he ordered. I did. He removed the shirt I was wearing from over my head. When I didn’t lower my hands myself, he lowered them for me before draping the pajama shirt over me.

“Cut!” Steven Spielberg’s voice rang out in the room as the fourth take abruptly ended. “Good job everyone, just not exactly what I had in mind.”

He beckoned me in a corner away from other actors and spoke softly, “Troy, what did you have in mind while going through this scene?”

“Nothing,” I replied honestly. “All I know is that there is a man and a woman with me whom I don’t know.”

Steven rubbed his forehead in thought before saying, “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you emote too much.”

I was surprised. This was the first time any director had said that to me, and I had worked with a few of them by now. “In what way?” I asked.

“When I look at your face as David, I can tell that you’re acting,” Steven grimaced. “It looks fake and not in a good robotic way, no, it’s more like an expressionless doll.”

I frowned in concern. Indeed, all roles aren’t meant for everybody. Some actors just don’t fit too well with a particular role, while others take time to adjust to the role. This was a role that I didn’t fit in perfectly from the get-go and I didn’t even have time to make it work because of my exams. In that case, a few things can happen. Either you give whatever subpar performance you can, or power through it and get better. You can probably guess which approach I chose.

“Can I see my performance?” I asked Steven hopefully.

He looked worried as if contemplating the issue before nodding slowly, “Come along.”

I followed him silently as Spielberg accompanied me to the monitor where he played the latest retake of the scene we had just shot. As soon as the performance began, I immediately understood the problem that was stopping Spielberg from passing the shot. I was trying too hard to look emotionless, so much so that my face came off as constipated in a few places. In this particular shot, it seemed as if I was pouting when the woman didn’t dress me.

It was all a matter of too much emotion, just as Spielberg had suggested. I was used to emoting a lot when on camera. This was a different kind of situation; I had to emote as little as possible. I think I’ll have to try something else.

“Okay, I see the problem,” I addressed Spielberg. “Let’s try it one more time.”

Steven looked skeptical, but he nodded once, “Alright.”

I returned to my original position and turned to the two actors who were playing the husband and wife, “I’m sorry for the multiple retakes.”

“It’s alright, Troy,” the woman, Frances O’Connor, smiled back at me. “It happens.”

“Yup,” Sam Robards, who played her husband, nodded. “Don’t worry too much. Anything below ten retakes is not too much.”

“Sam!” Frances let out an annoyed groan. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Take positions, everyone,” Steven called out to us three, and we did. “Sound rolling! Lights! Camera! And action!”

And the scene began again. I thought back to why this scene was a problem. It shouldn’t be. I unnecessarily made it out to be with my overacting. This time, I kept my face as blank as I could with the sole exception of a smile.

“Would you like to sleep now?” I didn’t react to any of their motions as long as the two actors were within my line of vision. Why would a robot turn to keep you in the center of his vision when you are still visible to him from the corner of his eye? That was my thought process. So when Frances moved away from me, I turned towards her only when I couldn’t see her. I took quick mechanical steps towards her with the intention of her dressing me, but when she didn’t, I kept a blank smile etched on my face until Sam came forward and dressed me.

“And cut! Print, check the gate!”

Hearing that magical phrase that approves a particular scene, I let out a big sigh of relief.

“Great job, Troy,” Steven congratulated me loudly for all cast and crew to hear. “That’s what I was talking about! You were perfect just now. Keep that emotion in check for the next scene and all the following scenes, and we’ll make a perfect film.”

And that was more than enough of a reassurance for me that I wasn’t doing too poorly. I had this small niggling feeling in the back of my mind that my presence would spoil this film. At least I can rest assured now that if my performance was subpar, it was because Spielberg didn’t ask for another take.

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