Chapter 38.5: Trailer Mix (Patreon)

Chapter 38.5: Trailer Mix

Win-Nguyen Situation Nail Spa, LA. June 2008.

Buff was the word of the day, and not because of how my muscles rippled beneath my needlessly tight shirt. 

And for once, I wasn’t admiring myself in front of a mirror either. 

Scratch, scrtch, scrtch. The young woman filing away at my fingernails concentrated on my cuticles. 

Outside of special occasions like birthdays, premieres, and other obligations that required my physical presence, I tended to remain relatively reclusive. And for good reason, too. If I chose to display myself blatantly out and about, there wouldn’t only be public outcry but an outright riot. 

Yet, for once, I had to risk it. I couldn’t take sitting in another meeting room anymore; fiddling through piles of paperwork gave me plenty of paper cuts and hangnails that marred my hand more than the giant, pink gash that slashed across my left palm. Hence, the nail salon - and in an oriental environment, wearing a face mask was polite and not picking a fight. So my disguise held up just fine. 

“Do you remember the three genres I said we need to focus on building your repertoire?” That was Anita. It was impossible to confuse her with Cadbury, who was on my other side, mostly because she had fallen asleep halfway through her shoulder massage.

“Comedy, romance, and action.” In reverse order, obviously.

“And any combination therein, but there’s also a secret fourth option.” Her nails were drumming and clacking away aggressively on her desk. Clearly, relaxation was a foreign concept to her.

“Whatever that hidden item on the menu is, you better bring it out before you waste those two hundred dollars I spent on your manicure.” 

Yes, she made me pay for the both of us. And I was about to pay again for my comments. “Oh, shut up! They’re still sharp enough to claw your eyes out, so unless you wanna read scripts blind, start talking like a mute.”

“Keep speaking like that, and I’ll be sure to listen deaf.”

Parking Potter for the moment, my recent cameos, my upcoming film, as well as the previous movies I’ve done were a good starting point for the next arc of my career’s trajectory. The problem, at least to me, was that everything I’d been involved with so far was in a supporting role, and my leading roles all depended on a pre-existing franchise. 

It was paramount (and I don’t mean the studio) that I measured my actual draw and star power in a vacuum. 

So rather than twiddling my thumbs waiting for an invitation to someone else’s soiree, it was up to me to take the active approach and organize my own shindig to see if I’d even get any RSVPs.

As a bonus, I was also free to take advantage of any forthcoming contracts that I may sign into by stipulating soul streaming rights for Netflix and myself as a condition for my involvement. 

Party planning can be a surprisingly serious affair. Come June twenty-ten, precisely two years from now, my (professional) time as Harry Potter will reach its conclusion. If I don’t start planning now, the only party I’ll get at that point is one celebrating my farewell from the limelight. 

That was my fear, at least.

There’d be no escaping my synonymity as Harry. Even a decade afterward, I appreciated that I’d have no such thing as anonymity from the role. Which isn’t something I’m prepared to complain about in the least either - it was the greatest gift I could ask for.

But that didn’t mean I wanted my career to halt here and now. 

Forget typecasting, I was afraid the only type of casting I’d be subjected to is where they’d dip my balls in embalming fluid and stick me behind a glass display in a museum. 

Formaldehyde wouldn’t even let me rot.

Efforts had been made to stray away from solely Harry’s tatty trainers, but more shoes could always be worn if I wanted to walk more miles.

So I slipped on my flippers and dove into the deep end. “First off, the production for Scott Pilgrim Vs The World has said thanks, but no thanks.” Anita let me get one last glimpse of that delicious Edgar Wright helmed project before tossing it out the proverbial window. 

“Did they say why? I can totally save the world.”

“Yes, but according to them, you’d look too good doing it. You’ve got the hero undies on too tight for them to see past right now. And the ones who do want to see you in those pair of pants want them tight to the point where your kidneys become visible.” Disney would no doubt like to harvest my organs and sell those too if they could. It was inevitable that I do the superhero thing, but not yet and not on anyone’s terms, but my own. “Don’t worry, Bas. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.” Well, if anyone knew where the seafood swims, my shark did.

“Is that your roundabout way of saying 21 Jump Street is a viable alternative?” Fingers and flippers crossed.

“Still trying my best on that end, but the studio has already handed both the script and part of executive production to some guy called Jonah Hill-”

“He’s the fat guy in Superbad from last year.”

“Yeah, him. Word on the block is that he’s insisting on playing one lead himself. He’s one of Judd Apatow’s, so despite his lack of acting credits, he’s got some robust weight behind the project.” And unless I wanted to step in and fumble the reins of that myself, I was gonna have to work with him.

“I’m assuming not the Johnny Depp type character. Whenever the script’s ready, get me in for a screen test with him. We can take it from there.” 

“Consider it done. But you do recognize that it’s gonna be a while, yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s all post Potter, anyway. I can wait. Why? Have something more immediate to show me?”

“I might. Beverly Hills isn’t the only city with cops. What do you think about joining the NYPD instead? While I was at the WGA script registry, waist deep in waste paper, I scrounged up a few potential gems.” 

“Let’s hear about the comedy option first.” 

“There was a script there by Adam McKay. You might recognize him as the guy responsible for Will Ferrell’s post SNL acting career. Normally everything he writes is pretty much for Will Ferrell, but I took the liberty of reaching out, and he’s not opposed to branching out a bit from that bubble.”

I guess I was about to become the other guy in their relationship. “What’s the name of the movie?”

“The Other Guys.” See? “I might even be able to swing in a roll for Dwayne while I’m at it.”

“Probably best I meet both the productions for 21 Jump Street and The Other Guys before I pick which single cop movie to get buddy-buddy with.” 

“I also took your suggestion into account and looked for projects and scripts basically stuck in developmental hell for ages.” If someone is stuck in quicksand, they’ll promise you anything and everything so that you’ll throw them a rope. I wanted as much creative control as I could clutch for myself. 

“Please tell me you found something with a little bit of romance in it, because that’s really missing from my CV right now.” 

“How does a summer blockbuster type spy romance sound?”

“Like music to my ears. But what’s the catch?” Actors would line up night and day for a scenario like that. 

“Budget problems, constant alterations, no lead actors or even a director.” Which meant that for the right price I can pay off the undoubtedly impatient pre-existing financiers and replace them with Netflix to fund our first original IP. “But an overall solid story foundation that any studio should be happy to have.” 

“Okay, let them know I’m willing to play ball. Now you want to tell me what your secret fourth ingredient was?” I hadn’t forgotten what prompted this disturbance during our self-care seminar. 

“I know you told me that after Harry Potter, you wanted to give the more serious roles a break for a year or two. But the thing is, in all the many, many, many scripts that I’ve had passed across my desk claiming that they want you specifically for the role; I finally read one that might actually be worthwhile.” And probably equally desperate as the spy movie to get a boost. 

“Go on then, don’t leave me in suspense.”

“It’s a thriller. I thought you might like to stretch your villainous muscles in between doing the lighter films. And before you ask, yes, they are just as eager to compromise any terms you want for your business mogul side hustle - especially since Shia LaBeouf recently bowed out of the project. It’s called Limitless, by the way.”  

Hmm. Three different movies with three different flavors. A buddy cop, a spy romance, and a dark thriller. A good combo to set my foundation, expand my range, and test my marketability. “I hope all these productions understand that I’m not going to be able to start anything until after I’m finished with Harry.”

“They know. In my professional opinion, they probably think that they can use that delay as a point of negotiation.” Table scraps are all theirs. 

“All right, let’s set it up. The only thing left to decide now is what I’m going to do for the next 6 months.”

“You do realize that you’ll have very little time for anything substantial, don’t you? I mean, next month you’ve got that special shoot revving up for your 18th celebration.” Anita tried to pull the e-brake. “Not to mention your trip to Japan, followed by Tropic Thunder’s opening.” 

My plans were all up in the air, but I had no qualms about redlining in final gear. 

“C’mon, we can squeeze in a quickie.”

“Don’t you say that to another woman ever again. But fine, I know just the place to get you something more grassroots to cut your teeth on.”

–

LA Convention Center, Hollywood. June 2008.

The last time I went incognito to a convention center it was for Comic-Con. Similarly, at this brand new arena, everything likewise had the faint lingering stench of sweat.

But while comic enthusiasts reeked of lacking hygiene and over excitement, Hollywood hopefuls emanated cloying desperation more than anything else.

Anita had brought me to a pitch-fest.

We walked around booths touting scripts, short films, trailers, etc. Think of it like a job fair. Where instead of HR reps forcibly bending bachelor grads over to ream them - wannabe movie makers willingly dropped their trousers down to their ankles so that agents, producers, and actors like me might come in for a closer look. Each of them hoping someone will say, ‘Yeah, kid, you got the goods.’ and turn them into overnight sensations.

More than a decent chance that indie darlings like The Blair Witch Project, Paranormal Activity, and even other non-horror examples, at one point or another, tried their luck at an event like this.

Heartfelt films shot with handy cams on shoestring budgets that either became cult classics or dust in the wind. 

Then, a particular breeze guided me to a face that was unfamiliar to most, but I was pleasantly surprised to see. A practically untouched pile of scripts, a 40 oz bottle of malt liquor, a pair of nunchucks, and a small TV playing a grainy trailer on loop. 

American Idol wasn’t so long ago that I don’t remember how groovy I felt in ‘70s garb. Apparently, I was gonna get another opportunity to disco soon. And hey, if I had to part to play, the movie might actually make the money it deserved to. 

“Hi, I’m Bas Rhys. Mind if I look at your script?” This is going to be Dynamite.