Baby's All Grown Up

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.