Febrero 15.
The shoot continues at its own pace. This ti, the lens embraces things more naturally. The constant practice of acting has granted him the ability to slip under the skin of almost any character he faces, while capturing even the subtlest nuances—the darkest details flowing through the character were rehearsed during long study hours. His mory was magical, making lines far less difficult than they ought to be. The real challenge was always in the timing—delivering his words and movents just right. That's why fast-paced projects annoyed him; he preferred taking the ti to dive deep into the role. Yet oddly enough, he also found it convenient to slip into a character quickly.
Every morning, he stood in front of the mirror, taking fifteen minutes to beco Tyler again, using that power to resist surrendering to the rciless madness of the character—a complete lunatic, brimming with lust that always seed to erge when he beca Tyler. The reason? This man was simply dangerous, full of terrorist ideas that gave the role a thrilling, cinematic edge.
–There’s a fashion show tonight. I need to attend to the sponsors. Will you co with , darling?– said Monica, admiring Billy’s floral dress. She had bought him a tailored red jacket with black buttons and was trying to match it with a white shirt and earthy tones for the rest of the outfit, pulling together a brilliant mix of elents.
–I’ll co with you, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the shooting schedule. We’re filming several scenes today, and I think my ti belongs to the director right now,– Billy replied, fully aware of the demands.
Monica understood. She moved closer, resisting the urge to object, and kissed him deeply. She didn’t want to give in to the stern structure of their schedules. She knew, quite confidently, that they had at least an hour—a precious hour they intended to use wisely.
–Don’t intimidate , you always have ti—when space opens up, even if that space is miles away, in the emptiness of your mind,– Monica whispered. She gently parted her legs, unwilling to waste ti, bringing the mont closer and closer until there was nothing between them—just that glowing space where lasting desire blood.
…
The set now looked like an old, crumbling house—symbolic in every way. The secure structures behind the scenes were covered in green fabric, ready to be replaced in post. Those nearby stood silently, waiting for their cue, hesitant to break the illusion.
–Scene 38, take 2.–
Marla pulls Tyler inside and shuts the door. Her drugged-out eyes scan him slowly. The hallway is narrow and bare. In the distance, it’s obvious this is just a half-finished corridor. Helena is there, holding a peculiar object.
MARLA: You got here fast.
She stumbles and falls onto the bed, sliding with the sheets and blanket to the floor.
MARLA: The mattresses are wrapped in slippery plastic.
She tries to focus on Tyler.
MARLA: Did I call you?
Tyler eyes her with cynical curiosity, noticing a dildo sitting on a dresser. Marla follows his gaze.
MARLA: Don’t worry. It’s no threat to you.
Sirens wail and tires screech outside. Doors slam. Footsteps pound on pavent.
MARLA: Oh no! Soone called the cops...
She jumps up, grabs Tyler, and pulls him toward the door.
Marla locks it, then drags him toward the stairwell.
Paradics and police charge past, carrying oxygen tanks and dical kits.
Marla and Tyler press themselves against the wall.
POLICE: 8-G! Where’s 8-G?
MARLA: (pointing) End of the hallway.
Rescue teams keep running.
MARLA (yelling): The girl who lives there used to be lovely, but she’s lost all faith in herself...
POLICE: Miss Singer! Let us help you! You have every reason to live!
Marla yanks Tyler’s arm, rushing down the stairs.
MARLA: She’s a monster! Infectious human waste! Good luck saving that!
–Cut.–
David Fincher wrapped the scene with swift relief. A few more scenes were left to shoot—nothing too difficult. They would move on to apartnt scenes, though those weren’t Billy’s scenes. He had to wait. The following shots were set in the house, and finally, in the building, as each day layered more and more into the film. He used his free ti wisely, especially in scenes where he wasn’t needed. Though it may not have looked like it, his dark side—the discomfort he channeled—was steeped in characters like Van Helsing, demon, and vampire all rolled into one.
He took that ti to draft chapters 88, 89, and 90 of the script. Each one took about an hour. His mind worked along familiar paths. The upcoming scenes, though, were daunting and bold—he added new characters and groups to give the story greater depth, what so might call a clash of contradictions.
It’s dangerous to mix so many elents without care. But by weaving the story with a thoughtful style, he embraced a new hope—a more reasoned culture.
Three hours passed, and the next scenes in the house had already begun filming. Every day, they made new adjustnts to match the house’s look, and now those adjustnts helped give a sense of ti’s passage. It was clear they'd shoot just one more scene today—the rest would remain in limbo.
–Scene 43, take 2.–
Tyler brews coffee. Marla leans against the fridge.
MARLA: If I fall asleep, I’m dood. You’ll have to keep up all night.
…
Tyler chuckles and shakes his head.
TYLER: Amazing, huh?
JACK: She’s been through a lot.
Tyler stands in front of Jack and pulls a cigarette from the pack.
TYLER: I an, this girl... You don’t like her or anything?
JACK: No. Not at all.
JACK: I’m Jack’s raging bile duct.
Tyler lights his cigarette.
TYLER: You sure?
He moved closer, his grip firm, unwilling to waver, grabbing Jack’s thin arms with force.
JACK: Yeah, I’m sure.
TYLER: Good. This girl was already in the stirrups before the doctor walked in. What she said... I’ve never heard a woman talk like that...
…
Tyler smokes after sex. Marla leans in and whispers in his ear.
MARLA: I want to have an abortion.
…
Tyler laughs and shakes his head. Jack grips his Reader’s Digest too tightly.
JACK (V.O.): How could Tyler not want that? Last night, he was splicing genitals into The Little rmaid.
Tyler sits and looks at Jack’s face.
TYLER: You okay with this?
JACK: I’m fine.
JACK (V.O.): Put a gun to my head and paint the wall with my brains.
Tyler smokes.
TYLER: She’s a wild, twisted bitch. Stay away from her.
JACK: Yeah, and I’m more of a library rhythm kind of guy.
TYLER: Hey... don’t knock librarians.
JACK: Marla doesn’t need a lover. She needs a social worker.
TYLER: She needs an exorcist. This isn’t love. It’s just casual sex.
JACK (V.O.): She slipped into my support groups, and now she’s slipping into my apartnt.
TYLER: Listen... do a favor. Sit here for a minute...
Tyler pulls up a chair and gestures to it. Jack puts down his Reader’s Digest and walks over.
JACK: What?
TYLER: You need to understand sothing about . I’ve got a simple rule, okay? Never talk about . Ever. I can’t stand that kind of shit.
Tyler looks at Jack—friendly but firm.
TYLER: If you ever tell her anything about , or what happens in this house, to her or anyone, I’ll find out. And you’ll never see again. Promise .
JACK: Alright.
TYLER: Promise you won’t.
JACK: Yes, I promise.
TYLER: Do you promise?
JACK: I said I promise!
TYLER: That’s three tis now.
Tyler smiles, stands, and walks off. Jack sits, burning.
JACK (V.O.): If only I’d taken a couple of minutes to watch Marla die... none of this would’ve happened.
–Cut.–
–Sort those bags and flood the basent up to the knees,– said David Fincher. He was now fully aware of the complications. They wouldn’t finish before nightfall. But at least everything would co to an unflinching end.
...
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