Duke Hauser crouched on the lawn of his Owlwood Estate, his arms outstretched to form a protective circle.
11 month old Bradley swayed back and forth on his tiny unsteady legs, wearing a miniature pair of denim overalls.
Duke felt a deep exhaustion settling into his body.
Managing a major studio slate was draining on a good day.
But the pre-production phase of Star Wars was currently proving to be a logistical nightmare.
He didnt have that many problems with the preproduction of Jaws, cause he didnt care about it as much.
About Star Wars tho?
He loved the franchise, the stories, videogames, comics, toys, all of it. And he wanted to not dissapoint people with his version.
He still remembered one birthday getting gifted a DS game about a Clone that was an illegimate child of a jedi and forgetting about his party as he got engrossed in the game.
He wanted to bring those stories to this world.
Bradley took one wobbly step forward, his small face scrunched in concentration.
He took another step, his balance shifting wildly. Duke also moved, ready to catch the boy.
Bradley tipped forward, falling safely against Duke's chest.
"Good job, little buddy," Duke whispered, lifting the giggling boy into the air, trying to forget his responsibilities on the studio for a while.
Margaux sat a few yards away on a garden bench, sipping coffee from a mug.
She wore a simple robe, her long legs crossed, watching the father and son interact with a smile.
"You look terrible, Duke," Margaux observed, taking another sip of her coffee. "You are running yourself into the ground with this movie. Has the casting department made any actual progress this week, or is it still a mess?"
Duke walked over to the bench, putting Bradley on his hip.
"Its a nightmare," he admitted, sitting down next to her. "I have seen hundreds of young actors over the past few weeks. But the talent pool is shallow, I want some people in specific."
"Science fiction is a tough sell," Margaux noted.
In 1975, the industry viewed sci-fi as cheap, B-movie fodder meant for drive-ins, not prestige cinema.
Of course there were 2 exceptions.
Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and the Soviet arthouse film Solaris (1972).
The only 2 Sci-fi films the industry loved, the rest were nothing more than b-tier movies in their eyes.
Several great actors decided to not come to auditions just because of the reputation of the genre.
Most of the people who came to Duke's audition were established actors, or newcomers with connections on the industry trying to be in a movie by a great director.
Of course a lot of newcomers would also come to audition, but in film having a good teacher can make or break an actor.
In reality most of these newcomers were simply not trained and as such did not had the same level as a wealthy Nepo-baby who could afford and had the connections to get acting classes from the best Acting coaches in the industry.
Most applicants also didnt believe in his ability to create a Sci Fi masterpiece despite his past success.
"We still have not found the right Luke Skywalker," Duke sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Everyone who walks in, plays it tough or cynical. I need a naive farm boy, someone who actually believes in the fantasy."
Margaux nodded, trying to look understanding of the pressure resting on his shoulders.
Their personal relationship was something more functional than anything.
They were not driven by romantic passion, but they were maintaining an amicable partnership for the sake of raising Bradley.
"You will find him," she said reassuringly. She set her coffee mug down on the matching table.
"I need to talk to you about January. The production schedule for Rocky has been finalized. We start filming right after the holidays."
Duke shifted his attention to her. "Philadelphia, right?"
"Yes, Philadelphia in the dead of winter," Margaux confirmed. "We are shooting the entire movie in 28 days. I will be gone for the whole month. Can you manage Bradley and the nanny alone?"
"Of course," Duke replied instantly. "Bradley stays here with me in Los Angeles. I will balance the pre-production meetings with my time at home. You focus on your work. This role is important."
Margaux eyes light up as she discussed her craft.
The New Hollywood era of the current moment favored realistic performances over the polished acting of the classic studio system, and she was eager to prove herself as a serious actress.
"I have been working with the makeup department on a transformation," Margaux explained, gesturing to her own face.
"I am going to dye my blonde hair a flat black."
"I will be wearing brown contact lenses to cover my natural eye color, and a pair of thick, ugly glasses," she continued.
"They are also using contour makeup around my jaw and cheeks to make my face look rounder."
"The goal is to strip away the model look," Margaux said, "I need to look worn down, look shy and unattractive. The audience must see a struggling pet store worker."
Duke listened politely, but his focus remained on the squirming toddler in his arms.
Bradley was reaching out, grabbing at Duke's shirt collar. The boy babbled happily, testing out new sounds.
"Dada," Bradley said softly, a string of drool escaping his lips.
Duke's heart melted. He wiped the boy's chin with his shirt.
"Did you hear that?" Duke asked, his face lighting up in joy. "He's getting closer. Mama and Dada. He is trying so hard to talk, I knew my kid would come out smart."
Margaux smiled, reaching out to squeeze Bradley's small foot.
Suddenly, a heavy rhythmic sound broke the peaceful morning.
A muffled bass line drifted over the brick walls separating Owlwood from the neighboring properties.
Duke frowned, and looked toward the eastern boundary of the estate.
"Is that music coming from the Playboy Mansion?" he asked, irritation quickly replacing his previous joy. "Its barely ten in the morning."
Margaux sighed, leaning back against the bench.
"Ever since Hugh Hefner purchased that property last year, the entire street has been subjected to constant parties. It does not matter what day of the week it is. The music never stops."
The quiet, affluent neighborhood of Holmby Hills was traditionally home to old money and reclusive movie stars.
Hefner's arrival had brought a chaotic circus of celebrities, musicians, and aspiring models into their peaceful residential zone.
"I was driving home on Tuesday night," Margaux recalled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I actually saw John Lennon and Cher stumbling around on the sidewalk. They were drunk, shouting at a passing taxi cab."
Duke's jaw tightened in annoyance. "This is supposed to be an upscale, private residential area."
Its not a commercial nightclub. We have children living on this street. This is unacceptable."
He stood up from the bench, "I am going to call the local police right now. They need to enforce the noise ordinances. A few citations should send a clear message to our new neighbor."
Margaux offered a shrug, picking up her coffee mug again. "Good luck with that, Duke. The police rarely ever show up when someone complains. Hefner has deep pockets and political connections all over the city of Los Angeles."
He looked toward the property line. "Do you think he is the only guy with connections on this town?"
___
By late afternoon, the Paramount studio lot was filled with people coming for the casting hall.
It was an open casting call, a Hollywood tradition often referred to as a cattle call.
Anyone with a headshot and a dream could wait in line for a brief chance to read for the elusive role of Luke Skywalker.
Hundreds of young men packed the waiting room.
Some wore expensive, tailored suits, trying to look professional.
Others wore torn jeans and leather jackets, aiming for a rebellious edge.
A collective scent of cheap cologne and sweat hung in the air.
Pierce Brosnan stood near the back wall, trying to make himself as small as possible.
The young Irish actor was virtually unknown in Hollywood.
He had recently arrived in Los Angeles and did not even have proper agent yet.
Getting a foot in the door without a powerful talent agent was nearly impossible in the rigid studio system of the 1970s.
Pierce had only learned about this specific open call through a chance encounter with veteran actor Christopher Lee in London.
Lee, a seasoned professional, had recommended that the young Irishman take a risk and fly out to California.
He had assured Pierce that this was a Duke production which mean they were searching for fresh faces rather than established stars.
Tucked under Pierce's arm was a battered copy of the Star Wars novel.
Pierce had read the entire story multiple times, he was a big fan of Duke Hauser novels despite the weird names he used for publishing, but even as a fan he had never seen this novel in the UK.
Only managed to find a copy after Christopher Lee told him of the production and he looked through several bookstores until one carried a copy.
The employee was happy to finally get rid of it, it had been who knows how long since it was bought yet nobody wanted it.
He understood the naive farm boy character through constant study.
Pierce scanned the crowded room, feeling a wave of intimidation wash over him.
Several actors were laughing and casually talking with passing crew members.
They were clearly well-connected within the industry, trading gossip about recent parties and casting directors.
He nervously debated whether he should try to approach them and introduce himself.
Networking was a crucial skill in this business, but he ultimately decided against it. Too nervous to even try.
The only thought that brought him comfort was the well known rumour among the struggling actors.
It was widely known that Duke Hauser, had a strong reputation for giving opportunities to unknown newcomers.
The story of Harrison Ford, the carpenter who got hired on a whim and starred in Duke debut film was a legend for people like him.
Duke did not care about a padded resume or famous parents.
He only cared about the right fit for the character. That rumour was the sole reason Pierce had stayed in the line.
Pierce found a quiet corner and closed his eyes.
He began to practice his assigned lines under his breath, repeating the syllables over and over.
The hours dragged on. Afternoon bled into early evening and dozens of frustrated actors gave up and left the building in defeat.
Pierce refused to leave, his feet ached from standing on the concrete floor, but he wanted to wait. He had not touched the water bottles on the room.
He had seen a man drink from one and minutes later rush out of the room yelling for a bathroom. Clearly someone tampered with them.
Staff changed the bottles but nobody touched them anymore.
He leaned against the brick wall, reviewing the pages one last time for inspiration.
Finally, just as the clock ticked past 6, a tired casting assistant stepped out of the main office holding a clipboard.
"Pierce Brosnan," she called out, "You are up next. Room four, please."
Pierce snapped to attention.
He quickly straightened the collar of his button-down shirt and ran a hand through his hair.
He took a deep breath, and stepped through the door into the audition space.
The room was surprisingly small and brightly lit, the room dominated by a long table covered in stacks of paper.
Sitting directly behind the table was Gary Kurtz, the lead producer for all of Duke's major projects.
Kurtz looked just as exhausted as the actors in the waiting room.
Pierce glanced around quickly, noting that Duke Hauser was not actually present in the room.
He felt a brief stab of disappointment, but he pushed it down. He needed to win over the producer first if he wanted a chance.
"Stand on the tape mark, please," Kurtz instructed. He did not bother looking up from the printed resume in his hand. "Whenever you are ready, you can start the scene. Just read opposite the casting director."
Pierce stepped onto the small strip of blue tape stuck to the floor.
He looked at the casting director sitting in a folding chair, a woman holding the script for Princess Leia.
He pushed aside his lingering nerves and allowed himself to fall into the character.
He delivered the lines with an unpolished sincerity. He genuinely loved the material. He did not treat the dialogue like a silly joke.
He treated the stakes as if they were real life-or-death situations unfolding in front of him.
Gary Kurtz looked up from his paperwork. The veteran producer leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his hand.
Most of the actors they had seen that day had rushed through the technical jargon, clearly embarrassed by the science fiction terminology.
Pierce delivered the lines about droids and starships with a grounded conviction that anchored the Sci-fi elements of the scene.
The scene ended. Kurtz picked up a red pen and tapped it thoughtfully against the edge of his clipboard for a long moment.
"That was good," Kurtz finally said, his tone shifting from tired boredom to genuine respect. "You have a very natural cadence. Did not force the emotion either."
Pierce did a polite nod of gratitude.
"Thank you, sir," he replied softly. "I have read the novel quite a few times. The character makes a lot of sens-."
Kurtz wrote something down on his legal pad and interrupted the young man.
"I am going to move you forward to the next round of callbacks," the producer announced casually. "We will be doing screen tests with the cameras next week. Duke will be there for those."
Pierce stood frozen on the blue tape mark, his mind struggling to process the news.
The cattle call was designed to most of the applicants on the first day. Moving to a screen test was a victory, a big one.
"Make sure you leave your current contact information with the assistant at the front desk before you leave the lot," Kurtz added, already reaching for the next resume in the massive pile. "We will call you with a specific time slot."
Pierce nodded again, a smile breaking across his handsome face. "I will do that right now. Thank you so much for the opportunity."
___
Calvin Harris - Sweet Nothing