When I
see a musical with a large ensemble, I frequently emerge from the
theater gushing not about one of the principals but about one of the
ensemble members. A choreographer once told a dance class I was in that
ensemble members in musicals are "moving scenery," and while I suppose
that is true as they apply to the function of the story, I have always been captivated
by the actors who make me realize that somewhere, in some alternate
reality, their character is the star of their own show, and this scene
in this particular show is just an overlap with their own story. I
remember watching Les Miserables on Broadway when the small ensemble
character of Grantaire, whose arc normally consists of drinking and
providing some comic relief while everyone else sings about the
revolution, became the most complicated, engrossing character on stage
to me. This actor gave him a reason to drink. This actor's Grantaire struggled with
how he felt about the revolution, felt conflicting emotions when he
offended Enjolras (the leader of the revolution and his friend) with his
lack of interest in their fight, had a deep emotional connection with
the child Gavroche, and ultimately joined his brothers and friends in
the revolution, dying alongside Enjolras. Somewhere, there was a show
where this Grantaire, not Valjean and Javert, was the star.
Life
is like that. So frequently in this industry, people fly in and out of
our lives, playing just a minor ensemble role so small that we barely
notice them the first time we cross paths -- but one of the coolest
things I've experienced is that rare opportunity
when you run into someone months or years down the line, and, to extend
the metaphor, this time your path has crossed into a story where you can
not only watch them play a principal role but also see how much they've
grown.
A couple years ago, I worked for a couple months on a
film that was shot almost entirely in a studio. There was a young PA
in charge of ringing the bell to indicate we were shooting and that you
couldn't go in or out of the sound stage's doors to the hallway or other
rooms, and he had to sit by the doors and guard them. I'm sure he had
other duties, but I have no idea what they were. To me, he was
bell-ringer-dude. He clearly didn't make much of an impression on me,
because though I remember him and his name clearly, I can't remember a
single specific interaction with him -- probably because bell-ringer-dude can't really talk, since his job is to make sure things stay
quiet.... What I do remember, besides wondering what ladder has ringing
the bell and guarding the doors as one of its rungs, is one day joking
around with a friend that because we drank so much tea and had
perpetually runny sniffly noses on the cold winter set, we were always
standing there sniffling, waiting for him to let us through to the
bathrooms, so he therefore probably thought we were cokeheads.... One
day as we were standing there sniffling, he gave us a look with a small
smile and shake of his head. I'm still not sure what it meant. But so
then he became bell-ringer-dude-who-thinks-I'
m-on-coke.
Fast
forward two years, and the other day I discovered that bell-ringer-dude
is now super-awesome-Assistant-Director-dude. Not five minutes after the
day began, before he'd even taken off his coat, I watched him
masterfully handle a wardrobe girl who was looking for a fight.
"Looking" is actually too gentle of a word. This woman was bound and
determined to pick a fight with him, immediately launching into him when
he'd done nothing wrong. The easy, and satisfying, thing to do would be
to come back at her with the same attitude she was giving him and tell
her that her problem had nothing to do with him. But instead, he gave
her zero fuel to feed her fire, asking very calmly, with no sarcasm or
condescension, what she needed, what she was seeking from him that she
wasn't getting, and what he was doing that was impeding her work (none
of which had answers). No matter how hard she tried, she found it
impossible to continue her attempted fight and eventually gave a
halfhearted apology, to which he replied, "It's cool. You do you, I'll
do me," and continued with his job, never showing any animosity towards
her.
Throughout the two days I spent there, watching him work
was a lesson in management skills: always say thank you and make it
clear how much you appreciate people's hard work; don't jump to
conclusions; make it clear when someone did something wrong but don't
hold a grudge or make it personal; if there aren't enough transport vans and you're asking some people to walk in the rain,
walk in the rain yourself with them; never get defensive when someone
criticizes your work.... He was always calm, in control, patient,
decisive, and confident. Pair that with the smarts and skills he
clearly possesses, and I have no doubt that one day bell-ringer-dude super-awesome-AD-dude is going to be super-awesome-Director/Cinematographer/whatever-else-he-wants-to-be-dude. I just hope my path crosses into that story, too.
