Chapter 8: Stand-ins & Stunts.

Leavesden Studio, UK. April 2002

Chris blew his whistle in short, sharp bursts to organize the throng of children occupying the set. It reminded one of being in PE class.

I hopped slightly on my toes, testing the crash mat beneath my feet. I felt the wires attached to the harness under my costume tug uncomfortably. Kenneth Brannagh settled his arm on my shoulder as we took places for the shot.

We were both standing on the narrow dueling platform with Felton and Rickman at the other end. As was obvious, we were filming the climax of the dueling club scene.

And we’d been at it for days.

Mercifully, the scenes immediately preceding the duel - including the student brawl that was cut from the original version - had finished filming. Once the VFX was added, it’d be a nice, quick little burst of lights and chaos for the cinema.

Right now, though, my focus should be on this take. I was determined to make it the last.

Doing wire stunts and pratfalls was fun the first few times. But constantly having the wind knocked out of you got old, very fast.

Chris returned behind the camera and called out, “Alright, Kenneth. Let’s take it from ‘Just do what I did’. Action!”

[Brannagh as Lockhart flourished his wand and squeezed my shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

I stared at him with the full force of my incredulity. “What? Drop my wand?”

Felton and took a couple steps towards each other, Brannagh scurried off the platform while Rickman shot me a near imperceptible smug grin. “Scared, Pottah?”

“You wish.” And then we danced.

Felton and I had this sequence down into a routine. We’d done it dozens of times so far. Seeing our commitment, the team had even allowed us to act out a few extra spells.

Tom twirled his wand and shouted, “Tarantallegra!”

I quickly, if a little clumsily, seeing as it was Harry’s first time dueling, spun on my heel and side stepped.

I swiped my wand down aggressively, “Rictumsempra!”

Tom ducked and jabbed his wand at me while I simultaneously slashed my wand in his direction.

“Everte Statum!” Tom incanted.

“Flipendo!” was my own little homage to the HP games.

The wires on our harnesses suddenly pulled taut and yanked us together in our respective tumbles.

Felton flipped head over heels and landed on his butt. I was thrown into - what felt like fifty - barrel rolls and landed hard on my back. I wheezed as my breath left me. Please let this be the one.]

“Cut! Perfect, boys. That’s going in the trailer!”

Oh, thank God!

The production assistant who’d been relegated into the position of child shepherd herded the swarming children away to their mid-morning tutoring session.

“Thanks for your hard work today, kids. Just a handful of hours and the weekend’s yours!”

As they were ushered off the set, I remained prone on the nice, hard ground. I, of course, had the unique distinction of a complete education.

Spring had only just started, so it was still a little nippy. None of the sets or the drafty old castles we filmed in had any level of heating, so my only solace had been the double layer of socks I’d worn. So when a ray of nice warm sunshine peeked through the window and licked my face, I decided to catch a quick nap right there on the floor.

I didn’t even move when the harness was clipped off of me.

“Just because you’re the leading man doesn’t mean you can skive off.” I opened one eye and found Kenneth Branagh loomed over me.

“I-” before I could explain,

“No more school for the little genius here. He tested out… recently.” Rickman came to my rescue. “Now, he just lays about wasting time while all the other children are hard at work.” Maybe I spoke too soon.

“Really?” Kenneth asked, impressed.

“Really?” I asked, unimpressed.

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Alan smiled. Happy that he’d accomplished his teasing. “No, not really. You’re an all around overachiever.”

“So you think I’m a good actor?” I genuinely wanted to know if I was doing a good job. It’d be easy to get an ego inflating answer from every simpering buffoon back in LA. But a compliment from a master at the craft was something else entirely.”

“You… try hard, at least,” Rickman drawled. Well, that took the wind out of my sails real quick

“Don’t torture the poor boy. He’s better than we probably were when we started.” Kenneth generously defended.

“School plays don’t count.” Rickman immediately rebutted, sending the two thespians into a fit of laughter at my expense.

All the while, I just laid there on the ground like a particularly ugly carpet.

I stood up, dusted myself off, and stared at them with arms crossed. I wish I could say I was intimidating, but the two grown men were much taller than me.

Kenneth rose his arms in mock surrender. Alan reached over and roughly tussled my hair. “Lighten up, will you? I’m just pulling your leg.” He tossed his arm over my shoulder and pulled me in. “Don’t think nobody’s noticed you weaseling your way into all the different production departments. Your acting is perfectly serviceable, but it should also be your priority. You must spend more time improving it.”

I ducked my head in embarrassment and rubbed my nose. “... thanks.” I said shyly. “I’ll see if I can get an acting coach after filming’s finished.”

“Acting coaches are about as useful as cotton scissors.” Alan immediately dismissed my idea.

“The only real way to elevate your acting is by doing more of it. Plain and simple.” Kenneth chimed in.

“I’m not sure if I’ll have enough time in between the Harry Potters.”

“You shouldn’t use these large-scale fantasy productions as an example. Many films from start to finish rarely take half a year. And depending on your part, you’d only need to be available for a few days to a few weeks.” Alan tutored.

“Speaking of,” Kenneth inserted. “Aren’t you doing that Christmas film for next year?”

“How’d you find that out?” Alan queried.

“Em told me. She got the part opposite yours. I heard they’re also looking for a young boy to play a role.”

“Thompson’s still talking to you?” He teased the other man.

“Oh, don’t you start! This little discussion isn’t supposed to be about me.”

“What’s this about a part now?” I brought the conversation back on track.

Alan stepped back, put me at arm’s length, and surveyed me. Kenneth, with his hand on his chin, also leaned in for a better view. I obliged.

I posed with one hand on my hip and the other behind my head.

“Age wise, he’s a bit north of the call.” Kenneth pondered.

“Yes.” Rickman provided. “But unlike the rest, with their… hormonal fluctuations. This one’s been left behind.”

I was a late bloomer, sue me! Full disclosure, I’d been getting worried that I’d missed puberty and the only way I’d be recast in the movies once everyone outgrew me would be as Kreacher or Griphook. But I recently found a hair on my ball to my immense relief.

“Well, no harm in trying. Tell your agent to reach out to mine, they can talk shop.”

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Leavesden Studio, UK. June 2002.

We were steadily approaching July, and the pace of filming was only growing more frantic. Post-production had already begun for the filmed scenes and we’d have to wrap soon or risk delaying the movie.

The incredibly elaborate Chamber of Secrets set had finally finished building. Not just the facades for the aesthetics, but there was plumbing for the water effects, a pulley system of wires on the ceiling, and, most glaringly, the massive animatronic head of the basilisk.

I was harnessed up and wired in. The built bald man explaining the sequence to me was the stunt coordinator for the movie. “Right, so in this scene, Fawkes has come to your rescue and attacked the basilisk’s eyes. This is gonna piss that big snake off and it’s going to thrash about. Fawkes, being the bird that he is, has unhelpfully dropped the sorting hat on the other side of the chamber from you. Now, you must be a part of your own rescue.”

Truth be told, this was the scene I was most excited about filming. It would be my first proper action showcase, and would be a good primer for my career going forward - should my long-term plans pan out.

He walked me through the scene multiple times to make sure I’d committed it to memory. I recited every action I’d take while standing on the blue markers taped to the floor, and pointing to the appropriate set props they had to simulate the action.

Cameras were rolling. I took a deep breath and channeled my inner Jackie Chan.

[I sprinted to the first marker and threw myself to the floor. Right on time, a giant blue bean bag on a winch swung over my head. I hadn’t stopped moving. I rolled to the second marker. With a loud thud, a blue sand bag was heavily lowered to the floor where I had fallen. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted to the next marker, ducked, and took two massive steps back as another sandbag was dropped.

My heart was pounding and sweat was dripping from my hairline.

I took a standing leap and landed on the sand bag. I tensed momentarily as the wire on my harness yanked me forward onto a crash mat. I skidded for a few feet, stopping right beside the sorting hat prop. Rising once more to my feet, I plopped the hat on my head and clenched it tight, ran to the final marker behind a pillar, and ducked down.

The pillar started swaying, debris rained down around me, and I rapidly whispered, “Help! Help! Help!]

These last couple weeks of filming in the Chamber continued to drag on. But we were, by the grace of God, on to the final stunt I had to film.

The animatronic snake head was raised around ten feet off the ground. I was attached to it via a harness, and I was holding on to a handle inside the mouth to make it look like it was biting me for stabbing it with the sword of Gryffindor.

The snake head would whip itself left, then right, then left, and finally crash on to the ground - all with me still hanging on.

It would be a really cool scene, and would also more reliably explain why the basilisk fang detached so easily. Unfortunately, however, we were having a few issues with the mechanism which made the snake’s movements too erratic.

I had been tossed to the floor again, and again, and again, and again. My back was feeling bruised, even through the discreet padding hidden in the robes, and my arm was sore beyond anything from constantly gripping the handle.

The technical team analyzed the snake while we were both laid out on the ground, trying to calibrate it further. I just lay there, tired, sweating, and feeling like I was back in my first month of Taekwondo lessons.

A shadow fell over my face, mercifully blocking the blinding cinema lights. “Is that you done, then?” The bald stunt coordinator, hands on hips, came over to torment me.

Challenging me? “Not on your life, mate. I’ll outlast this bucket of bolts.”