A band of towering barbarians stood at the edge of the forest, their fierce eyes staring straight ahead. Smoke rose behind them, charging the air with the tension of a looming battle.
Before them, in a clearing, stood a tall, powerful figure wielding a long war hammer inlaid with a tribal totem. He gazed into the distance, his face a mask of stoicism, every inch the chieftain of his people.
Across from them, despite the lack of a fully formed Roman legion—only a few faintly distinguishable formations were visible—Matthew did his best to look ferocious.
Cameras mounted on rails filmed from a distance and up close, sweeping in a semi-circular arc around Matthew, always keeping his face and the hundreds of extras behind him in focus.
"Aaaargh!" Matthew roared, hoisting his war hammer high above his head with one hand. It was a savage cry, louder and wilder than the day before!
"Aaaargh!" the extras in the back rows echoed, their roars a turbulent and uneven wave of sound.
In an instant, the set was once again transformed into a camp of madmen.
"Cut!" Ridley Scott shouted, halting the shoot. Clearly not entirely satisfied, he rose from his director's chair and walked directly onto the set, first calling out to the camera operator, "The zoom can't keep up when you pull from a long shot to a close-up. Switch it to manual."
"Got it," the operator replied.
"Excellent roar. Loud and savage enough. The audience will immediately see you as the leader of this mob." The old Englishman circled Matthew. "Always remember that right now, you are a tribal chieftain, facing the invincible Roman legions."
At that moment, he glanced toward Helen on the periphery of the set and asked unexpectedly, "What other qualities do you think a chieftain needs?"
Hearing the question, Matthew thought of the martyrs he’d once studied in textbooks and was instantly inspired. "To never surrender," he declared, "even when you know you're going to die!"
Ridley Scott gave a subtle nod. It was no wonder this kid had managed to land roles with Winona Ryder and Angelina Jolie, even if he was just an extra.
While they were talking, the extras were at ease, many of them looking over at Matthew and Ridley Scott on the set.
In the crowd, a bald man with an oddly shaped body watched Matthew with envy and muttered, "That guy looks familiar."
"You have the memory of a goldfish," the tall man next to him said. "He was standing to our right when we were filming yesterday."
The bald man's mouth fell open in disbelief. "He's an extra, just like us?"
The tall man nodded. "And he came with us. I remember him sitting behind you on the bus."
He stretched out a hand and pointed at Michael, who was holding a sword and shield. "He was sitting with him."
"Hey, kid." The bald man remembered the guy who was always talking about making it big. He gestured toward Matthew. "He's your roommate, right?"
Michael glanced at Ridley Scott speaking with Matthew, his face flushing a deep crimson, but he nodded.
A teasing grin spread across the bald man's face. "Weren't you the one who was going to be a star? How come he's the one in the spotlight?"
The tall man lamented as well, "Ridley Scott himself is coaching him. That could have been you. You look much more like a leading man."
A chorus of laughter rippled through the crowd, but everyone's eyes held a faint trace of envy as they watched Matthew.
Michael stared silently at the center of the set, wishing with every fiber of his being that it was him standing there, talking to Ridley Scott.
"The boy moved up fast," the bald man's voice piped up again. "He's either got talent or he's cunning as hell."
The tall man followed his lead. "Whatever it is, he'll be out of our league soon."
The bald man said to Michael, "Aren't you two friends? Maybe we should get to know him better. If this guy really makes it, he could help us out in the future."
Hearing this, Michael snapped back to his senses. He wiped the discontent from his face; he couldn't show his true feelings right now. If Matthew really could achieve something, wouldn't he benefit from staying close to him?
"Yeah, we're good friends," Michael replied, watching Matthew intently. "He's very capable. The owner of the Angel Agency thinks highly of him. You want to get to know him? No problem, I'll introduce you sometime."
Ultimately, a small crowd gathered around Michael, asking him questions about Matthew.
Elsewhere, a man holding a round shield glared at Matthew, his expression furious.
"So you're the one who stole my part, you bastard," the man's face was so contorted with rage it looked like he could set the forest behind him ablaze with a single breath. "I, Mason, a senior at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, have to stand here with a bunch of unprofessional extras."
Ever since he learned yesterday that his role had been given to someone else, he had been seething. This morning, when he discovered the person who got the part was some Texan hick from America, his temper flared even higher. If it weren't for his agent's pleas, Ridley Scott's reputation, and the immense influence of Universal Pictures backing the production, he would have torn the set apart.
Though he wouldn't graduate until this summer, the reputation of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and a recommendation from one of the school's bigwigs had already landed him acting jobs in several productions. He had started on a fairly high rung and was so confident in his talent that he considered it only natural he would have a smooth path to becoming the next Jude Law.
Who would have thought that old man Ridley Scott would dare to remove him from a role?
Ridley Scott was someone he couldn't afford to cross...
"Listen up, everyone!" an assistant director approached with a megaphone. "Five minutes until we shoot! Get over here and get ready!"
Mason picked up the short sword he had set aside and walked over indignantly. It was a good thing the crew was giving him his own shots, otherwise he would have thrown in the towel and walked off.
The makeup artists quickly departed, the various departments of the film crew returned to their positions, and Matthew stood with his eyes closed, thinking about how to convey what he'd said to Ridley on camera.
He had no professional training and only one real filming experience, having just recently read a few books on acting.
For instance, he knew there were "experiential," "expressive," and "method" schools of acting.
But with his limited education and lack of experience, Matthew still didn't grasp the difference between these acting styles.
This was an opportunity for Matthew to see his own shortcomings more clearly and to look forward to the acting classes that would begin in May.
As filming was about to start, Matthew knew he had to come up with something, or it would be a disaster.
He was certain that if he screwed this up, Helen, who seemed to be so well-connected, wouldn't give him a second chance.
It didn't matter if he couldn't understand the different schools of acting. Matthew believed in one thing: it doesn't matter if a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.
Matthew allowed himself to relax, pushing aside all his scattered thoughts. His mind gradually became empty, as if he were the only one left in the world.
"Action!"
The voice rang in his ears, and Matthew's eyes instantly sharpened. He stared straight ahead, and a few seconds later, he raised the war hammer in his right hand high above his head with all his might. His mouth, hidden beneath the beard, opened wide, and his massive lungs expelled every bit of air from his chest. A roar like that of a war god erupted into the air.
"Aaaaargh!!!"
In that moment, a flood of memories flashed before Matthew's eyes.
First, there was the excessively fat boss who owed him wages, furiously taking out his anger on him and his colleagues.
Then, the police officers who had beaten him during a strike for his pay, and his own enraged shouts at them.
And later, the despair of being thrown in jail on charges of disturbing the peace.
It was in this instant that Matthew demonstrated the full advantage of his huge lung capacity. It was as if he possessed the lungs of a buffalo, letting out a long, sustained howl that sounded like a battle cry.
Under his influence, the hundreds of extras behind him shouted much louder than before, each of them letting out a cry that echoed far and wide.
Helen stood at the edge of the set, watching Matthew intently as he brandished his war hammer and let out a battle cry. She nodded slightly, looking pleased.
"He's cute, isn't he? And he acts so well," Amanda said, coming up beside her, her shining eyes fixed on Matthew.
"Not bad," Helen replied dryly. "Good enough for his part."
She hadn't expected an explosive performance from an extra who had just been promoted to a minor actor, but the result was a pleasant surprise.
On set, Matthew's roar ceased, and the totem-inlaid war hammer fell heavily to the ground—a prearranged signal. The extras behind him immediately stopped shouting, though the rumble of their cries lingered for a moment longer.
"Good." Ridley Scott wasn't displeased and immediately said, "That's a wrap on this scene. Prepare for the next one."
The crew immediately got to work; the cameras needed to be reset.
Matthew felt a wave of relief. It seemed his acting wasn't so bad after all; it had only taken two takes to get it right.
"Break!" the assistant director shouted, and a makeup artist instantly ran over.
"I need some water," Matthew requested.
The makeup artist flew to his side and handed Matthew a cup with a straw, to avoid messing up his makeup.
In that moment, Matthew felt as if he had become a real star.
But he knew perfectly well that after filming the scenes for this role, he would go back to being an extra.
"How did he do?" Helen asked Ridley Scott, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.