Things Just Got Interesting

The set quieted. Evan gave Guillermo a small wave to begin.

The call to roll went out. Once sound and camera were running, the second assistant camera stepped in with the slate.

"The Departed. Rooftop. Take one."

The clapper snapped shut and cleared the frame.

"Action."

The sky was overcast, with almost no sun. That, at least, was exactly what Evan wanted.

The two actors went into the scene without hesitation. Neither was a novice. Beginning with difficult material hadn't made them uncertain about the basic work.

With blood on his nose, Christian strained against the hands holding his arms behind his back. Panic and anger crossed his face as he tried to look over his shoulder.

"What the fuck is this? You're arresting a cop? Go on, shoot me!"

Brad searched the handcuffed man, then brought out his prop pistol and held it on him.

Christian kept talking.

"There's only one cop here, Billy. You understand? Nobody knows about you. Nobody..."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Brad seized him around the neck and pushed him forward, the pistol in his other hand.

Christian stumbled ahead, still trying to turn.

"I'm Massachusetts State Police. Who the fuck are you? I deleted your file!"

Shock registered on Brad's face. He shoved Christian against the wall and raised the gun beside his head.

"You deleted my file?"

"Yeah. So shoot a cop. See what happens to you..."

"Cut!"

Evan's voice came through the megaphone before Christian finished.

Guillermo scratched his head and moved toward the monitor. The performance had looked good to him. He wasn't sure what had caused the stop.

On the films he'd made in Mexico, Guillermo hadn't scrutinized performances quite so closely. He wasn't yet used to the demands Evan was making of the actors.

Both actors turned toward the director, looking just as puzzled.

"Brad. Chris. Come over here. We need to talk."

Evan turned to Guillermo.

"Give everyone fifteen minutes."

The actors approached. Jack Nicholson, who had been watching from the side, followed them. He wanted to learn what the director would expect from him when it was his turn.

"Was it me?" Christian asked, pointing to his face.

Evan lit a cigarette and considered the brief exchange again.

"Not just you. Both of you."

He pointed at Christian.

"I don't know what you took from those two months of research, but right now it looks as though you wasted your fucking time. The moment you started acting, I could see Bruce Wayne again."

Christian went still.

"I can see you trying to hold it back. That's the problem. You're fighting yourself. Colin doesn't need that brooding weight. Forget the other performance. You're a mole inside the police department now."

It was a harsh rebuke, and one Evan reserved for the actor he considered his own. His confidence in Christian came with higher expectations, not more lenient ones.

Christian nodded silently and took a seat nearby. Evan had the closed, unsparing expression he wore when the work had his full attention.

"Brad, your face is doing too much."

Pitt straightened.

"Your emotion is right. Your eyes are good. I'm talking about the expression. I don't know how you and your directors approached Se7en or the other films, but I need every detail here."

Evan indicated the corner of his mouth.

"The shift from anger to rage works. But you don't have to push every muscle in your face to tell us you're furious."

"All right. Give me a few minutes. I can adjust it."

Brad understood that this wasn't personal. The standards weren't being imposed on him alone. Compared with the other lead, he had received a relatively mild correction.

Evan liked actors who listened. Some of the tension left his face, though he didn't quite smile.

"This sequence is all I've scheduled for today. You've got time to work on it and get used to each other. If it isn't there, I'm prepared to spend several days on these shots."

The two leads exchanged a look. Repeating the same sequence for days sounded less like reassurance than a threat. They could already imagine how exhausting it might become.

"Is he always this demanding?"

Nicholson had stepped back and lowered his voice to Nina. He had no intention of underestimating her. She was plainly more than someone who managed the director's calendar.

"Depends on the film," she said.

She got along well with the principal cast and crew and didn't mind sharing something that was hardly a secret.

"On the last Batman picture, he'd accept plenty of takes once they did what he needed. He wasn't going to stop everything over a detail that didn't matter to that kind of movie."

Nicholson smiled. He understood. The young director knew what he was making. Demanding more from this film's performances was a good sign. If they wanted the Academy's attention, the work had to justify it.

After the short break and a makeup touch-up, Brad and Christian returned to their marks. Neither knew how many more times they would perform the scene.

Evan was in no hurry. Having chosen a difficult late-film confrontation as their starting point, he was prepared to spend days on it. The actors could find their characters while the crew rebuilt its working rhythm.

In Boston, the production kept shooting and gave the public no answer. Elsewhere, people were waiting for Evan or Naomi to confirm the good news and accept their congratulations.

Only two days after the first report, television crews were conducting street interviews. Most of the people they approached liked the idea of the young director and the actress together. Some hoped they would marry before the baby arrived.

"His movies are so cool, and Naomi's gorgeous. That's going to be one lucky kid."

"I thought something was going on ages ago. He brings her to everything. They're a good match, aren't they?"

"A father who makes those films and a mother who's a star too? Of course I think it's great. I wish they'd just announce it."

Entertainment television carried plenty of comments like those. The younger interviewees were often fans of Evan's work and had little reason to regard the pregnancy as bad news.

As the public imagined a happy relationship finally becoming visible, talk shows found another angle: money.

They discussed earnings from his films, speculated about his Warner investment, and assembled whatever public information they could find about his internet holdings.

People had always known he was rich. Seeing the pieces collected in one place was another matter.

He had never topped an annual Hollywood earnings list or appeared on a major rich list. Now rough estimates suggested he might be worth a billion dollars, perhaps more. They were estimates, but that qualification didn't make the numbers less compelling on television.

The phrase "American dream" appeared again and again. To viewers and industry observers alike, he looked like one of the decade's most striking examples.

The story was changing. A pregnancy disclosure had become an examination of Evan himself. His college years, his first films, his investments: people wanted to reconstruct the route from student to possible billionaire.

The women who appeared beside him in public became part of the coverage too. Old dating rumors resurfaced. His playboy image gave producers another subject to discuss, whether or not any particular rumor could be substantiated.

"Evan Rosenberg doesn't respect women. He's vicious and hot-tempered, and all he cares about is satisfying his own sick desires, no matter how many women he hurts."

The production had spent three days on the rooftop. That day's work had finally gone well, and Evan had returned to the hotel in a good mood.

A message from Warner's publicity department changed that.

The clip was a preview for a television interview. The woman speaking was someone he had almost forgotten. Then he placed her: Katie, the blonde cheerleader he'd slept with more often than any of the others.

He vaguely remembered that she had been dating Adam Goodman before graduation.

"Now that's interesting."