Caught Between

“Cut!”

All action stopped. There were only a few bird chirps floating on the air from nearby trees in the meadow as the production crew and the army of men heeding their general’s address in the field of battle were called to desist their efforts.

The lead actor, Gerald Humphrey Castor, looked at the film director. He was breathless because the thunder of his message to the troops pounded through his heart and limbs. He lowered the raised sword to his side, his face crinkled with disbelief. “No way, “ he said, his voice as commanding as any medieval general’s would be when inspiring his men, “why did you stop us? We’re all hyped up for the combat scene!”

The director, Arnold “Arnie” Steely of academy-nominated fame, laughed. He stood up and said through his megaphone, “What? And ruin the best performance of a military officer I’ve ever recorded? No way. Cut and save. Good job everyone," he said with a wave of his free arm, "have a great weekend!”

Whoops of glee broke out from the belly of the soldiers’ formation. Castor shoved the sword into the scabbard, his temperature still hot as a flame from his rousing address to the warriors. This sudden stop to the momentum he had built throughout the movie toward victory against the invading enemy dangled like an archer with a bow but no arrows.

One of the actors jumped forward and jabbed Castor on the arm. “Way to go!” he said. He turned to the rest of the gathered soldiers and swung his ball and chain weapon over his head, “Here’s to our man Castor!” Everyone who was encamped in the meadow valley for the filming cheered. The army of men broke their formal lines to huddle, slapping each other and then dispersed through the production crew high fiving.

Cheeks aflame, Castor stomped up to Steely. “You’re walking a thin line here and you know it. The story’s not done.”

Steely dropped the megaphone onto his chair. “I mean it, my man. It’s the best I’ve recorded in my career. I’m not going to dilute it with a series of rampages in the forest that every movie goer has seen a thousand times over, or fill it with humble gratitude by the saved aristocrats at the castle, or you, the upstart general, receiving kudos from the king. No sir. This film is different because of your commitment to it. I won’t let the story sink to the level of commonality. It will end with the force you gave it in that victory speech.”

“But . . .”

 “For heaven’s sake,” Steely put his hands on his hips, poked his chest out, “do you trust me?”

“I’m talking about the script, Arnie.” Castor raised an open palm in the air between them, “Cutting off the movie at this juncture doesn’t finish the history of the battle.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Castor shook his head, “What are you driving at?”

“You gave your heart and soul to this role. The speech was the cherry on top. Movie viewers and those mighty critics of the industry are astute. All viewers will intrinsically know the historical outcome because of your performance.”

Castor took a deep breath, “Arnie, the contract is for a minimum of 102 minutes. Wouldn’t we be short?”

Steely set his shoulders back. “Look. I’m catapulting your career. Don’t you think it’s time you appreciate that?”

Castor blinked. His pulse slowed. He knew this role of a man rising from poverty to a military general during medieval times mimicked his personal walk toward success in modern day conditions but worldly approval was the farthest thing from his mind. His personal mantra had been to make his skills a minimum of one percent better each day. In essence, this soldier discipline had become his life like marrow to bone.

“Yeah,” added Steely breaking Castor’s thought, “I’m looking out not just for you, but for me and for the quality of this narrative. Your address to those soldiers is the pinnacle moment and I’m not wasting it whether you agree with me or not.” He crossed his hands below his waist. “Finis.”

“The contract required the whole story be told, damn it.”

Arnie shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll add some of our outtakes during the set up scenes with the knights at the castle. The ones of them bickering among themselves of how unworthy you are as a general I’ll add too. It will intensify the conflict, making the end speech a defiance of all their doubt.”

Castor wiped sweat from his forehead and suddenly felt exhausted. He sank to the director’s chair. He took his helmet off and laid it at the feet of the chair. He rubbed his hand through his sweaty hair. “I don’t know if I can agree with you. It isn’t what we agreed on with the producers.”

Arnie put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve taken all my directions throughout this film. Congratulate yourself on that because it brought you to the conclusion with a bonfire explosion.” Steely knelt over to lay his hand flat across Castor’s heart. “The power of the general’s decision to refute those who opposed him by taking complete charge, declaring war, will win acclaim for character development. You did an amazing job.”

 “Thanks.” Castor stood; his legs weak. “That means a lot to me but this call of yours is risky.”

“How do you think I’ve been able to carve my own career, huh?” Steely said. He edged his running shoes a couple more inches apart. “Taking risks. That’s how. Remember, I’m the one who answers to the producers. I’ll only talk to them after they’ve seen the film first.”

Castor grabbed his sword pommel and rocked back on his boots, “But it will take weeks for the editing.”

“Don’t worry. Trust me.”

“But if they refute your decision, I’ll have no qualms about telling them I fought you on this.”

“I’m telling you to have faith in my ability, faith in yours.”

On the way to the mobile dressing room, several members of the filming crew stopped Castor to congratulate him. He acknowledged them but on the inside, he quaked. Could he trust Steely? Or would he rebel against him like the general he played in the historical piece.

He ran his hand down the leather of the antique chest plate he wore. He smoothed the milky surface of it wondering if hardship truly was the only way to peace as the Serenity Prayer states for he didn’t feel peace, only disgust in his gut. It had always stuck in his craw how Hollywood took literary license to change historical narratives in an effort to create drama for drama’s sake. And now it was happening to him.

He peered into the dressing room mirror. The overhead LED lights cast a harsher brightness than sunlight onto his face. He looked pale white after the removal of makeup, the mask of his role as ruffian general. He harumphed. The general would have just killed the director because his blockage to the army’s victory meant he was a foe. Castor looked down and shook the wayward emotion off. He eyed himself again, imagining he was in Steely’s shoes. He rested the top of his nose against the flesh of his folded hands on the table. The only thing he saw was his complete abandonment of theatrical training and utter surrender to the role. He looked into the glaring light again and admitted that in the film he had experienced an unexplainable power that had lifted him outside of himself.

He closed his eyes and silently prayed. At the end, a patience like a soothing oil calmed the confusion in his mind and body. He took a deep breath of relief and rose from the counter. He showered and put on his street clothes. He stepped down the outside stairs to the sweet smelling meadow grass. A passing by member of the light crew tapped him on the arm, “Great performance. I bet this film will win an academy award.”

Castor tapped his arm in return, “Thanks. We’ll see what happens after our combined effort is sealed in the can.”

With those words, he stood still to ponder the beauty of the open meadow with an uncanny assurance that the higher power he had experienced in the role, would stay with him and guide him through whatever did happen.