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At the edge of the forest stood a group of towering, wild-looking barbarians, their fierce eyes locked forward. Thin columns of smoke still rose behind them, the tension in the air thick—it felt like a war could break out at any moment.
In the open field ahead of them, a tall, muscular figure stood firm. He held a long-handled warhammer adorned with tribal totems, his face cold and expressionless as he stared into the distance. At a glance, he gave off the aura of a leader.
Though there wasn't a full Roman legion opposite them—just some scattered extras—Matthew still did his best to look fierce.
The camera, mounted on a track, moved from far to near in a semi-circular arc around Matthew, the lens locked on his face. Behind him, hundreds of extras served as little more than background.
"AAAHH—OOO—WAHH—HEY—!"
Matthew raised the warhammer high above his head and let out a wild, deafening roar, louder, bolder, and more unhinged than the day before!
"WOO—AAAH—!"
The extras behind him quickly joined in, shouting chaotically.
In an instant, the set turned into a madhouse.
"Cut!" Ridley Scott called out from his director's chair, clearly dissatisfied. He stood up and strode onto the set, yelling toward the camera crew, "The zoom was off during the push-in—switch to manual zoom!"
"Got it!" the cameraman replied.
A makeup artist rushed in to blot the sweat off Matthew's face—this role was clearly in a different league from the background extras. Even Ridley Scott himself came over after giving camera instructions.
"You shouted well. Loud, wild. That's good," the British director circled around Matthew, scrutinizing him. "But it's not enough. You're the tribal leader standing against the unbeatable Roman army!"
He glanced toward Helen Herman at the edge of the set and suddenly asked, "What else do you think this character needs?"
Matthew was struck by inspiration. He thought back to heroes from his school textbooks and said, "The spirit of someone who knows he's going to die but refuses to surrender. A kind of… fearless resolve. And maybe… a hint of unwillingness to give in."
Ridley Scott nodded subtly. No wonder he'd worked with Winona Ryder and Angelina Jolie before—this kid had some insight.
"Show me that," he said.
While the crew bustled around them, the extras stood idle, many watching the scene with envy.
In the crowd, a bald man with a quirky costume looked on and muttered, "That guy looks familiar…"
"He should," said a tall man next to him. "He was standing to your right during yesterday's shoot."
The bald guy's eyes widened. "Wait—he's an extra like us?"
"Yep," the tall man nodded. "Same agency. I think he even rode over with us."
He pointed at Michael Sheen, who was holding a prop sword and shield. "They're roommates."
"Hey, buddy!" the bald man called out. "That guy—he's your roommate, right?"
Michael Sheen glanced over at Matthew, who was now getting personal direction from Ridley Scott, and his face soured—but he nodded.
The bald man grinned mockingly. "Didn't you say you were going to be a star? How come it's your buddy getting all the attention?"
The tall guy chimed in, "Ridley Scott himself is directing him… If it were me, I'd be so pumped I'd jump into the Pacific."
Laughter broke out around them, but every eye looking toward Matthew was filled with jealousy and awe.
Michael Sheen stared at the center of the set. How he wished it was him standing there.
"A damn extra, and he's already climbing the ladder…" the bald guy grumbled. "He's either got connections or knows how to work the system."
"Whatever it is," said the tall man, "he's about to move out of our league."
The bald guy turned back to Sheen. "Aren't you two friends? You should introduce us. If he makes it, maybe he'll pull us up too."
That snapped Michael Sheen out of his funk. He forced a smile. This wasn't the time to sulk. If Matthew really made it, being close to him might be a good thing.
"Yeah, we're good friends!" he said. "Matthew's really talented, and even the boss at Angel Management thinks highly of him. You guys wanna meet him? No problem, I'll introduce you sometime…"
Suddenly, everyone was crowding around Sheen, asking about Matthew.
But not everyone was cheering for him.
Off to the side, a man gripping a round shield glared at Matthew with fury.
"So it was you who stole my role!"
His face burned with rage, as if the forest behind him might catch fire from it.
"I'm Meiken, top student of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art—and now I'm lumped in with background extras?!"
He'd been furious ever since Ridley Scott cut him from the role the day before. Learning that the part had gone to some nobody American only made it worse. If it weren't for his agent talking him down—and the reputation of Ridley Scott and the backing of Universal—he would've quit the production altogether.
He was set to graduate that summer, and with the Academy's backing, he'd already landed minor roles in several productions. He thought his path to stardom was practically guaranteed. Becoming the next Jude Law felt inevitable.
He never expected to hit a wall here. And Ridley Scott hadn't given him or his teachers a shred of face.
He couldn't afford to cross Scott…
"Places! Places!"
An assistant director shouted through a megaphone, "We're rolling in five minutes! Everyone, get ready!"
Meiken picked up his short sword and stormed off. At least he still had a solo shot coming up. Otherwise, he would've quit already.
On set, the makeup artist quickly wrapped up. The crew returned to their positions. Matthew stood quietly, eyes closed, thinking hard. How could he convey those emotions—unyielding, fearless, unwilling?
He'd never received formal training. He'd only been in one shoot before this. He had read a lot of acting theory recently though.
Like how acting styles are divided into "experiential," "presentational," and "method acting."
But truth be told, Matthew barely understood the differences.
Still, this was a huge opportunity. And it made him realize just how much he still had to learn. He looked forward even more to the acting classes starting in May.
He had to bring it. If he messed up, Helen Herman—no matter how connected—wouldn't give him another shot.
He didn't care what style of acting it was. In his mind, if a cat catches mice, it's a good cat—no matter its color.
Fearless? Unyielding? Refusing to surrender? He'd seen those kinds of characters his whole life—especially growing up, in books and on TV.
He cleared his mind, shut out all distractions, until it felt like he was the only person left in the world.
"Action!"
The moment the cue hit his ears, Matthew's eyes snapped open—sharp and focused. A few seconds passed, then he raised the warhammer high over his head and let out a roar, chest heaving, emptying every ounce of air in his lungs in a furious, warrior cry.
"AAHH—WAAAH—AAAAAHH!"
In that moment, memories flashed through his mind.
First, the boss who ran off without paying him—he screamed in anger.
Then, the uniformed officers who kicked them out during a protest—he shouted in defiance.
Then, the cold sky above the jail cell where they locked him up for "disturbing the peace"—he roared in resistance.
That anger, that unwillingness, that refusal to back down—it was real.
He had the lungs for it too. His shout stretched long and deep, like a battle horn echoing across the field.
The extras behind him were swept up in it. Their shouts were louder, wilder. It sounded like hell itself had opened.
At the edge of the set, Helen Herman nodded slightly as she watched Matthew still swinging his warhammer, still shouting like a madman.
"He's not bad," Amanda said, leaning in.
"He's fine," Helen replied, half-professionally. "For this role, he's good enough."
She never expected a background actor to give a groundbreaking performance.
Back on set, Matthew finally stopped shouting and slammed the warhammer into the ground—that was the pre-arranged signal. The extras quickly followed suit and quieted down, though the chaotic echoes lingered for a moment.
"Good!" Ridley Scott said with satisfaction. "That's a wrap for this scene. Get ready for the next one."
The crew jumped into action, moving tracks and cameras.
Matthew exhaled deeply. Looked like he did alright. Only took two takes.
"Touch up!"
An assistant director called out, and the makeup team rushed in again.
"I need water," Matthew added.
A crew member hurried over with a straw-topped cup so he wouldn't smudge his makeup.
For a moment, Matthew felt like a real leading man—maybe even a star.
But he knew better. Once he finished filming this role, it'd be right back to reality.
Ridley Scott took a break and Helen Herman came over. Everyone on set knew the two of them were close, so no one stopped her.
"How'd he do?" Helen asked him.