This following is a work of fiction and is not meant to be an account in any way of what actually happened at the Venice Film Festival. It is purely for fun and all the details are fake. All characters involved are fictional representations and not intended to be actual biographical details. In short, I made it all up for laughs and giggles.
Enoy!
It had been months since I had seen him. After the hot autumn in Palm Springs we shared over a year ago, we would be seeing each other again. It would be close proximity. It would be my perfect chance to get what I wanted.
In the desert, I was the new kid, the musician on the movie set. That didn’t bother me at first. It should have, but it didn’t. All the actors wanted me to be demure and deferential to their craft but it was just playing pretend. They had gone to school and studied the whole thing so they thought they deserved respect. But so did musicians and I didn’t need to do that to be successful either. I was beloved the world over so not only did I believe I could do this and be good at it but I knew I didn’t need to. It didn’t matter what I did or said or that I sound like I’m gargling marbles when I speak, all I had to do was show up.
So show up I did. I may have been late, high, and hungover but I was there. I said my lines and appeared on camera and it was good enough. Until he showed up. He was a real actor. Florence was a real actress too but I heard her tell her make-up girl that she liked acting with me because it was a challenge. At the time, I thought it was a compliment. He was having none of me though. He had discipline and charm and watching him on camera was a transformative experience, or so I hear.
In our third day of filming, he stormed off set. We were on our third take of quiet discussion scene. My character was in his character’s office and we were discussing something. I don’t remember what. I remembered my lines but not much else. I was playing the scene like I was deeply hungover after a night of too many of this deeply fascinating American drink sold at gas stations. Buzzballz I think they’re called. This was because the night before I had about four too many Buzzballz in Olivia’s hotel room. She was, of course, accommodating to this acting choice but Chris was not.
After the third take of me stumbling through a line, as a character choice, he stopped production.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Chris said and stormed off. The lights turned off and I breathed a sigh of relief. Various people went to go deal with the problem but I just shut my eyes. After about twenty minutes, I realized something was probably up and I should use my rock star charm to make it better. I roused from the leather chair I had settled myself into and walked off set.
I wandered around the property looking for him , so I could say I was sorry or whatever, promise to take him out for a pint and tell him I think boy band music is shit and I actually like Bob Dylan or whoever 40 year old american men revere as a great artist these days. Bon Iver?
I heard him shouting before I saw him.
“That ungrateful little prick. He’s wasting everyone’s time.”
I walked closer and when I saw him I peeked behind a corner, like some kind of teen detective.
“Mine, yours, a whole cast and crew of people, just waiting around for him to even enunciate a word, let alone act. This is why I don’t work with musicians They all do this. Usually, they’re not fucking the director though. Usually this is unacceptable.”
I heard Nick’s voice respond.
“Chris, I know. I hate him just as much as you. But the longer you act like this, the longer it takes to make the movie. Do you want to be here for another month or another two weeks?”
“Fuck me. If I’m here for another month I’m gonna kill myself. “ He starts to pace. Eventually he looks up and makes direct eye contact with me. I expect him to be embarrassed or ashamed. Instead he looks directly at me, walks over to me, spits in my face, and walks away.
The rest of the filming goes by without incident. I am too angry to speak in his presence. He can’t help but smile every time he sees me. With just a simple spit, he has controlled me. I can’t do or say anything without revealing how upset I was. Of course he already knows how upset I am. He has won and I have lost.
Months pass, a year goes by, we are premiering at Venice and it is the first time I will see everyone, but especially him. I needed to figure out a way to level the playing field. And I have just the thing.
There’s girl drama happening that I don’t care about but it keeps everyone distracted. Everyone is on Florence’s side anyway so it doesn’t matter. We walk the red carpet. We smile. I stand next to who I’m supposed to stand next to. It all goes smoothly. We enter the theater and walk up to the stage. Olivia sits. Chris sits. I saunter up to him and begin the best performance of my career.
I am subtle, I am slow, I am careful. I lean down as if I am adjusting the buttons on my suit. As my head is tilted toward his lap, I spit. I move my jaw to gather all the water in my mouth. I make the most aerodynamic motion I can. So he’ll feel it but the camera won’t see. Plausible deniability and all that.
I see his reaction as it happens. He’s been got. He smiles an exasperated smile. He does not look at me and tries to play it off as if he lost his sunglasses. The lights go down and the movie starts to play.
When the film is over and the clapping starts, we all begin to take bows. Chris looks at me and smiles while he takes his, as if bowing to me. I may not be a real actor but he is willing to respect me now. A real sportsman. He may find me dull, and boring, and a subpar musician who’s an even worse actor but he can’t say I didn’t give back.
When I am found out, he respects our game. He knows he must deny it. He is not going to make me look like a villain. He can’t. He started it after all. I, however, can say and do whatever I want. I joke about it on tour in the following days. That’s how everyone takes it, as a joke. They will never know the truth about us. They can never know the truth about us. We’re not friends or enemies but something else entirely. Maybe it’s something new. A relationship between two men that can only exist after they both spit on each other, that we do not yet have a name for.
I enoyed this a great deal
Brilliant