Johnny Depp sat on a cheap black metal folding chair in his forty foot by nine foot trailer that had been hauled to the southern tip of Grand Bahama Island for the shooting of a scene for Pirates of the Caribbean — Dead Man’s Chest. Depp was in costume, his long hair strands tied with beads. The trailer’s air conditioning unit sat on top, and was humming with a grind and a rattle, working hard to beat the near hundred degree heat on the expansive white sandy beach outside.
Sitting in front of Depp was Keira Knightley. Keira’s hairpiece was on the floor between her bare legs and feet. She was wearing a light blue bikini, her elbows leaning on her knees and she was bending forward. Keira’s hair was cropped short, a result of the role she played in the movie Domino. Because of Domino, Keira had to wear a wig throughout the shooting of Pirates.
Depp peeled a banana and started to chomp, as if in his Jack Sparrow character.
“You should eat something,” said Depp.
“I have a headache,” said Keira as she rubbed her forehead.
“You’re dehydrated,” said Depp.
“I hate the heat. I hate the beach. This is torture,” said Keira.
Keira was five foot seven inches tall and by Depp’s estimation weighed no more than 100 pounds. The bones of her shoulders as well as Keira’s sternum and collar bones all protruded through paper thin skin. And Depp could see Keira’s spine run up the middle of her back, like a narrow rocky berm running over a sand hill. A skeleton. Not a nanometer of fatty tissue was anywhere on Keira’s body except for her breasts, a location where women did not seem to mind fat cells. Keira had obviously been starving herself for the Pirates movie, but Depp could not understand why since she was in heavy costume for most of the film.
“I do not like to give advice to my colleagues, but I if I may make a suggestion,” said Depp.
“A suggestion about what?” asked Keira as she rubbed the back of her neck.
“You’re phoning in the performance. That accounts for the fact that you are having a miserable time,” said Depp.
“Excuse me?” said Keira.
“You are not in character. In fact, you haven’t even created a character for Elizabeth Swan. You’re just saying the lines. The words are coming from nowhere,” said Depp.
“Oh, like the fey pirate thing you’re doing with Jack Sparrow is a real character. Give me a break,” said Keira.
“Well, maybe it’s thin, but it’s still a character. I’ve at least made a choice. And so I am having fun,” said Depp.
“You’re having fun because it’s an excuse for you to be feminine, which is really all you want to do anyway. Why don’t you put on a dress and go all the way,” said Keira.
“Jack Sparrow is not a cross dresser. And he likes women. He just has a way of being. Anyway, I am not the one who has a headache and is starving themselves to death,” said Depp.
“What? I am not starving myself. Anyway, my body is like none of your business,” said Keira.
“You are in my trailer,’ said Depp.
“I am in your trailer because the fucking air conditioning is not working in my trailer. And don’t think that kiss thing we did means anthing. I got a headache right after the five fucking takes on that kiss,” said Keira.
“The first one was the best,” said Depp.
“I sort of liked the last one,” said Keira, who then became mindful of her betrayal. “I liked the last one because it was the last one, got it,” said Keira.
“Look. They are about to shoot you running around on the beach. Get dressed and show yourself how good a time you can have. Get a little character and have a little fun. Run around the beach and act silly. Be silly. Then you will not feel the heat, and the beach will become a beautiful place. And I bet your headache will go away,” said Depp.
“Is that Johnny Depp giving me advice or Jack Sparrow?” said Keira.
“I’m not sure,” said Depp.
Keira smiled. She grabbed her wig and stood on her pencil thin legs and opened the trailer door. The bright sun of the Bahamas shot in like a saber. Keira stepped out and closed the door from behind. Depp decided that Keira weighed less than 100 pounds, and was probably too weak to create a character. Maybe she was exhausted from her work in Domino. Maybe she was just doing it for the paycheck. Afterall, it was a Disney movie based on a Disney theme park ride. So maybe Keira Knightley felt like she could just phone it in and rely on her big-lip smile to get her through the movie. But as far as Depp was concerned, whether it is a light movie or a heavy movie, an actor should always find a way to create a character. Without it, the people do not get their money’s worth. And for Depp, it was all about what the audience was getting. If they are not getting character, then what’s the purpose of the actor, Depp thought. Depp suspected that the popularity of digital animation was in part due to the fact that actors had not been doing their work. Why would an audience watch an actor just say the lines if they could also watch animated cars just say their lines. Actors have so much more in their arsenal of tools, it was a shame most of them did not use the power of their craft.
Depp was starting to feel sad. He could feel Jack Sparrow leaving his body. Depp stood up and shook his body, shaking out his thoughts and retrieving the pirate Jack Sparrow. Jack Sparrow returned and he was ready to go. He walked his light walk to the door and left the trailer into the Bahamian sun. And the movie continues.
White lines. Black lines. Metal lines. Stone lines. Concrete lines. Cinderblock lines.
Earth lines.
Lines crisscrossing the blue brown ball like stitched plaid.
Running between mountains and houses, between cities and woodlands.
Running through barren desert, where nothing moves but wind and sand.
Lines separating emptiness from hollowness.
The bald eagle flew from branch to peak to ledge.
Flying high, soaring effortlessly over the thick lines, over the broken lines.
Over the lines etched and stitched by man.
Lines on the surface of the earth.
The lines spoke of art from up at eagle high.
Something to look at, something to examine, a huge canvas.
From up high where the bald eagle glided over the lines.
Which seemed like pencil brush strokes.
Or scratched with a box-cutter.
Barely affecting anything but the gravity bound.
There must be a point, thought the bald eagle.
These endless lines, running like strings thrown randomly on the surface.
There must be a point, thought the bald eagle.
It is art for the passing celestial body.
It is art to communicate something about Earth.
The lines are everywhere, these lines that are straight.
These lines that curve, in squares, circles and triangles, broken at odd angles.
The Earth is filled with them, and new ones.
New ones going up with every break of day.
New lines being drawn, erected, between things, separating things from things.
Or are they connecting things?
Old lines being dismantled.
New lines being created.
Someday, maybe…
The Earth will look like…
A rubber-band ball…
Thought the bald eagle.
Twisted into a tight suffocating ball.
The rubber bands will break.
The lines replaced with new ones.
A work in progress, thought the bald eagle.
A great Earth art project,
A great Earth art experiment, the artist finding balance.
Fighting for balance.
This right. No, that right.
The right esthetic, making it right.
Never satisfied with these lines, though.
New lines seem to cause other lines to appear.
New lines bust through old lines.
The eagle flew high, soaring in the wind.
Soaring in the sky, the line-free sky.
The eagle thought about lines in the sky.
Could lines be drawn in the sky?
Someone will figure out a way, thought the bald eagle.
The lines will not remain Earth-bound.
They were alive and moved and grew, like unstoppable roots.
And they will grow upwards someday.
The lines will come up to where the bald eagle soared.
And extend out into the heavens.
This great Earth art experiment will go on and on.
And will never end.
The never-ending art experiment on the third planet.
Thought the bald eagle, as it flew higher and higher.
Never losing site of an Earth line, somewhere, everywhere.
Earth lines. Everywhere.
It was a hot Spring day in Los Angeles. The still air for the past three days had left a purple haze that floated above the basin. Jake Gyllenhaal was sitting in a comfortable chair looking at the palms and other desert flora that peppered the view he had from the top floor of 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, the offices of Creative Artists Agency. Kevin Huvane sat behind his polished mahogany desk that was supported by brushed nickel posts. An LCD monitor with keyboard sat to Huvane�s left, and a multi-buttoned large office telephone sat to his right. In front of Huvane on the desk was a pile of four scripts. Huvane was watching Jake who seemed to be lost in the haze outside the large floor-to-ceiling window that surrounded Huvane�s corner office.
Jake was in tattered jeans with a white lose button-down long-sleeve shirt. Huvane was wearing a non-descript suit without tie, a dark blue shirt with open collar. Huvane was tapping a red Sharpie marker on the desk.
�You have to dig yourself out of this one, Jake,� said Huvane.
�So what is there? On your desk?� asked Jake.
�Four very well-written scripts that all have gay themes. One of which is set out West, with horses, no less,� said Huvane.
�So put out more requests,� said Jake.
�Jake, I have put out more than two dozen requests for scripts. It�s getting embarrassing already. The studios see you as a gay cowboy, and they can�t seem to get it out of their heads,� said Huvane.
�So fuck the studios. Find an independent script. Low budget. I�ll work for scale,� said Jake.
�May I suggest you consider this one,� said Huvane as he picks up the top script from the pile. �It�s entitled �Murder Undone.� A Universal script. Oliver Stone is attached,� said Huvane.
�What�s it about?� asked Jake.
�I think you should read it,� said Huvane.
�Just tell me what it�s about,� said Jake.
�It�s about a man who attempts to undo the murder he committed,� said Huvane.
�Undo a murder? How does he do that?� asked Jake.
�It�s a mystery suspense thing where this guy, a very tough guy, gets another man to assume the identity of the murder victim thereby,� said Huvane.
�Yeah. OK. Then what?� asked Jake.
�Well, it is very psychological and dark. I think it will help undo the perception the studios have of you at the moment,� said Huvane.
�You are not giving me the story. What�s the story? What�s dark and psychological about it?� asked Jake.
�OK, I will just say it. The main character, the role you are being offered, murders his lover��
�A man, right?� asked Jake cutting off Huvane.
�Yes. A man. So then this character, trolls the bars looking for some lost soul to assume the identity of his former lover. He does this somewhat successfully, but then falls in love with this new guy, and ends up murdering him too. And the cycle starts all over again. Very dark,� said Huvane.
�I don�t know. Jeez, I did Jarhead for chrissake. I was wearing an Army uniform. Doesn’t that count for anything?” asked Jake.
�Jarhead was not nominated. Jarhead did not have the same level of press. Jarhead is history. Look, Murder Undone takes place in an urban environment, not the West. They will give you any wardrobe option you want, so you can dress casually urban or even like a slob if you want,� said Huvane.
�What�s he do? For a living?� asked Jake.
�It�s not clear from the script, but let me remind you what you do for a living. Act. You act, and they are offering nine million to you to act in this film,� said Huvane.
�Nine million,� said Jake to himself.
�Nine million,� said Huvane.
�Is there a sex scene? Because I am not doing a sex scene,� said Jake.
�There is one sex scene, and it is the scene that sold Stone on the script,� said Huvane. �But, it is a violent sex scene, not some gentle kissy huggy thing like in Brokeback. It�s a tough sex scene. Tough is what you need, and it will be the first step out the door of this little spot you are in,� said Huvane.
“How about we make the murder victims women. Same story, just my guy is straight?” asked Jake.
“Went down that road with Universal. Oliver Stone likes the gay theme. It’s Stone’s movie,” said Huvane.
�Can�t we keep looking?� asked Jake.
�Jake, listen to me. Universal will pay you nine million dollars to help you evolve your career. Consider it a gift. A big gift. You help Universal, you help Oliver Stone, and you help yourself. Everyone is happy. And I promise you the next film after this one will not have a gay theme,� said Huvane.
�I don�t mind gay themed movies. I am not some homophobe, Kevin,� said Jake.
�Of course you are not,� said Huvane.
�But this is my career. I want variety in my work. It is about my work,� said Jake.
�Yes. Of course. Here�s the script,� said Huvane as he offers it to Jake, who takes the script and places it on his lap.
�Find something that Cruise would do. That should be my next move after this one,� said Jake.
�You want to be the next Tom Cruise?� asked Huvane.
�You know what I mean. Like Mission Impossible Four. Isn�t he getting tired of doing those movies?� asked Jake.
�It all depends on how Three does,� said Huvane.
Jake looks down at the script on his lap. �Tough guy. Good. Nine million. Good. I�ll read it,� said Jake.
�You�ll do it,� said Huvane, who caught himself and then smiled.
�Thanks, Kevin. Thanks for helping,� said Jake.
�Think of it this way. You are taking in nine million. That means you are a tough guy, and that is how Hollywood will see it,� said Huvane.
�Money talks,� said Jake.
�Money defines,� said Huvane.
