?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

kielle organized the mathoms challenge. I was assigned to poisondreams, who requested Harry Sinclair RPF, any rating, and I wasn't quite sure what to do at first.

Title: Screens (Not) Blue
Author: voleuse
Fandom: LOTR Real Person Fic
Character: Harry Sinclair
Rating: G
Disclaimer: This never happened.
Summary: And they called his movies surreal.
Notes: Spoilers for the prelude of FOTR, I suppose



It's been about ten years since he's been in front of a camera. He's not sure if he misses it or not, because this is not acting the way he remembers it.

It'll be fun, they had assured him. You get to be ambiguous. And evil!

He's used to small sets, small names, and small budgets. That Fran and Peter have done this, are doing this, boggles him at times. It's a nice change, to be able to enjoy the process without being in charge of it. It's like being caught in a hurricane when you already know how to fly.

He wouldn't direct this trilogy for all the money in the world. He couldn't, really, because his quirks swerve in a different direction. The glory of Tolkien's work aside (he's read the novels more than once), he would have tried to tell Gimli's story, probably. Underappreciated and underfoot, to lethal effect. Or maybe Gandalf, reminiscing through the haze of Longbottom's finest.

Or Isildur, a footnote and the catalyst, mourning his father and ruling a kingdom. Never knowing he wore his doom as a trinket.

He knows how often the suits contact Peter, and he's glad that he doesn't have to take those calls. He's glad he doesn't have to worry about test screenings and statistics and millions of people who know the story better than he does.

He's happy to just sprawl on the ground, armour-heavy and dirt-smeared, pretending a being of tremendous power bows over him.

He trained with his sword for six weeks to make one wild, desperate swing. He hopes the sound of Sauron's fingers, thudding to earth, lives up to what he's imagined.

Knowing Peter, it will.

He feels his wig coming askew, and the lights are broiling him, and they call for another take. And another. And another. Everywhere he looks, a heavy blue smothers him. He's on a battlefield, his father dying beside him, surrounded by tens of thousands of friends and enemies, unnatural all.

Except he's not.

He sees cameras break, stuntmen bleed, and his close friends going near berserk with details.

He knows, in his gut, that this will be one of the greatest movies imaginable.

Not for all the money in the world.


###

The original post.

Latest Month

November 2018
S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
252627282930 

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Kenn Wislander