The Making Of

Exciting Young Stars

France 2010

Winter in France is cold. I had been filming on location for the past two weeks. A minor role in a period piece about 1920's Paris.

I was sitting in a folding chair, shivering as a breeze blew in through the open windows. A stylist messed with my hair as I looked over the script when the director walked past.

I didn't like him. He couldn't have been much older than me, yet he carried himself with an arrogance that put everyone on edge. He was blunt and harsh, and I'd noticed a clear difference between the way he treated the men and women, both in front of and behind the camera.

I was no stranger to playing 'sexy'. I'd modelled lingerie, stripped almost nude for acting jobs, performed screen kisses and sex scenes. But I'd never done anything this explicit before. I looked over at my scene partner; a handsome, french actor named Louis who was apparently quite well known in France. Then I looked back at the director again.

I hurried over to catch him up, patting him on the shoulder to make him turn around. He stared down at me plainly, as if he were bored before I'd even started talking.

'Hi, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment about... well...' I gestured to the scene being set up behind me. 'It's just, I've never done a scene like this before and I was wondering if you were going to go through it with us first? Y'know, plan it out beforehand.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well I'm just, I'm a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing. I don't know why but I feel sort of... vulnerable, and I just think we'd all benefit from having something choreographed.'

'No. We're just gonna do it,' he said dismissively.

'Right, no that's fine,' I replied, trying my best to not sound like I was being difficult. 'I was just wanting to prepare a bit so I knew what to expect.'

'You take your clothes off and pretend to shag, it's not hard.'

He turned away from me and walked towards his spot behind the camera. I felt a lump in my throat, but it wasn't the kind that made me want to cry. It was shock, anger, the feeling that I had no choice but to just do it. If I was Meryl Streep you wouldn't tell me to just do it, I thought.

We did the scene. It felt awkward but it didn't seem as though anyone noticed. The director stood watching it back on the monitor, nodding and talking to himself as an assistant helped me into a robe and walked me over to the costume department to get dressed.

After we wrapped for the day, I wandered around one of the trailers putting my things back in my bag. I'd thrown on my jeans and a T-shirt, my face still painted with 20's style makeup, my hair full of pins and hairspray. There was a gentle tap on the door.

'Yeah?'

The door opened and I watched as Louis climbed up the steps.

'Oh, hi,' I said.

'I was hoping to talk,' he said in his thick french accent.

'Sure.'

'I wanted to apologise about the directors words.'

'Oh?' I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and turned to look at him.

'I... listen to what he say before the scene. I tried to make you feel... how you say? Comfortable?'

'Oh you did,' I nodded gratefully. 'Thank you. You did.'

'I hope we can be...' he thought for a moment, as if he were translating in his head, searching for the right word. 'Friends.'