Phil Johnson

The Director’s Cut

PN Johnson

Prologue

The Guardia Civil officer was dead behind the wheel of the bullet-ridden car, now just a sinister outline under the new moon. I’d tried to warn him. He’d had no idea who he was up against or why.

A distant siren rang out. A blue light was coming a long way off on a slow, curving mountain road. His back-up was arriving, but far too late.

In the darkness, one of the gunmen walked towards me. Somehow I’d been seen. I watched the shadowy figure turn and raise a gun, pointing it my way. A shot rang out, but it wasn’t him who’d fired. Silently, he dropped sideways, hitting the ground with a thud. A brief kick of his leg, then nothing. He was dead.

A familiar voice came out of the blackness.

“Holly, run! Get away from here, there are more of them. I’ll hold them off!” It was Blanca. She rushed the battle-scarred car, picking up the dead man’s assault rifle on the way, but no, I couldn’t leave her, and instead of running away, I ran towards her, joining her behind the besieged vehicle.

“I’d rather die with you Blanca, than be killed running from them.” She smiled and touched my cheek. Her fingers were warm against the cool of the night. We crouched behind the car, the lifeless body of the dead policeman slumped in the front seat. My pulse was thumping. Adrenalin surged through me. We were waiting for the other assailants we knew would come.

“Know how to use this?” Blanca asked, offering me her handgun, as she checked the weapon she’d pulled from the dead attacker’s hand. I took the heavy metal gun, my finger curling around the trigger in the dark.

“I’ve only used one for filming, when acting on TV.” I said. That was make believe, and this was real.

“This one’s not a prop. It kills people. When you use it, hold it steady with two hands, then aim and shoot. Don’t hesitate Holly, it’s us or them. It’s not just you and me they want dead, but Josh, and Laura too.” I looked up at Blanca, but I could barely see her beautiful face, lost in the shadows of the night. I held the weapon in both hands and pointed it ahead of me into the darkness, holding my breath, waiting, for the killers to come...

1. Mull

All eyes fell on me as I walked through the door, scanning me up and down as I joined the ranks of the hopeful at the auditions. Seven other women were in the room. Here, careers would change. I smiled and ran my eyes over the faces looking my way. Some I barely recognised and others I knew. I wrote my chances off when I studied the competition, but I had to do what I thought was right for the role, and let fate take its course, for good or bad.

The part was DC Daisy White, the new young detective constable assigned to the Rural Crime Squad in the hit TV series: Murder in the Manor. Ratings were high and the critics loved it. The fame and money the part would bring was astronomic compared to the work I’d had before, and at 33, it was now or never. A show like Murder in the Manor doesn’t come along every day. The new DC was supposed to have been a former gymnast, and was expected to do amazing stunts, everything from abseiling down towers to leaping out of windows.

A few polite and outwardly friendly hellos and forced smiles filled the air, then an anxious silence returned as nervous feet shuffled, and fidgeting fingers flipped through pages of script. There was the woman from Newton Road, the long running soap; she was by the window in a tight, A-line dress. The girl who played a teacher in the kids’ comedy show Strange Academy was sitting in the corner, baggy cashmere over a pencil skirt, chewing the end of a pen and underlining words. The rising star from Warm Hearts, the peak time rom-com was standing up, pacing to and fro, repeating lines in her head. She was the one I was sure would get it. She had a big personality, and even bigger hair, with a massive following online. Most of them recognised me; more fake smiles and inquisitive stares were exchanged. The competition was on.

I’d carefully dressed to look the part, not quite in character, but enough to resemble a detective. Slim grey trousers and a grey-blue shirt, with a navy textured jacket and dark blue, stacked heel court shoes. I felt dull compared to some of the others, but there was no going back. I’d played cops before, so I had an advantage there. I was the fifth person in. It went reasonably well but it was impossible to read the body language of the casting team, and after doing my bit I slipped away into a grey drizzle, writing it off as another near miss.

I was surprised when my agent, Kay, called the next afternoon.

“Holly, it’s Kay, you must have done something right. I’ve been sent another script for Murder in the Manor. Get your arse over here girl, we need to record it asap and send it back. Come on, chop chop.”

“What? Great! Thanks, Kay, I’m on my way,” I replied and dashed out of the door. I recorded the short piece in front of her phone in her office and she sent it to them there and then. An anxious wait was rewarded by a call to come back the following morning. I wondered who else would be there. If it was the girl from Warm Hearts again I’d be stuffed: she was brilliant, a rising star. Maybe I’d just been asked back to make up the numbers. My confidence was low.

So there I was, facing the final audition, on the studio set of the incident room that morning, at London’s famous Elstree Studios. I’d lain awake half the night questioning my choice of clothes, my make-up and my confidence. I just wasn’t sure how to interpret the character. They’d given so few clues and just said: “relax into the role”. It was one of the quickest auditions I’d been up for, out of the blue, with so little notice. I’d watched the previous episodes and I knew the characters and the storylines. DC Daisy was a new face in the show. A blank canvas where I could really make my mark. There were only three episodes left of the series to shoot. I was taking the place of another female detective, played by an actor I’d worked with before. Her character had been promoted to another police job so mine was being written in. There was a chance DC Daisy could carry on into the next series and even become a major character. There was also a publicity tour with Adam and the rest of the cast planned for the States in seven months to launch the new season there, and exposure in America was one of my goals.

Auditions are hard. Like exams, you’re marked, judged and rated on a single performance. I was trying to calm my nerves as I made my way past the exterior sets for long running soaps and comedies. The everyday detritus of film and TV littered the alleyways and storage pens. Lighting rigs, tracks for cameras, rolls of thick black cables with massive sockets; it’s not very ‘Hollywood’, and that morning was damp, grey and cold, but it was familiar. I was no stranger to back lots in film and TV. I’d had a few good roles in a few successful TV series already, and I’d grown up visiting sets.

My mum had been a make-up artist back in the day. As a kid I would go with her at weekends and in the school holidays. I’d look forward to sitting there, quietly fascinated, watching her work, adding magic and sparkle to famous faces; hiding spots, cuts and, sometimes bruises too, all soon masked by a cotton pad of beach frolic or bronze tan. Mum could make even the spottiest face look blemish-free and shining. Even mine at 13. I loved the fake injuries, and the cuts and scars she sometimes had to put on to otherwise perfect faces. Mum knew it all. All the secrets and all the tricks. Make-up artists are invaluable. I had a small tattoo myself, which always needed covering if my bare shoulders were in shot.

I’d got the audition after my first film role which followed on from playing another cop, PC Kate Kendal, and then a nurse named Sarah. The film part had been a nice little job, if not a bit unsettling, and it brought the curtain down on me and Harry, my long-term boyfriend. You might remember it, After Jo’s Party. It was part rom-com and part ensemble drama. It played on subscription channels after going on general release. Look out for it. The plot was twelve people thrown together at a New Year’s party in London. I was delighted when I got the part.

I played Jas who hooked up with Taylor, acted by the lovely Scott Williams – you know Scott? From First Team? The football drama. Well, that helps, playing my first love scene alongside someone you fancy is always a dream. However, knowing they live with one of the hottest models on the catwalk certainly isn’t. Scott was great, though. It took me two takes to stop the embarrassment and the giggles, which was very unprofessional I know, but the director understood. He’d seen it before. Things go through your mind when you do scenes like that, even with a closed set – that’s when just the minimum crew are there – although it still seemed crowded. Lots of people, all looking at me. I had to do the little strip scene where I took off a black bra. The bra had to be undone four times as the director wanted different angles with quick reaction cuts to Taylor’s face. Make-up had to hide the rash on my neck which appeared after the first failed attempt at the opening shots of the scene. They had to cover the small turtle tattoo on my shoulder too.

Technically, the worst part of a scene like that is remembering which knee is over which thigh for the close-ups, and the high angle shots from above the bed. They don’t teach you that at drama school. No amount of Shakespeare, West Side Story and dance routines can prepare you for your first proper love scene. I felt so exposed, not just to Taylor who was acting the scene with me, but to the camera too. But I know what you really want to know. It’s the first thing everyone asks: tongues or no tongues? You and your screen lover have to decide that straight away. The director will tell you what he wants too, and you have to agree or compromise. There’s always a compromise, unless you’re an “A list” star of course.

My love romp was the smallest of the scenes I was in, but definitely the hardest to act. The other scenes saw the couples play out their romances, some short and some long. Mine –well, Jas and Taylor’s – was one that lasted; they got engaged and lived happily ever after in true rom-com style. I’ve been chasing that elusive storyline in real life ever since. The last scene was their wedding. Actually, I really cried when we shot it. Yes, they were real tears. Have a look, it’s a good watch. Would I do it again? Sure, yes, if it was tasteful, artistic; and doing it led to the auditions at Elstree for Murder in the Manor, after all.

You know, there’s a curse to playing in soaps and long running dramas. On one hand it’s good, well-paid, solid work. It brings fame and credibility and can be fun: you know the part, you know the other members of the cast and you can really develop the role. But it’s also restricting. Sometimes even a career killer. Everyone just says oh she’s so-and-so from that show, and that’s it. You’re typecast. Unable to work again. I think science fiction stuff is the worst. I was once up for a part in a low budget series called Colony Zero. Remember it? No? Well, I’m not surprised, not many people do. It would have meant spending a lot of time in a stupidly skin-tight silver jump suit on wires, floating in front of a green screen, appearing to be weightless, on a six-month space voyage to another planet. I didn’t get it – the part or the plot – and in retrospect I’m glad I didn’t. The show bombed.

Murder in the Manor was just too popular a show to turn down. The others on the production were all good actors. Adam, who played Detective Chief Inspector Dez Steele was a real star. I’d grown up watching him on TV. He’d been an action hero in a spy drama, taken the lead in an award-winning war film and been a handsome pilot in an American series about an airline. He was stunningly good looking as a young man, but even now he was in his sixties, he was still pretty good looking. Adam was a real legend. My mum had been his make-up artist in the 1980s on a TV series he was doing at the time.

Everyone stopped as I walked through the big stage doors onto the set. My heart raced but I wanted to appear confident and positive, even though I was as nervous as hell and convinced I’d be rushing to the loo at any second. The producer and the writer, who were standing in the shadows on the edge of the set turned as I was led in by the associate producer, Zeb. The writer gave me the creeps. Her dark glasses and roll-neck top made her look like a sinister extra. But all eyes were on me. I held my breath and smiled. That fixed smile they teach you in drama lessons. I was acting already, to hide my nerves. I looked around but couldn’t see anyone else waiting to be auditioned. I guessed I was the first, or maybe I was the last, although it was only eleven o’clock. I took a deep breath as the producer, the legendary JJ Elms, spoke.

“So, Holly, we’ve seen the tape your agent sent us of the scenes we asked you to do, and we’ve been really impressed. You’re a natural to play DC Daisy White. Do you think you can handle the physical stuff as well?” His voice made me uncomfortable, but my enthusiasm pushed me forwards.

“You kidding?” I laughed. “Of course I can.” I spoke confidently, hiding my nerves.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” he continued, “because we’ve called you back to tell you – you’ve got the part.”

“Seriously?” I gasped. “Wow, thank you! That’s unbelievable.” I held my hands to my face, dropping my bag.

“Congratulations, Holly,” said a gravelly voice. “Welcome to the show. It’s good to have you on board.” It was Janey Mullen, the director. “Excited?” she asked. Her presence was intimidating. Thick-set and sullen, she stood there, arms folded, a heavy brown jacket on top of a white pullover with black jeans over dark leather Doc Marten boots. There were glasses over her cropped hair, with traces of faded henna pushed away by dark roots.

“Yes, of course! But I don’t think I’ve taken it in yet. I mean, being in one of my favourite shows. How good is that?” I was flustered and glowing red.

Janey Mullen just nodded, slowly. She was scary. I’d read up on her before the audition. She’d clawed her way up. There aren’t enough female directors in TV drama, and it was good to see a woman at the helm, but I’d heard she took no prisoners, and ‘Mull’, as she liked to be known, had a menacing presence. I was sure there’d be no excuses for second takes or fluffing lines. “OK, Holly, here’s the deal. There are three simple rules on my show. First: be on time. No excuses. If the Call Sheet says 05:30 on location, that’s where you are, regardless of parties, boyfriends, girlfriends, pets. OK?”

“Sure, boss.” I smiled uncertainly, feeling like I was in the Head’s office at school.

“Second, what happens on set stays on set, even after you’ve left the show. We’re a tight team, we stick together. Nobody drops rumours, pictures or stories.” She paused as Zeb took her empty coffee cup away. She took an intake of breath and moved forwards towards me. “If you want out, you can be written out immediately. There’s a standby script on my wall for a scene where any character gets stabbed in the shadows while checking out a dark corridor at night. It’s shown in close–up, in semi light, so it doesn’t have to be the actor who leaves who’s playing it. Understand?”

She carried on as I swallowed hard.o, for sure.

“Zeb affectively runs the show day-to-day. He’s first contact for everything. JJ Elms is rarely around the set. I concentrate on the shots and getting the action right. You never bother the writer, never, Okay? So, any queries about character… forget them, you just play what the script says. Clear?”

“Of course, that’s very clear.” I nodded, but she hadn’t finished.

“Third, if I say jump off the roof, you jump off the fucking roof, Okay? You do not question me, you don’t argue – you just deliver the words, play the part and help us keep the ratings high. All right? This is a tight budget, a tight schedule, and I deliver. You’d better deliver, too.” Her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips. I stepped back, her words ringing in my ears.