On Set in Lugardo

A Few Dark Horses

– Miss Savat!

I flinched as if it were not a knock on the door but a gunshot.

– Miss Savat!

I closed my suitcase, took a deep breath, and went to open the door. On the threshold stood a petite blonde, tight and businesslike. Her facial expression suggested that I worked for her, making it clear she was not a chambermaid.

– Good morning! – she flashed a smile and extended her hand. – How was the flight?

– Excellent, thank you...

– I'm Stella, the director's assistant.

– Nice to meet you, – I tried to shield the scattered items on the bed with my body.

– Could you come with me? Victor would like to meet you.

– Now? – I smoothed out my dishevelled hair. After the overnight flight, all I yearned for was a shower and sleep. I had hoped not to talk to anyone and spend three months sunbathing.

Who would have thought they had other plans for me, and the position of "consultant on the set" implied some actions on my part?

– It would only take a few minutes, – she showed no intention of getting off me, so I had to go with her.

– Let's go, let's go, – she urged with a smile. At that moment, I had yet to discover that Stella was the leader of the tribe of filmmakers. A "director's assistant" who may not have much influence in the film business but on whom almost everything on the set depends.

I followed her petite figure, stepping over boxes in the corridor. The entire floor was cluttered with them: provisions, equipment, wires, carts... Moving in, I had a hard time dragging my suitcase through this tent camp. Although I liked it: it's convenient to play hide and seek here.

– Guys will clean this up, – Stella said, unexpectedly reading my thoughts, then sighed, – I hope.

And then the thought hit me on the head that in a moment, I would meet Victor Soyfer himself! The main maverick in cinema, the dark horse, a self-taught director who made a career in art-house cinema, hitting the bullseye so precisely every time that in recent years, he had become an iconic filmmaker for millennials.

I find myself heading to his room, all because he liked my book so much that he chose it for his new project. The convergence of these two facts struck me suddenly, and it seemed my face gave it away, for Stella suddenly leaned towards me and said, "Don't worry, Liz, he won't bite."

Stella, a dangerous woman, reads everything and understands it all.

Victor Soyfer paced around the room, pressing his mobile phone to his ear, and peered intently at the papers. Of medium height, in excellent physical shape, a blond with a hint of gray. He nodded to Stella and me and continued nodding to the voice on the other end of the line. Judging by the room, Mr. Soyfer was as absent-minded as a child scattering crayons here and there: documents, open laptops, photographs, markers, and pens could be found on every bedside table. Like a big forty-five-year-old boy, he scattered his big and important toys.

On the bed, a storyboard of one of the film scenes was displayed, hand-drawn: Sammy, tall and handsome, gazing with fiery eyes into the expanse of the sea. The air got stuck in my chest: I suddenly felt a surge of gratitude for the man I hadn't even had a chance to properly meet yet. My book had traveled a long cyclical path, starting here, in Lugardo, and returning here again. I realized clearly: the image people would have of Sammy depended on this man's drawings, his vision and his decisions. Certainly, the book had a big fanbase, but no matter how they imagined Sammy, it was Victor Soyfer who held the power to "adjust" the picture and immortalize it.

Victor's fame now concerned me less than the fact that the fate of my creation was in his hands. That's where the real tremor and cold sweat set in.

When the man ended his phone call and approached us, my brain had already endowed him with the traits of a tyrant: a gaze too somber, a wrinkle on the bridge of the nose from constant pondering of fate, a commanding tone, and that tail, like that of a hippie...

– This is Lisa Savat, – Stella prompted him.

– Yes, of course, – Victor answered a little distantly, as if lingering in his thoughts on that phone call. Nevertheless, he set aside the papers and shook my hand.

– Pleasure to meet you, Liz. How fortunate that you joined us.

He led me to a small nook by the window, where a little round table stood, and then I realized there was someone else in the room. A young man, sitting in a chair by the window, turned towards us. Judging by his tousled hair and crumpled T-shirt, he had just woken up.

– Liz, meet Oscar Nordin, the actor playing Sammy.

I froze. Over the past couple of years, this name has become almost generic. Oscar Nordin woke up famous after a movie, and soon this fame escalated into a global frenzy, with paparazzi covering every turn of his head.

– This is Lisa Savat, – Victor continued, – the author of the book.

– Oh, – the actor stood up and extended his hand, – hello.

– Hello, – I tried to maintain composure so that he wouldn't understand what was going on in my head at that moment. And what was going on was me trying to reconcile the media image with the person before me. It wasn't going so well. I had seen his face too often on the news feed, and it felt strange to stand so close to a movie character. After all, he's just a product of the film industry, not a real living person, right?

My ears buzzed from tension. Nordin, too, stared at my face, as if he, too, were comparing. Only my face had never been shown anywhere.

– I've seen your blog; the idea with the mask is impressive, – Oscar finally said, returning to his chair.

Ah, that's what it is.

– I'm not the one handling it, - I said, catching myself thinking that I might disappoint Oscar damn Nordin.

– Seriously?

– I prefer to delegate communication with strangers to other strangers.

Oscar laughed in a friendly way – he surely had the skill of breaking the ice. First, you are in awe of who is sitting next to you, and then you hear that laughter, so deep, as if it started in the very heart, you see the kindly smile, and it already seems that something good could come out of the filming.

– Why has it never occurred to me to delegate communication with strangers? – Oscar said. He and Victor decided to toy with this topic a little more.

– It's not allowed by your contract, – Victor said, finally taking a seat across from us. – Although, don't the paparazzi handle it?

– Perhaps even better than me! But I didn't hire them.

– You didn't hire them, so it's not your job to fire them!

Another burst of laughter, so contagious that even I couldn't resist. Why were they so easy to be around with? Or why did I think they wouldn't be?

Then Stella brought a stack of papers, and Victor cleared his throat.

– Lisa, you've seen the script, haven't you?

– Yes, I received it by email.

– But you didn't make any edits, – he looked at me over his reading glasses.

– Oh, no. I trust you completely; I'm not here to interfere.

– Liz, you've misunderstood the essence of our invitation.

– I have?

– Listen, – he leaned forward. – Adapting fables is not that simple. Adapting your fable is doubly difficult. I took on your book because I want to create a new classic. I aim to leave a mark; the studio aims to break the box office. Both are unattainable. I need you.

– Me? – it seemed like my breath had stopped.

– Yes. If this script isn't suitable, we'll rewrite it today.

– Just don't tell Rita about it, – Stella's voice came from the other end of the room.

– Rita has nothing to worry about; no one is erasing her name, – Victor replied and explained to me. – Rita is our screenwriter. But she's not here. It's just you and me. And we need to do everything so that as few people as possible say, "Another horrible adaptation." And so that fifty years from now, no one can convey the essence of your book better than we do today.

I took the stack of papers from the table.

– The film crew will be gathering until the end of the week, - Victor continued, – we have precisely that much time to fine-tune the script. I'll be glad to see you, Liz, at any moment.

So much for sunbathing...

Then Stella handed me the shooting schedule.

– We'll be filming here for a month, – Victor commented as I studied the plan, – then, most likely, we'll have to leave.

– Why?

– We haven't found a location for the scene with the seal.

– You haven't found a place here, in Lugardo? – I asked.

The man started looking around as if searching for something, and Stella immediately understood and handed him a thick envelope.

– Our team explored all the places close to the description with the local guide, but I don't like any of these, – Victor spilled photographs onto the table. Beaches, bays, promenades. Here it is, my Lugardo. Once this conversation is over, I'll rush to the long-awaited date with it...

But before that, as I looked through the pictures, I gave Soifer what he was waiting for: an opinion.

– I know one place.

– Here, on the island? – he perked up, showing childlike excitement in his eyes.

– Yes. I think it is perfect. I can go there in a few days and take some shots.

– No, Liz, no, just give the address to our photographer.

Stella immediately grabbed her phone:

– Shall I cancel their trip to Greece?

– No, why, let him shoot, maybe there's a better place there...

– Trust me, – I smiled, writing down the address on a sheet of paper, – you won't find a better place.

– That's why I invited you! – Victor exclaimed, wagging his finger in the air.

– I count on your help, too, – suddenly Oscar said somewhat shyly, looking straight into my eyes.

– Yes, of course, I'll try to be helpful, – I said, not understanding how I could be useful to Oscar Nordin. I hope he's not expecting an acting masterclass from me. I'm anything but Nora Strasberg.

– I'd welcome advice on the character. I've started contemplating the scenes, and in some places, I find gaps.

– Such as?

– In the scene where Sammy comes to work on the first day.

– What about it?

– Everything is clear in the book, – he reassured, taking a more tense position in the chair, – but in the script, everything is a bit different. So, I faced a dilemma. Sammy is dissatisfied; he doesn't want to work as a driver, right? His father insists.

– Yes..., – I tried to keep the conversation going, inserting interjections where needed and nodding, but his words were challenging for me. Perhaps one day I'll learn to abstract from his celebrity status.

– And so he comes to the bus park, and he gets an old, unimpressive bus that no one wants to work on. And when Sammy sits behind the wheel and realizes that the bus doesn't move, what does he feel?

I felt a rush of heat: I realized I didn't remember my own book. In my defense, it had been a year and a half since the last edit, and I hadn't opened it since then. I let it go and forgot about it, and I wanted to forget because the edits brought me to exhaustion and disgust, and I couldn't stand to look at those letters and words.

Yet, I didn't think it was necessary to refresh my memory before coming here. Who could have foreseen that they would interrogate a "set consultant"?

Oscar read my perplexity and friendly reminded me:

– In the book, Sammy is disappointed. More precisely, irritated: this job is a burden for him even without the bonus of getting the worst bus imaginable. But I've played it out in my mind several times and envisioned how it would look on screen. Because later, Sammy will want to throw the bus off the pier. So, I think he needs a touch of zest for that decision – visually justifying his actions for the audience. He's irritated, yes, but he's also quite carefree: he seems to like that he got such a wayward "steed," as it means he won't have to work at a job he dislikes.

I pretended to be processing as I tried to silence the voice in my head that melodiously repeated, "You're such a fool, Liza."

– Do you agree? – Oscar looked at me with his curious brown eyes.

– Sounds reasonable, – I said, just to conclude this meeting as quickly as possible.

– Vic? – the guy looked at the director.

The coffee table creaked, and Victor found his phone under a pile of papers and photos.

– Excuse me, it's my wife, – he stepped into the corridor.

So, the future Sammy and I were alone in the room. The "world-renowned star" yawned and slumped in the chair, stretching his legs. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at several sleep-deprived days. Perhaps the blame lies with the time zone change...

– And that's it, – Oscar concluded, looking at the open door.

– Won't he come back? – I wondered.

– Stella won't let him go far – she guards his schedule. I think she'll dig him out from under the storyboards in an hour or two and force him to have breakfast.

I chuckled and gazed out of the window: the sun was so bright and alluring, holding memories of a beautiful past where I once belonged.

Oscar asked softly:

– Is it your first time on the set?

– Yeah.

– You'll get used to it.

– It's even scary to imagine, – I shuddered.

– The key is to adapt to Vic's pace; the rest will be easier.

– Have you worked with him before? – I asked and immediately scolded myself: it was probably a well-known film, and here I was proving myself ignorant.

But Oscar didn't show any sign of offense. He enthusiastically shared details of their previous work, where the filming took place, how long it lasted, and what it was like to shoot in the cold water...

I listened and watched his gestures, fingers tapping on the armrest, and gradually relaxed: so what if I'm moving blindly, at least there will be one person here to lean on, someone who won't push away or mock, and that gave me confidence.

In exactly a month and a half, I will curse this day and berate myself for agreeing to come here. It happened to me again, on the same island. I fell off the cliff once more. But this time, it won't result in just a scar. I'm not even sure if I will be able to stand back up.