Chapter 3: JK ain’t Kidding Around

I found myself once again in a nondescript room in an office building for my third round audition. At least, this time the lights were shining everywhere rather than directly on to my face.

It was nice being able to see who I was performing for, for once.

And what a cast it was. Chris Columbus the director, Steve Kloves the screenwriter, and most importantly, the big boss lady herself JK Rowling.

There were a smattering of others, but I wouldn’t be able to tell the WB execs from the custodial staff.

Chris clapped his hands together and began, “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, it’s time we discuss your assignment for the day, Bas.” He gestured to the table we were all sitting around - in particular he motioned at the eclectic range of kitchenware and household items placed precariously close to some important seeming papers.

Steve Kloves inserted himself, interrupting what Chris was going to say. “We just need to see if you can carry out a few basic tasks. My script calls for a range of these things. We need to see you adequately accomplish them.” He tapped his pen aggressively on the script while saying so. Rude. And given by the looks JK was sending him, clear friction there.

I shrugged and smiled, attempting to seem disaffected by his callousness. “Lay it on me.” [So that I can shut you up] went said only in the confines of my mind.

“There’s more than a few scenes I wrote in that show Harry cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys, and some of that … thankfully made it into the script too.” Jo Rowling popped in while taking a jab at Kloves. Clearly didn’t like each other much, creative disagreements and all that I guess. Can’t really blame her. He changed so many characters and wrote out so many important Chekhov’s guns for the story to work, that it made it confusing to the average watcher later down the franchise.

Let’s alleviate the tension, shall we? Can’t have my audition tainted by a fight between two of the most important people for the franchise… for now, at least.

Grabbing the feather duster in front of me in hand, I stood. “I seriously hope this isn’t supposed to be my wand.” I started pointlessly dusting random items around me. “This probably isn’t what a swish and flick is meant to do.”

JK turned her attention away from Kloves and narrowed her eyes at me for a moment before allowing herself a small grin. “Clever boy. You’ve broken the tension, now, why don’t you break a few eggs too?” She got up and set a carton of eggs and a bowl in front of me.

“Ok, aunt Petunia.” I snatched an egg, tapped on the table, and cleanly cracked it over the bowl.

“The cheek on you!” she exclaimed with faux outrage. Turning to Columbus, she pointed at me and said. “I like him.”

We carried on from there, with me doing a lot of other random work. But in my opinion, I’d already won the day.

Day four brought the animals out to play. I had an eight-foot-long reticulated python draped across my shoulder.

“Hola, amigo.” I was clearly far from uncomfortable.

Today was essentially an extension of the previous day, but with a focus on how I handled myself around animals, or maybe even more importantly, how animals handled themselves around me. Most Hollywood movie makers have nearly unanimously agreed that handling animals is easier than child actors.

It had turned the usually quaint WB office into a zoo.

I’d played with cats and dogs - even the massive hound slated to play fang, Hagrid’s dog, that stood level with my own head. I had it behaving like a puppy in minutes; the benefits of being devoid of irrational childhood phobias.

Toads and tarantulas were slightly more icky to handle, but I pushed on through.

And of course, I even met Hedwig herself. The owl was far more of a diva than I’d imagined, and I had the marks on my arm from where her talons had sunk in to prove it. She tolerated me more than adequately, so I refused to complain.

The animal handler took the snake off of me and put it back in its box. I addressed the skeeved out looking exec crowd in front of me. “Do I get to play with anything else? Today was fun!”

One of the casting directors responded while failing to keep the grimace from her face. “No, that’ll be all for today, Mr Rhys, thank you. We’ll see you back tomorrow.”

I shrugged, nodded, and walked away. “Tomorrow, then.”

The fifth day was different. A good different. I’d been driven to a nice house in the valley. Even Mrs Stephens was allowed to tag along and they handed me a roll of dollar bills for lunch. Naturally, it being California; I told the driver to take us to his favorite Mexican spot and ordered something with a lot of flavor in every bite for the three of us.

Mrs Stephens was fanning herself and sweating at the flavour explosion, but my international sensibilities were left very, very satisfied for the first time in two years. Late nineties Wales doesn’t exactly have a lot going for it in terms of cuisine.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

It was an ordeal to not fall asleep on this stranger’s very soft couch, following my meal. But given that Richard Griffiths was walking in with the studio team, I’d best put those chillies to work.

Chris took me by the shoulder and introduced me to his companion while the rest of the team set themselves up in the background. Rowling and Kloves were pointing heatedly at a select part of the script. The larger man took my hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, lad.”

“You too, sir.”

“Bas, this is Richard Griffiths, and he’ll be playing Vernon Dursley - your uncle in the film. Fortuitously for us today, we can ease our foot off the pedal. We’ve seen you act by yourself and read scenes with us, Bas. But we’ve not had the opportunity to see how you gel with other actors in a scene.”

“Minus the Michelin man.” I quipped.

“Correct. So with that in mind, Richard was in town and we tapped him to run a scene or two with you to see how you get on.”

“Don’t worry, lad. You’re in expert hands.” Griffiths kindly offered, to which I nodded gratefully.

Chris leaned in a little and lowered his voice. “And just between the three of us? It’s also a small test to see what revisions we can make to our initial script - especially regarding characterisation.” He discreetly pointed over at the continuing argument between Kloves and Rowling. “Might help those two calm down a little and give the rest of us a modicum of peace. So do your best, Bas, and play Harry how you’ve been thus far.”

Chris’ script supervisor handed each of us a sheaf of paper.

Richard Griffiths put on his specs and read through quickly. “Ah! The postage scene.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and said, “I always enjoy a good mental breakdown.”

What a nice man. I shot him another smile for trying to reassure me - even though I really didn’t need it.

In what felt like moments, the scene was set. They gave me a paper plate of cookies to hold, Richard was given a stack of envelopes as he knelt by the unlit fireplace, and the ever-present script supervisor stood off-screen with a packet full of more envelopes.

Chris and the team had moved to the side, sat behind a small screen connected to a camera focused on us. “Places everybody! Whenever you’re ready, Richard.”

[Griffiths quickly shifted his expression into something manic, borderline insane. His pupils looked a little farther apart as he slowly and gleefully tossed Harry’s letters into the fire. I schooled my expression to express reserved irritation and walked towards him with the plate of biscuits.

He gave me a self-satisfied smile while tossing in the last one. “Fine day Sunday! In my opinion, the best day of the week. Do you know why that is?”

In the original movie, Harry answered the question. But it always felt like he was responding as if it wasn’t his letters being tossed away. I couldn’t bear to have Harry so unaware of his own circumstance. I kept quiet for a moment. I extended the plate of biscuit to the delighted Vernon, but before he could get his paws on them I denied him by setting the plate on the nearby table - still within reach but clearly snubbing him. “Because there’s no post on Sundays?” I asked, a little too innocently.

Griffiths, being the consummate professional, immediately played off me. Scowled, snatched a biscuit off the plate, and took a rough, messy bite. “Right you are, Harry! No post on Sundays.” he almost snarled.]

“Cut! That was grea-” Chris tried to get out before Kloves barged in.

“What was that? Did you not read the script? Is it that hard to follow simple scene cues?” Kloves suddenly pounced on me and began his barrage.

I was a little taken aback by the unexpected explosion. “I just thought -”

“You’re not meant to think, you’re only meant to act. Just follow the cues and read the lines. Don’t make your own arbitrary corrections!”

Jo Rowling stood up abruptly and started in on Kloves then. “Funny that, isn’t it? Someone fiddling with your written work makes you so unreasonably cross - at a child, no less. Yet when you’re the one doing the meddling, not a peep or ounce of understanding? I think the scene was perfectly fine and so was their performance - no matter the deviations. My Harry Potter - the very one that I created, if you’ll remember, is not so cowed as the one in your script, he’s meant to be quietly defiant!”

“Oh, not this again!”

Pandemonium. Chris, amongst others, was doing his best to get in between the two authors as they raged at each other. I just looked bewildered at Richard, who was just shaking his head in disappointment. Then I looked at the script supervisor, who stood stoic like this was a daily occurrence.

Fuck, I couldn’t let it end like this. I had to do something.

Hmm. Cameras were still rolling… I walked over to supes and gently took the script from her and turned to the next scene we were going to do - the scattering letters. I pointed at the scene and then at her box full of envelopes. She looked perturbed for a moment before getting it and smiled.

I rushed over to Richard. “They might not be paying attention, but the camera always is. What say you and I finish this up?” I started, and he searched my face for a moment, before a smart glint entered his eyes.

“As I said earlier, I’m always eager for a mental breakdown. Unto the breach, we go!” We got ourselves in position. I gave script supes the signal, and she began raining the letter down around us.

[Richard and I were on it, his exclamations of shock and despair, my peals of laughter as we danced around each other and the furniture. I jumped, ducked, swiped, and ran rings around Griffiths. I hopped on top of the table, making a reach for the fluttering paper, allowing Richard to grab on to me as we tussled. “We’re going far away! Far, far away!”

Even supes got in on it. “Daddy’s gone crazy hasn’t he?”]

By the end of that, the only noise in the room was the last of the falling letters. Richard put me down and dusted me off. “I’ll call cut on that.” He stared down the production team for an uncomfortable moment, who were still collecting themselves from what had just happened. Chris hurriedly rushed to his screen; probably rewind and review the scene.

“Now.” Richard continued, “You lot need to pull yourselves together. That was shameful.” He then glared directly at Kloves, “I may just be a simple actor, meant only to read lines, but even I know that the chemistry between two performers and the overall flow of the scene is more important than rigidly following the script. Should my opinion matter even one whit to you, the young man here as my vote for the role. He behaved with far more professionalism than any of you!”

Told off! I just barely held myself back from laughing. He put his arm around my shoulder and began guiding me out of the room. “We’ll be leaving for tea. Hopefully, you’ll all be able to sort yourselves out in the interim.”

I couldn’t help one last glance back to the gobsmacked room behind us. Turning to Richard, I asked, “Have you ever been to Korea town? My treat.”