Chapter 32: The Little Girl.
"Cut! Damn it, Ryan, you're playing a rebellious kid—not an eighteen-year-old adult!" James Cameron stood up from behind the camera and tore into him without mercy. "I don't care how mature you are! Right now I need the energy of a kid your age—lively, rebellious, a little cocky!"
"Sorry, Jim!" Ryan shook his exaggerated side-part hairstyle and rubbed his face hard.
Filming on Terminator 2 had started in October. Ryan had to ask for another long leave from school. To make things easier, Pat Kingsley donated a hefty sum to St. John's in Nicole's name. In a country where money talked loudest, the school quickly approved the request.
This shoot was nothing like the fun, party-like atmosphere of Home Alone, or even the relatively relaxed vibe on The Sixth Sense. The reason was simple: the clean-shaven director sitting in the big chair.
The budget for Terminator 2 had ballooned to ninety million dollars. That number brought glory, but mostly crushing pressure. If it flopped, James Cameron would never work in Hollywood again. His mood and temper were exactly what you would expect.
Even Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was usually on good terms with him, kept his head down and his mouth shut.
Ryan stayed humble, but the on-set tyrant had no intention of letting him off easy. This particular shot had already gone through more than ten takes, and Cameron's patience was gone.
"Ryan, I don't care if you're a genius writer or Hollywood's best child actor! Right now, in Terminator 2, I need two hundred percent from you! The Sixth Sense is in the past. If you're still riding on those old laurels, believe me, I will personally throw you into the ocean myself!"
"You know what, Ryan? Today you are the worst version of yourself I've ever seen. If it weren't for those damn child-labor people, I would have tossed you in the sea five takes ago to wake you up!" Cameron's scolding kept coming. Any normal kid would have been in tears by now.
"Don't take it personally. He's always like this when he's working," Arnold said, patting Ryan gently on the back.
"That's why they call him the on-set tyrant," Ryan shrugged. He had known exactly what Cameron was like on set and had prepared himself mentally.
"On-set tyrant?" Arnold paused, then nodded with a grin. "Yeah, that name fits him perfectly."
Hasn't that nickname spread yet? Ryan's mouth twitched. When Cameron finally calmed down and his expression returned to normal, Ryan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Jim, I remember the crew has a shovel somewhere. Can I borrow it?"
"What for?" the director asked, confused.
"To dig a hole by the roadside and bury myself." Ryan spread his hands with mock remorse. "After that scolding, I feel so ashamed. First, I let down the whole crew. Second, I let down the entire American public. Third, I let down the federal government. I have no face left to show anyone. Might as well bury myself."
The entire crew burst out laughing. Even James Cameron cracked a smile. The kid always found the perfect way to fight back after a dressing-down, leaving him with nothing to say.
"Alright, alright, everyone—let's move!" Mario Kassar pointed at the crowd waiting nearby.
"We've shut down this street for half a day already. Another ad crew is waiting. If we keep dragging, they'll come over and fight us for the space."
Ryan took the water bottle an assistant handed him, took a sip, sat down quietly, and thought.
"Ryan." James Cameron walked over a moment later. "In my opinion, you understand this movie as well as I do. Remember what you said at the audition about John Connor? 'Rebellious on the outside but still innocent and kind inside.' That should be easy for you, right?"
Today's shots weren't technically difficult—they mostly showed John Connor's rebellious side: arguing with foster parents, stealing from an ATM, racing through the streets on a little motorbike. Compared to the heavy acting scenes they had shot earlier, these should have been simple.
Yet no one could have predicted that the same genius child who had held his own against Arnold Schwarzenegger and Linda Hamilton in previous takes would suddenly lose his rhythm on these easy shots.
Strictly speaking, Ryan had cut most of his previous-life memories in half. The useful parts had merged into his current life; the useless parts were locked away in the darkest corner of his mind. As long as he didn't touch them, they might never surface again.
But the heavy atmosphere and "acting within acting" during The Sixth Sense had cracked that door open. Even though he had pushed those feelings down later, the crack remained.
Now, in the quiet moment of reflection, images from his past life flooded back.
Things he had deliberately ignored finally returned. They would help his performance enormously—but as more and more memories surfaced, could he still keep his heart steady?
In his mind it felt like a century had passed, but in reality it was only a blink. The longing he had tried to ignore suddenly became crystal clear.
No! I am not an ungrateful bastard! Ryan clenched his fists without realizing it and forced those dangerous thoughts back down.
Yet after two lifetimes, he still hadn't learned one simple truth: once a seed sprouts, it will one day grow into a towering tree.
The NG takes continued, but Ryan's focus clearly improved. Some shots went through in one take. The schedule that had been lagging all day finally started moving again.
Most of the wild motorbike-racing scenes were shot from the side or back. Dangerous stunts like that used professional doubles.
For the front close-ups, Ryan simply had to sit on the stationary bike and strike the right pose while two huge fans blasted wind in his face and the camera rolled along a track.
Today's filming was finally done. They had lost time at the beginning, but made some of it back later and managed to wrap before dark.
Ryan changed out of his costume and stepped down from the trailer just as the other ad crew took over half the street.
He watched for a moment, then turned to leave. Suddenly a little girl darted out from the side and blocked his path.
"You… stop right there!"
She couldn't have been more than five, with rare reddish-brown curls and a face full of adorable freckles. Right now that face was puffed up in anger.
Ryan scratched his head. He didn't know her.
"You idiot! NG! NG! NG! You made me wait forever! Do you want the sun to fall into the ocean before I even finish my commercial?"
Her voice was still babyish, but her scolding was merciless.
Am I really that bad? Ryan looked up. The sun had moved west but was still high in the sky—nowhere near the ocean.
"What's your name? Don't think I'll let you off so easily!" The little girl planted her hands on her hips and tried to look fierce.
Before Ryan could answer, a couple emerged from the ad crew. "Lindsay, we're starting soon—go get your makeup done!"
"You're not allowed to leave!" Even after the woman picked her up, the girl kept glaring at him.
"Fine. Then I'll come watch. Let's see if you do any NG takes!"
Ryan followed the couple. As he got closer he caught a faint smell of alcohol coming from the man. Looking at his face—sunken eyes, heavy bags, red nose—he was either a heavy drinker, a drug user, or both.
The little girl was shooting a children's clothing commercial. It was simple: change outfits, smile brightly, and run down the street.
For a child her age she was surprisingly professional. Excluding makeup time, she finished every front, side, and back shot in just over ten minutes with zero NG takes.
"Interesting," Ryan said, genuinely impressed.
"What's interesting?" the assistant beside him asked.
"Don't you think that girl has real talent and potential?"
A little while later the girl came back in her own clothes and stared straight at Ryan.
"You! Tell me how you're going to make up for my wasted time!"
"How do you want me to make it up?" Ryan asked.
"Hmm~" She pinched her chin and circled him like a tiny adult. "Buy me two banana splits and I'll pretend today never happened!"
Slap!
A sharp sound came from behind Ryan. He turned to see the couple—the girl's parents—arguing. The man slapped the woman hard across the face, snatched her purse, jumped into an old Ford by the curb, and sped away.