Page 48 of Charm City Rocks
“Is this a comedy, though?”
Hugh didn’t know and didn’t hide that fact. This is his first feature. His reel to date is entirely made up of student films and Adidas commercials. “We’ll sort all that in post, mate. But for now, let’s think in terms of action-comedy, but with an edge.”
Hard turn now. More acting. Jerk the wheel, grimace, grunt like it hurts. Hold the wheel, straighten. Another shimmy like he’s speeding over debris. Sound will be added later—debris, too. Gas pedal again. Line: “Yep, that’s what I thought. Cheers.”
For fuck’s sake,he thinks.
Lawson is trying to remember who’s chasing his character, exactly. Is it the drug dealers or the Russian mafia blokes? He’s always prided himself on a certain level of engaged professionalism, but he’s found his attention drifting these last few weeks of shooting. More flubs than usual. More clarifying questions to the assistant director, Harry, who’s somehow even younger looking than the director. Lawson committed to this nonsense before the Oscar nom, now he feels like the prince of bloody Wales cutting the ribbon at a new Sainsbury’s in Liverpool.
“Annnnd cut!” shouts Hugh. “Fantastic, mate! That’s a shot for the trailer, for sure.” Hugh is very concerned about the teaser trailer, which is due next week, even though there’s still a month of shooting left.
After a loud buzz, the hydraulic arm holding the silver Porsche 911 relaxes, and the stunt car settles, like something in an amusement park.
“That’s it, then?” Lawson asks. “Good? We’ve got it? Please say yes.”
Hugh sticks his head in the driver’s-side window. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “But no. I’m thinking maybe we go head on. Do a few like that. You staring down the audience. The audience staring you down. Fuck the fourth wall. Effective, right? Especially for IMAX.”
Lawson notes the rig of cameras—seven by his count—all setand focused for a day of profile shots. Changing and relighting will take hours. “Bloody kettle better be on, then,” he says.
“ ’Course, mate,” says Hugh. “We brought England with us, remember?”
The car doors don’t open properly, because they aren’t real, so Lawson contorts himself into a pull-up and climbs out the sunroof.
“Take five,” Harry shouts into his megaphone, and the set takes a collective breath.
Lawson stretches, then walks across the sound stage. It’s a dull cement building in Los Angeles, like an airplane hangar, but movie magic will turn it into the leafy British countryside soon enough.
“Tanya, can we get Lawson a bit of a touch-up?” Harry shouts.
Tanya springs to action and starts rolling her makeup cart toward him. Lawson points to the tea station that the crew set up for him, Hugh, and Harry, who are the only Brits on set. “Teatime, love,” he says.
Tanya redirects to the plush leather chair that’s written into Lawson’s contract.
“How do I look?” he asks.
Tanya tilts her head, squints her left eye, chews her gum. These are lovely affectations—among the few highlights of this preposterous project. “Little ashy,” she says. “Forehead’s shiny, too. Especially that last take.”
“Can’t have that, now, can we?”
An assistant whose name Lawson can’t remember—Trig, possibly Trey—hands him a cup of tea and a small stack of Hobnob biscuits on a dish.
“Interest you in a cup, Tan?” Lawson asks.
Tanya makes a disgusted face—their little inside joke. She guzzles the battery acid that is Diet Pepsi all day but turns her nose up at tea. He sips, and she works his skin with tickly little brushes,and Lawson does his best to ignore the makeup artist’s breasts, which are inches from his face behind a thin layer of cotton. Tanya is older than Willa Knight but younger than Lawson, and he briefly imagines a simpler life with a gum-chewing makeup artist from Malibu. Lawson does this: he falls carelessly in love with nonactors on set. He’s not sure why, maybe because it’s less complicated than falling in love with his costars, which is also something he does. Tanya stands on her toes and bites her lower lip as she smooths and pats down Lawson’s hair.
Maybe just have a seat right here then, love,he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he redirects. “Can I ask you something?”
Tanya says, “Hmm?”
“You ever been to Baltimore?”
“Maryland?” Tanya’s nose crinkles. “No, why?”
“I’m having the damnedest time finding anyone who has.”
“I think it’s near D.C. I don’t know the East Coast very well.”
Then Lawson does something he’s done often recently: he takes out his mobile so he can digitally spy on his ex-wife.
