My Pep Guardiola-talk, to prepare Chelsea for the cats on the catwalk, was the key to the success of our Miss-mission. Now, my intuition tells me to trust the success formula and prepare Chelsea again for the upcoming scene with some well-chosen words. Intuition is usually not based on facts. Intuition cannot be trusted. Pep-talk is just talk. This time, it's «Show, Don't Tell». We need to act. Chelsea will act. She's going to play a key role in the ending scene of a blockbuster film. There's nothing to worry about. If everything goes wrong, we can always shoot the scene again. Nobody burns down two studios on the same day.
Chelsea is eager to find out about our upcoming adventure: "Where are we going now?"
"Can you handle criticism?"
"Are you from Boston? Why do you answer every question with another question?"
I take a deep breath. Patience. Count to ten. This is nothing personal. This is just business. I'm just playing a key role in the ending scene of a real-life save-the-world event. Everything I say or do makes a life-or-death difference for millions of innocent people who live in the line of fire of a political game between powerful leaders. There's nothing to worry about. If everything goes wrong, we can never shoot the same people again. We just take a new war, or a new world, and start again.
"I'm sorry. I should have explained it better. We're going to the studio of 21st Century Sox, where director Antonio Banderas and his crew are shooting the ending scene of their upcoming blockbuster film. You have a key role in that key scene, but… you have to learn to handle criticism."
Chelsea stops studying her imPhone, throws me a deadly look, steam coming out of her ears, and bites back: "Do you mean I can't handle criticism? What makes you think I can't? Of course, I can handle criticism. I handle criticism all the time. My father tells me I'm wrong, my teachers tell me I'm wrong, my friends tell me I'm wrong, and it's fine with me, you know, I can handle all that bullshit because… duh… they don't know me. They are wrong. I don't care what they say, as long as they like me on my Facebook account. I expected you'd have a higher opinion of me, Arse. You are my friend. You should treat me with respect, instead of criticising me and telling me what to do."
Intuition is a terrible adviser. I should have known better and kept my big mouth shut. Chelsea's opinion is not based on knowledge, experience, or skills, but she defends the dogma of her personality like it's the Holy Bible itself. Her Superior Being believes that all the others are wrong. Criticism won't make her change her mind. Criticism only makes her feel awful.
I can't change other people. I should learn from my mistakes instead of insisting on proving the impossible. Let Mister Banderas tell Chelsea she's a terrible actor, so Chelsea can argue with him instead of with me. My mission is not to teach her, or to educate her, or to make her a better person; my mission is to give her the best-day-ever. I was doing fine; she was in a good mood, but now, I criticised her, knowing she can't handle criticism, and I spoilt everything. But… if Chelsea and Mister Banderas start a fight, Chelsea will never have her best-day-ever, and my mission will flop too. This is a lose-lose situation. If I can't twist this into something positive right now, I'm shot, killed, and buried.
Compliments…
"I'm your friend. I'm not telling you what to do. You know I trust you, I admire you as a person, and I see you as a mentor. I'm the one who's learning here. You're the one who's teaching. I was just thinking ahead, preparing the scene you're going to play.
» You have a natural talent for acting. When you entered that dressing room, everybody thought you were Melissa McCarthy. But I hope you agree with me: you don't have thirty years of experience. In a moment, we'll meet Mister Banderas. He has over thirty years of experience, as an actor and as a director of films.
» Do you know what experience does to old people? It makes them feel superior. They stop listening and start talking, telling others what to do and how to do it. How stupid is that? How can they really know someone if they refuse to listen to her? That's why nobody knows you like I do: they don't listen to you because they think they're superior. Your father and your teacher feel like their false sense of superiority gives them the right to criticise you, correct you, and tell you how it should be done. You know I'm not like that. I just try to warn you of the experience errors of elders, so you don't get angry when someone tells you to walk this way, or move your head like that, or change your tone of voice. But you already know that. I'm sorry. I'm stupid. Feel free to criticise me."
"Duh. You should learn, like, to express yourself better, Arse. Whatever."
"You're right again. It's better if I just listen and accept the criticism. Others try to correct me with all their best intentions. They hope I'll learn and improve, thanks to their lessons. And I do. Did you've noticed how I've changed, thanks to listening to your advice? Do you understand how wonderful it is when I, your friend, learn so much from you like I did today?"
Chelsea's mood goes from DEFCON 1 to DEFCON 4 again: "Yeah, you're right. I like it that you listen to me. You were a pain in the neck when we first met this morning, but thanks to following my good example, you have changed into a much better person."
"Exactly. Other people have the same desire. They want to be like you, a mentor, a teacher, THE most unique. But where they live, it's dark. They're afraid. The jungle is their head. They can't rule their hearts. Their feelings are so much stronger than their thoughts. So don't get angry when they criticise you. They're just trying to be like you. Accept it and feel good about it. After all, they're trying to help you become a better actress, a better student and a better person. Constructive criticism helps others learn. That's nothing to fight about. They're not attacking you as those models did, so you don't need to defend yourself. Just relax and listen to what they want to say. That's all. And then you do what you like anyway, because, after all, what they tell you is just their opinion, nothing more and nothing less. Your own opinion is at least as good as theirs. Right?"
"Right."
"Everybody has the right to their own opinion. It's a free world. Entire nations might think it's better to drive on the right side of the road, but the British are free to drive on the left. That doesn't make all the British crazy; it only means they have a different opinion. Right?"
"Right. I mean: left."
"So when Mister Banderas tells you to walk this way or keep your head that way, what are you going to do?"
Despite all my clear communication, Chelsea still isn't sure: "Well? What am I going to do? You tell me. Just to see if you've learnt anything…"
"You're not going to argue with him, although you know he's wrong. It's just his opinion. He's doing his best to help you. It's not about who's wrong and who's right; it's about respect and listening to each other. You show respect to your instructor by following up the instructions, so your instructor can see what you've learnt and be proud of you. Did I formulate my conclusion clear enough? Did your student pass his mentor's exam?"
"Yes, Arse. I'm proud of you. You're a good listener."
"I learnt from the best, Chelsea."
* * *
"Don't walk like that, Chelsea. Don't keep your head that way. Change the tone of your voice. You're the chambermaid. He's your boss. One snap with his finger and you're finished. You can't enter the room with your nose in the air, giving orders with an attitude like you're the daughter of the Secretary of Defense. You should be modest, like a slave."
"Yes, Mister Banderas. Shall I do it again? I want to do better this time."
Chelsea behaves like I never expected. It almost looks like she did learn something from my lessons about criticism. I should help her, as a reward for her attitude: "Perhaps, Mister Banderas, it might be a good idea if we rehearse the scene one more time, without cameras, so Chelsea can understand her character better. After all, it's her first acquaintance with the story and the other characters. it's fair to give her a bit of help here."
Out of sight, I give Mister Banderas an envelope as thick as my index finger, filled with a bit of help from the LSD to market this project, to make a success out of what promises to become a flop. The weight that the envelope adds to the scale of pros y contras is just enough to make Mister Banderas change his mind: "I guess you're right. Please, Miss Chelsea, come and sit here, next to me, so I can explain the idea to you. Okay, boys. We're going to do one more dry run of the scene. Melanie, can you please stand in for Chelsea? Ana and Sergio over here, please. We start with Ana's monologue. Okay? You all have one minute to prepare yourself. When I give the sign, we start."
Mister Banderas is not only a professional with a focus on quality and efficiency, he's also a fantastic person to work with. The director doesn't shout, he doesn't give angry orders, and he doesn't treat his crew like they're a bunch of stupid idiots who can't do anything by themselves. He motivates his team by giving them responsibility and lets them add something personal too. "We're not a theatre of marionettes. We're making a film, with real people.", he says more than once. Even though Chelsea's part is insignificantly small, he takes the time to make her feel part of the project and explains it with all the passion you can expect from someone who's born in Andalucía.
"The title of the film is «Vertigo». Vertigo means dizziness, but also fear of heights, acrophobia. That's the theme of the story: if you climb too high, you'll get vertigo from all the power of your position, and you will fall deep. The story takes place in the year 1492, during the Spanish Inquisition, but it's also a metaphor for our current problems between people from different races and religions.
» In the years before 1492, Muslims, Jews and Catholics lived peacefully together in Andalucía. For political reasons, the Catholic Kings (united under Isabel I of Castilla and Fernando II of Aragón) made the Catholic religion a tool of the state. They invented the Spanish Inquisition, which took over the role of God as the punisher of everyone with different ideas. The Inquisition forced large groups of people to leave the country and even deported them. They tortured and murdered at will. Officially, they accused their victims of being guilty of the crime of believing in another God, but actually, they saw other cultures and religions as a threat against the lifestyle the Catholic Kings dictated to their citizens. According to the Inquisition, God didn't tolerate freedom of opinion.
» Sergio and Ana are the main characters. Sergio plays the part of Tomás de Torquemada, who ruled the Spanish Inquisition from 1483 until 1493. Ana plays Torquemada's mother. As you will see, she acts as humanity's conscience. During the entire film, Sergio (Torquemada) has accused other people of not following the rules of God, but by doing so, he's broken every one of those rules himself: he has destroyed, stolen, tortured and killed, thanks to his high position and the power, given to him. His mother tried to talk reason into his heart, but Torquemada was so convinced of his own belief that he didn't listen. He stopped doing God's work and became God himself, with the power to strike where he wanted, and to punish whoever he pleased."
Chelsea listens with interest: "Interesting. He's a wild boy. And he's cute too… All the girls will love him…"
Mister Banderas stands up to give his instructions for the dry run: "Are we ready? We start when Torquemada's mother enters with the document Torquemada just signed. Take your positions… Uno. Dos. Tres. Catorce…"
Ana opens the door and paces the set, holding up an official document to Sergio, who sits in a chair, reading a book.
"Is this true? Did you proclaim the deportation of every Jew in Spain? You can't be serious."
Sergio closes his book, stands up and takes the document out of Ana's hand: "They are enemies of the State… I mean… They are enemies of God, mother. We can't let them live amongst us. They infect our pure and holy belief with their horrible ideas."
"Our pure and holy belief? You're the one who ordered the killing of Jews. You're the one who decided they must be tortured and burnt in public. The monster is you. Those people didn't hurt anybody."
"I don't care what you think, mother. Your opinion is based on rumours."
"Rumours? Six million dead people don't tell tales, Tomás."
"Those numbers are exaggerations. I ordered only 125.000 killings. And I'm not guilty of anything. God himself sent me on this mission."
"A mission to steal the money from the Jews, to finance the war of the Catholic Kings against the Muslims? You have a strange God, giving you those instructions, Tomás. The God you believe in looks more like a Dutch banker to me, and I don't trust Dutch bankers."
"I don't trust bankers either, as most bankers are Jews. We rob the Jews first, then we burn them, and finally, we kick them out of our country. After that, they can become Dutch if they like. If God wants it to be different, let him come down and do it himself."
"You… you… Don't you read the Bible, Tomás? Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not steal. And above all: thou shall respect your mother. Those words are God's instructions to you AND the Jews AND the Muslims. We all believe in the same God, and we all believe that His rules make life better for all of us."
"Mother… If you want me to respect you, you should SHUT UP NOW! I have work to do."
"I will tell you one thing, Tomás: you think you're powerful enough to rule the nation, but there's one with more power than you, and He will not tolerate what you do in His name."
"Goodbye, mother."
When Ana leaves, Mister Banderas bends over to Chelsea and whispers: "Here comes your part. Pay attention. Tomás is now higher than any mortal can be. Nobody can touch him. Vertigo. Now, look what happens…"
Melanie comes in, walks towards Sergio, and hands him a sealed envelope: "This message just arrived, Your Highness. They said it's urgent."
Melanie leaves. Sergio opens the envelope. With a mix of curiosity and fear, he takes out the sheet and reads what's written on it. And then…
"Why doesn't he read it aloud? What's in it?", Chelsea whispers, on the edge of her seat.
Mister Banderas explains: "This is «Show, Don't Tell». We don't tell the message to our audience because Sergio shows it to us perfectly. Watch his face. This is outstanding acting. He falls down. Do you notice the intense horror on his face? He's destroyed. He's in pain. It's worse than being tortured, worse than being burnt alive. He gets what he deserves: all the terror of Dante's Inferno falls upon him, and there's nothing he can do. And that's the end of the film. It will make people think."
"I think it's stupid. Don't you know nothing? They stopped making silent movies for a reason, you know. Why doesn't he just tell us what's in the message?", Chelsea mutters, disappointed.
"It's art. Everybody can have their own opinion about what they saw. Politics and business tell people what to believe, but nobody listens to their speeches and commercials, anyway. Art is different. Art makes people think. Most of all, they will think: «Where did Mister Banderas find such a fabulous actor to do this dramatic scene?» And the answer is: Sergio's a football player. He's the captain of Real Madrid and the Spanish national team. He shows every weekend and every Champions League weeknight what a great actor he is, both by dropping dead in the enemy's box to arrange a penalty kick and by presuming innocent after winning a mortal combat with the other team's striker. The man has a natural talent for acting. And… he's handsome too. Don't you think he's handsome, Miss Chelsea?"
Chelsea gives her opinion: "I think it's a stupid ending for a movie. It will flop. A movie ends with a kiss and a wedding, or nobody will pay to see it."
Mister Banderas knows how to handle criticism: "I respect your opinion, but this is a European film, not an American movie. On Oscar night, we'll see who's right."
Sergio rises from the dead, gives Chelsea a wink and says: "Are you ready to do this scene? I'm looking forward to it. You're cute in that outfit."
Chelsea blushes. Cute wasn't the word she had in mind. Gorgeous, stunning, irresistible, perhaps even awesome, would fit Sergio better.
"Do you know your line?", Sergio asks.
"Duh. You don't know nothing about movies, do you? I'm a natural actress. Who cares what I say? People don't listen to me, anyway. My acts speak for themselves."
Chelsea disappears behind the door, waiting for her moment of glory, her fifteen seconds of fame.
Mister Banderas gives his instructions to camera, light and sound, corrects a wrinkle in Sergio's costume, and counts down to the start: "Uno. Dos. Tres. Catorce."
This one is for real. I cross my fingers.
* * *
"I will tell you one thing, Tomás: you think you're powerful enough to rule the nation, but there's one with more power than you, and He will not tolerate what you do in His name."
"Goodbye, mother."
Sergio looks the other way, arrogant as a short French future emperor, while his mother walks out of the door. This is the moment when Chelsea enters through the door on the other side. She should open that door right now. Sergio throws another haughty look at the camera. Why doesn't she come in? The expression on Sergio's face slowly changes from superior to annoyed, bored, then irritated, followed by anger, rage, desperation… This is not a dramatic pause as being taught at the Art Academy; this takes so long that the audience will leave the theatre, thinking it's over. A Devil's Advocate might even accuse Chelsea of an attempt to bore the spectators to death. Where is that girl? Why does it have to take so long to open a door? Women! It's always the same story. They think they are so important that they can let everyone else wait. You can't let Tomás de Torquemada wait. He's the personification of God on Earth. One snap of his finger decides between life and death. He raises that World Cup and the entire world kisses his feet. Who's that girl, innocent like a virgin, that humble servant with her plain black dress and her hair in a bun, who dares to let him wait? Who does she think she is? Madonna?
I know Chelsea. I don't know what will come next, but I know it will be something «unique», something nobody prepared for. This is a film. I have to act. I take a thumb-thick envelope out of my backpack and sneak it over to Mister Banderas, while I whisper: "This is why I like you as a director. You motivate your team by giving them responsibility and letting them add something of themselves too. This isn't a theatre of marionettes. These are real people. And, of course, you can always cut it out later."
And then, finally, Chelsea makes her entrance. It takes a few seconds before I realise that her grimace of torture is meant to be a mysterious smile inside a seducing look. I hope the camera focuses on Sergio, who acts surprised; in his finest moments of divine glory, his deep mystical thoughts are disturbed, like he feels with his supernatural powers there's a disaster coming his way.
"This message just arrived, Your Highness. They said it's urgent."
Sergio opens the envelope. With a mix of curiosity and fear, he takes out the sheet and reads what's written on it. And then…
He falls down.
He's destroyed.
He's in pain.
It's worse than being tortured.
It's worse than being burnt alive.
He gets what he deserves: all the terror of Dante's Inferno falls upon him and there's nothing he can do.
If I were a referee, I would show Chelsea the red card without any hesitation.
Chelsea forgets it's just acting. Being a Madonna with a big heart, she can't stand seeing a handsome man suffer like this. She bends over, puts her hand on his shoulder and helps him up, while she says: "Don't worry. I'm sure it's just a small problem. I'll help you. Together, we can fix it. And if we can't, we can always go to my country, America, where I will be the next President and you can stand in my shadow…"
Next to me, Mister Banderas jumps on the verge of interrupting the scene. I know. It's 1492. Chelsea's America isn't discovered until next week. But we make this film for entertainment, and not for the Discovery Channel. Quickly, I put my hand in my backpack where I discover an envelope as thick as my wrist, heavy enough to make Mister Banderas relax.
Sergio didn't get an envelope. He almost drops out of his role: "You? A chambermaid?"
But Chelsea leaves no space for interpretation: "Don't you know nothing? I'm not a chambermaid. I'm the daughter of the King of Africa, who came here to find myself a husband. And now, I've found you. You have everything I need. I want you by my side, so we can go to America, where I can run for President, and you'll be the first male First Lady in history. Don't be afraid of vertigo. If you feel lonely at the top, just make sure you're not alone. Don't worry, my love. Trust me. Our story will have a happy ending. I'll give you something you can feel. Feel! Kneel!"
Chelsea kicks the sharp point of her shoe into the backside of Sergio's knee. Her love is teaching him how to kneel, so the 1,95-metre tall defender adapts to her 1,69-metre modest Madonna level. Then she puts her arms around Sergio's neck, she closes her eyes, she moves her lips towards him, slowly, pinching him in the neck with her right hand to make him bend over and answer the kiss, and their lips find each other in a soft, sweet, sensational happy ending like only American movies are entitled to…
But when I expect to see the names of the actors and crew drop from the ceiling, a sharp voice causes coitus interrupt us at the climax of the film: "No! No, no, no, no, no! Where did you learn how to kiss like this? Only cows kiss with their tongue. Let me show you how it should be done."
It's Ana, Torquemada's mother. She paces the set, tears the happy loving couple apart, takes Sergio in her arms, gentle, generous, genial, and cuts the poor man's respiration with a kiss that takes even my breath away…
Chelsea jumps with joy: "Yes, you're right. That's wonderful. Move over. Let me try it. I'm sure I can learn a lot from you." She embraces Sergio again and saves his life with artificial respiration. But then a sharp voice from the back shouts: "And you call this kissing? No. No, no, no, no, no. This is how a mother kisses her child. A proper kiss, between two lovers, goes without those smacking sounds, and above all, you should respect the position of the camera. How can spectators see Sergio's beautiful eyes when you turn your head like that? Don't you know nothing? Let me show you how it's done."
The director of photography takes her headset off, makes a gesture to her assistant to take over her place behind the camera, paces the set, pushes Ana and Chelsea out of the way, points at the positions of the camera and the microphone, and takes Real's Sergio in her arms for a demonstration of a Real kiss in a Real film: monarchical, monumental, monstrous, mortal. Poor Sergio turns blue and drops dead on the floor. I hope the assistant got a clear shot because, with the principal actor dead, it's impossible to do this ending scene again. Ana and Chelsea both want to be the first to show what they've just learnt, picking up Sergio from the ground, fighting for his life. Chelsea wins: her right fist hits Ana, convincing enough to look authentic on the big screen. The boys from Special Effects know how to rock 'n' roll too: the fake blood streams out of Ana's nose, ruins her medieval dress, and makes the Jesus around her neck look even better than the real thing.
"No. No, no, no, no, no. Don't you know nothing? I'm in this film business for over thirty years, and I've never seen anybody kiss like this. You act like lionesses, fighting for a juicy prey. Don't attack poor Sergio like he's some cheap happy meal in some cheap porn production, like he's the hamburger you snack between lunch and dinner. You don't express «I'm loving it»; it's «I love you», which is a completely different sensation.
» Get away. I'll show you how it's done. First, you need to put the right expression on your face: don't show lust; show trust. Then you take your time. Timing is essential in a film. Move slowly. It's passion, not fashion, ladies. Let me show you. And pay attention because I will only do this once…"
I couldn't avoid it. I've run out of envelopes. Mister Banderas paces the set, pushes the three women aside, grabs Sergio from the ground like he's a dirty towel that someone dropped after a hot shower, and then the metamorphosis takes place. Mister Banderas is an Oscar-winning actor. He doesn't act; he BECOMES the character. He looks Sergio in the eyes, caring, loving, wanting, waiting, Sergio can't resist, he has to respond, puts both his hands on Antonio's ears, they smack their lips together with a force, a strength, a power of love like only European films can—
"You call this «working», Sergio? I see. And I'm seeing it for already quite some time now."
Sergio and Antonio break their romantic embrace, and all the heads on the set move to the VIP entrance, to a beautiful woman with big black eyes and long, black, curly hair, her arms folded under her breasts, her right foot tapping the floor, slowly, the mortal rhythm of deadly silence.
"Pilar. How nice to see you.", Sergio stammers. With red cheeks, he explains to the rest of the crew: "Pilar is my wife. I thought she was shooting a commercial for Tostada today, a new kitchen machine…"
Pilar paces the set, eyes spitting fire, high heels causing sparks with every step: "There was a fire. The studio burnt down. They cancelled the commercial. So I thought I'd visit you, to see how you're doing. And what do I see?"
Chelsea, Ana, the camerawoman and Antonio are suddenly very much interested in the noses of their shoes. I try to rescue Sergio: "It's not what you think, ma'am. It's just acting."
"I bet you it is. And it's bad acting too. Don't you people know nothing? I'll show you what a Real Kiss looks like."
And so she does. It takes a while. I'm not sure if all the others want to try it too, not only because Sergio drops unconscious on the floor when the kiss is over, but also because a kiss like this needs Real Love to do it right.
Mister Banderas is a professional. He cleans his chin (watching the kiss made his mouth water) and decides: "We can use that shot as a body double for Miss Chelsea. That means we're done for today. I want to thank you all for your professionalism, and I'm sure this film will become a success, thanks to the personal contributions of every one of us (tapping the pocket of his jacket where he keeps my envelopes). You will all get an invitation for the premiere, and of course for the 2019 Oscar Night, where we will be the big winner."
Showbiz works like this. It's all illusion. Nobody cares what really happens. Positive feelings, happy endings, and we all feel great when we leave the scene.
I push Chelsea into the dressing room and tell her to hurry. We have to leave. We have a concert waiting for her voice. It has already started. And we have to get out of here before Mister Banderas finds out what's in the envelopes I gave him: folders, more folders and most folders with the text "Vertigo. Watch the latest film by Antonio Banderas. Now in every theatre." With the LSD cutting budgets, it was the best we could do for marketing, to make sure this movie becomes a success instead of a flop.
It's all show, it's all film, it's not real, but the illusion is enough to make people believe what they want to believe.