Susan Shopmaker saw Ryan walk out of the room with a calm and polite demeanor, which was the opposite of his appearance just minutes before. His bright blue eyes exuded quiet confidence, and his good physique made him an attractive man. He had the look for the big screen. Although Susan had been in the industry for decades and had seen everything from arrogant performers with some sort of addiction—usually drugs—to flawless actors who could be stars.
But that performance was more than flawless; it was moving. That was very rare. And as an admirer of movies, she was excited to see Ryan as Seth.
She pulled out her phone and called J.C. Chandor, the director and writer of the project.
"Hello, Susan."
"We have our Seth Bregman."
"Really? Okay. Who is playing the greedy prick?"
"This newcomer named Ryan Stone. He has something, J.C."
"Ryan Stone. Ummm... are you stoned right now?" Muffled laughter was heard over the phone.
"I thought we had Penn Badgley. You know. Dan Humphrey. We can get some eyeballs from that demographic."
"I know. But just trust me. I'll send you the tape."
"Ok."
Susan ended the call, eager to see Ryan's performance and his chemistry with the ensemble cast.
Ryan received a call from his agent, Mark, telling him that he had gotten the role for $8,000 and that shooting would begin in four days in New York City. So he quickly booked a flight and arrived at 3 p.m. He decided to go to the Stock Exchange to help inspire his performance. He quickly saw the greed and toxic mix of ambition and recklessness that encompassed every trader.
The Financial District was exactly how Ryan imagined it and somehow completely different. Men in suits moved past him with phones pressed against their ears. Taxis fought their way through narrow streets while tourists stopped in the middle of sidewalks to take pictures of buildings they had seen a thousand times in movies.
Ryan bought a coffee and stood across from the Stock Exchange for almost an hour.
He watched.
A young man in a navy suit came out of a building laughing into his phone. Another man walked behind him with his tie loosened and his eyes fixed on the screen of his BlackBerry. Nobody seemed capable of walking slowly.
'If money is evil then that building is hell. But let that hunger and sense of entitlement guide me.'
He walked around the area until 10 p.m., soaking up everything he could. He talked to traders, analysts, and reporters over the days before shooting.
Most of them barely had time for him.
That helped.
Ryan noticed how quickly they spoke, how often they checked their phones, and how even during casual conversations their eyes seemed to be searching for something else. Some spoke about money like athletes talked about points on a scoreboard. It wasn't necessarily about what they could buy with it. Winning was enough.
One analyst, probably no older than thirty, laughed when Ryan asked whether the financial crisis had scared people on Wall Street.
"Scared? Of course. Didn't stop anybody."
That stayed with him.
Seth didn't need to walk around thinking he was evil. He probably didn't think much about morality at all. He wanted to win. He wanted the apartment, the suit, the title, and the respect that came with it. Then suddenly somebody was going to tell him that the game he had devoted his life to was over.
Ryan understood that feeling more than he wanted to.
When he finally arrived on set, he saw J.C. Chandor talking to his DP. J.C. approached with a grin and a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Im J.C. I saw the tape. It was good."
"Thanks."
J.C. gave him a small nod and went back to getting ready to shoot the scene. Ryan saw Zachary Quinto and approached him to introduce himself.
"Hello. I'm Ryan and I'm playing Seth."
"Oh your playing Seth." Zachary was wearing a grey business suit and, at first glance, looked like a good illustration of Peter Sullivan: intelligent, intensely focused, and somewhat serious.
"I would have expected someone more ruthless," he said with a playful smile.
"Really? Isn't Peter supposed to be anti social?"
Zachary chuckled, and out of the corner of his eye, he stared at a nearby figure, Kevin Spacey.
"Can't believe J.C. got Spacey. He was great in The Usual Suspects."
Ryan looked over.
Kevin was sitting quietly while someone from makeup worked around his forehead. It was strange seeing someone Ryan had watched on television suddenly existing twenty feet away from him. No dramatic entrance. No crowd surrounding him. Just an actor sitting in a chair drinking coffee.
Ryan was excited to witness Kevin Spacey at work and learn everything he could. J.C. decided to shoot the first scene of the movie first, so he called Zachary and Ryan to the office set.
The moment Ryan walked onto it, he slowed down.
Rows of desks stretched across the room beneath fluorescent lights. Computer monitors filled the workstations, papers were scattered across desks, and empty coffee cups had been strategically placed by the production crew. Through the windows, Manhattan rose around them.
Ryan touched the back of Seth's chair.
He had auditioned in rooms smaller than some of the trailers parked outside. He had waited alongside hundreds of actors who wanted exactly what he wanted. He had learned lines for auditions that lasted ninety seconds before someone politely thanked him and sent him home.
Now there were dozens of people waiting for him to do his job.
A makeup artist hurried over and powdered his forehead.
"You're shiny."
"Good start."
She smiled and disappeared.
Someone adjusted his tie. Another crew member checked the position of his chair. Ryan looked toward Zachary, who was already sitting at his desk and staring at the computer screen.
J.C. walked onto the floor.
"Ryan."
Ryan turned.
"Don't try to show us Seth. Just be there."
Ryan nodded.
That was it.
No inspirational speech. No detailed explanation about what this moment meant for his career.
Ryan sat down at the desk.
He placed his hands on the keyboard and looked at the numbers covering the monitor. Around him, the crew made their final adjustments. A camera moved into position. Someone checked the lights. Conversations slowly disappeared until the room became so quiet that Ryan could hear the faint hum of the computers.
His heart started pounding.
For the first time since getting the role, the excitement disappeared and something much simpler replaced it.
Fear.
Not fear that he would forget his lines.
Fear that this opportunity had somehow been given to the wrong person.
He glanced toward Zachary.
Zachary noticed and gave him a small nod.
Ryan breathed out.
He thought about the Stock Exchange. The analysts rushing down the sidewalks. The BlackBerrys. The loosened ties. The man who had told him that fear hadn't stopped anybody.
Then he thought about Susan's audition room.
This is my first step.
A crew member called for silence.
Ryan straightened his tie and stared at the computer screen.
J.C. took his place beside the monitor.
"Sound?"
"Speed."
"Camera?"
"Rolling."
Ryan's fingers rested against the keyboard.
For years, he had imagined what this moment would feel like. He thought there would be some overwhelming realization that he had finally made it. Instead, he was sitting beneath fluorescent lights in an uncomfortable suit, trying not to think about the camera pointed directly at him.
And somehow, that felt better.
J.C. looked toward the set.
"Action."