"Lighting? Fuck, I asked for orange lighting that mimics sunrise, not this white glare!"
Filming for Between a Rock and a Hard Place had begun.
And Martin finally understood why directors were always in a bad mood. Managing a film crew was like running a company—except with a hundred more complications. Crew members came together from all corners of the world and dispersed just as quickly once the shoot wrapped. Every new production was a fresh round of trial and error.
And with that came—
A flood of trivial issues and unexpected problems, one after another.
"Sorry! Sorry! I'll adjust it right away!"
"Hurry up. And don't let this happen again."
"I swear it won't." The lighting chief, Carter, patted his chest and added, "This was just a fluke~."
"Let's keep rolling."
Martin gave a nod to the assistant director, Danny Boyle, who immediately called out, "Action!"
Inside the studio, all the lights went out. A single orange-red light gradually flickered on, like a rising sun at the horizon.
Night gave way to dawn. Warm sunlight slowly illuminated the cold, gloomy canyon. The orange-red hue bathed the rust-colored "rocks."
The darkness, like a fading shadow, slowly receded, and light crept toward the trapped Martin.
Martin slowly lifted his head, revealing a face worn and grimy.
He looked ahead, toward the light. His breathing grew quicker.
The camera zoomed in on Martin's eyes—The despair in them slowly dissipated, replaced by a spark of hope.
What he saw wasn't just light.It was the promise of freedom.
Danny Boyle's eyes lit up. Martin's performance was perfect.
But at the same time, he felt a pang of regret—If only he were directing this film. With what they had so far, he was starting to believe it could win awards.
At this point, Danny Boyle hadn't yet won the Oscar for Slumdog Millionaire, but he was already a prominent name in Hollywood.
His Shallow Grave had won Best British Film at the 48th BAFTA Awards and Best Director at the 42nd San Sebastián International Film Festival.
Trainspotting had won Best Director at the Seattle International Film Festival.
The Beach was nominated for the Golden Bear at the 50th Berlin International Film Festival.
28 Days Later earned him a Saturn Award nomination for Best Director.
This Between a Rock and a Hard Place (a.k.a. 127 Hours) was originally his film too—though it wouldn't be made until 2010.
If Martin hadn't called him personally, no way would a director of his caliber take on a deputy role.
But Danny was not only experienced—he loved this script.
With his help, Martin kept improving, both as a director and as an actor.
…
"Scene 46, Take 11—action!"
Today's scene was when the protagonist, Aron Ralston, encounters two beautiful hikers—Megan and Kristi—played by Cameron Diaz and Gwyneth Paltrow.
The camera swept across on a cable rig, capturing Martin and the two girls as they leapt off the cliff into a pool below, splashing around in a flurry of carefree fun.
Then came the "intimate" scene between Martin and Cameron Diaz.
Cameron suddenly found herself getting nervous. She chewed two sticks of gum, but it didn't help.
"Heehee, you're such a wimp. Want me to take your place?"
"Shut it!"
Cameron shot Gwyneth a glare, then turned to Martin. "I'm ready, Director."
Martin was still in deep discussion with Danny Boyle about how to frame the next shot.
He nodded at Cameron, exchanged a few more words with Danny, then turned around and noticed her slightly flushed cheeks.
He smiled. "No need to be nervous. Just follow my lead."
"Ah—okay. Sure!" Cameron nodded instinctively, her heart thumping in her chest.
She didn't even know why—this wasn't her first intimate scene.So why did it feel like a teenager's first love?
The lights took on a soft glow, like moonlight spilling across the underground pool.
Martin gently placed his hand on Cameron's pale, delicate foot, slowly trailing upward.
She leaned back, supporting herself with her hands, her upper body arching as her body trembled uncontrollably.
Martin's touch felt like magic. Even just grazing her skin sent her body into hormonal overdrive.
All non-essential personnel had cleared the set.
Well—except for Gwyneth Paltrow, who had insisted on staying.
She stood nearby, watching Martin and Cameron's interaction with a gulp, her eyes fixed on them without blinking.
Martin wasn't completely naked—he was in shorts.
Cameron too.
But her upper body was bare, with Martin carefully positioned to shield her from the camera.
That was pre-planned. After all, this wasn't that kind of film.
What wasn't planned was how into it Cameron got.
She seemed to forget they were acting.One hand wrapped tightly around Martin's back, pressing her chest flush against his.
At the same time, her other hand began to…
Gwyneth's eyes widened.
She's losing it! She's really losing it! And she had the nerve to accuse me of getting too into character? This bitch is the one trying to blur the line! I've gotta tell Drew. She needs to see POPO's true colors and realize who her real friend is!
The remaining crew stared at the scene, hearts racing, like they were about to witness something scandalous.
But just then—Cameron snapped out of it. "What am I doing?"
She looked down at what she was grabbing, quickly let go, pulled her hand back, and looked up—
Right into a pair of deep, teasing blue eyes.
And got lost again.
When she came to, the scene was over. She was already dressed.
She looked down at her clothes, puzzled. That's when Gwyneth's voice chimed in, dripping with jealousy:
"Don't flatter yourself. Martin dressed you. You should've seen yourself—like a ragdoll, totally under his spell. Lucky for you he's not interested. Otherwise, he'd have had you wrapped around his finger."
Cameron blinked. Then realization dawned—this bitch was throwing shade!
She shot back, "I know exactly how Martin reacted. I had him in the palm of my hand, okay? He's not uninterested—he's just responsible. Unlike someone who can't stop sleeping around!"
"Puh-lease, you're the one who sleeps around!"
The two women launched into a heated spat.
Meanwhile, Martin stood by the monitor, watching the footage they'd just shot.
"Think we should do another take?" Danny Boyle asked with a sly grin, obviously teasing.
This sort of thing was normal in Hollywood—some actors used "mistakes" as excuses to reshoot love scenes over and over.
Like when Michael Douglas filmed Basic Instinct—He and Jeanne Tripplehorn redid one scene eleven times.
Tripplehorn later complained that her boobs got bruised by the end.