We had set up shop on the Rue de Fumee a couple of days ago. A small city of ramps and lights and cameras had descended on the pretty street and transformed it. A clever location scout had discovered that one corner of it would be perfect for us. At the right angle and with the right lens you could shoot a scene and have the perfect backdrop. The Eiffel tower itself.
The scene we were currently shooting had my character being chased through Paris on his BMX. My character, the daring young spy Jack Triplow, would ride down this street hotly pursued by enemy agents. On finding a dead end Jack would then cycle up the side of a monument, do a back flip over the agents and cycle back the way he came. Of course I wouldn’t be the one on the bike. We had experts to do those stunts; I was there to film a few close-ups.
I had chosen this film over a smaller indie picture. It had been a difficult decision. This type of big budget caper didn’t offer much credibility. In fact it was almost the opposite of how I wanted my career to go. I wanted to play troubled young men in quiet tense films. I didn’t want to be a teen spy. But then I imagined opening weekend; I imagined press junkets and visits to talk shows. The thought of my face plastered on the side of a bus chased all my quiet dreams clean out of my head.
My presence in some squeaky clean teen films a few years back had earned me a large following. They were pretty loyal and on this shoot there had been a number of them on the set every day. They would hover at the barriers waiting for me to appear. And when I did, Lord the shrieks and screams had scared half the cats in Paris. My only real sanctuary on that small street was a small café that was within our set boundaries. The owners didn’t mind being cut off from the rest of the population. The cast and crew were ordering enough coffee and cake to keep them in business for some time.
I was sitting in the café poring over an interview I had done some time before. I wasn’t happy with it. I thought it would appear in a Q&A format. Instead my answers were strewn about the interviewer’s article out of context. There was something about it that didn’t sit right. Sandra appeared at the doorway “There you are,” she said “are you ready? Tony has some time now if you want to learn that trick.” In my many magazine interviews I’d always been able to say that I did some of my own stunts in movies. Now my other films were more ‘teen comedy’ than ‘action’ so those stunts didn’t really amount to much. But I did want to be able to keep saying this so I’d approached the director to see if I could do something small. “I don’t have to be the guy back flipping in front of the Eiffel tower.” I said. “But maybe, I dunno a wheelie or something?”
I stood up and put the magazine into her hands. “Read that will you?” I asked “tell me if you think they made me look like an idiot.” We walked across the street and around the corner into a small alley. It was narrow and dark, a mugger’s paradise. Tony, one of our stunt riders stood there clutching a bike. “Hey Tony” I said “what have you got for me?”
The sun was hot in the sky and I still hadn’t mastered step one yet. “Ok let’s go” I could hear Tony shout from around the corner. I took a breath and pushed down on the pedals. I cycled around the corner, leaned back in my seat and pulled the handlebars towards me. This time the front wheel came off the ground, but almost as soon as it did I lost my balance. I leaned forward so that both wheels were back on the ground and planted one foot firmly on the ground to steady myself. I could hear my fans clapping my efforts from the other end of the street. “What do you think you did wrong?” asked Tony walking towards me. “I don’t know” I said “I just lost my balance I guess.” “You have to try to shift your centre of gravity once you lift the handlebars” said Tony.
“Fucking Tony” I thought. He was the type of guy who thought that if something came easily to him then it should come easily to everyone else. I sat back on the saddle and looked down the street. One of my girls threw her fist in the air and shouted “Yeah!” I waved, which sent her and the others into more noisery. An hour ago the thought had struck me to move elsewhere. Practising and failing in front of them and the increasingly tittery crew was not what I had in mind. But now I was determined to stay put. I knew I’d have to get it eventually, once they saw that then they’d forget my failures. “Just keep trying.” That’s how I’d spin it. “When things are tough, just tough it out.” I liked that, I’d have to remember that one. Tony coughed. I could tell that I’d worn through his patience.
I returned to my position in Mugger’s Lane and took a moment. I sat on the saddle and focused. I was going to cycle around the corner, I was going to lift the handlebars and shift my weight. I was going to execute the perfect wheelie and I was going to cycle down the street on my back wheel. A few minutes later my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to jump out of my mouth. I was standing on the street, both handlebars held tightly, the bike perpendicular to the ground. “Honest to God,” I said “I thought I was going all the way over onto my back.” Tony looked away. I needed a break.
I sat on the steps of a nearby house and tried to look as though I was steeling myself for another go. Instead I was scrabbling through every excuse I could think of. I had to get out of doing this trick. The problem was I had made such a hoo hah about this thing. I wanted to be the one doing some of my own stunts. I’d asked for it, gotten it, and wasted people’s time in the process. I couldn’t just back out. Maybe if I had an injury. I reached down to rub my ankle and caught a look on Sandra’s face. It was only there briefly but I caught it, a smirk. There was no way of getting out of this.
“Do you want me to show you again?” asked Tony. “No” I said “I can’t tell what I’m supposed to do from just watching you. Maybe you could be clearer in explaining it.” Tony’s eyes flashed and for a brief second I thought he might actually hit me. He was quiet for a moment. “How about we try this from a different angle” he said “We’ll put you in position and hold you steady while you cycle on one wheel. Maybe if you get used to how that feels instinct will kick in when you try it yourself.”
A few minutes later I was balanced on my back wheel, smack bang in the middle of the Rue de Fumee. The bike was held in the wheelie position by two burly crew members. Tony stood behind me keeping me in place as I pushed the pedals. The four of us trundled down the street, when I gave the word the guys let go as I took the full weight of the handlebars and held myself in place. “That’s it man” called Tony “now you’ve got it.” There I was, cycling down our little street on one wheel. I furrowed my brow and concentrated on keeping this going. I was going to get all the way to the bottom of the street, right towards my gang of fans.
As I got closer a bit of boldness crept into me. I was going to cycle up to the curb and bounce the bike, on its back wheel onto it. Then I’d jump off with a flourish to the applause of the fans. Nobody would remember my earlier failures after that. Now what I needed was a bit more speed. I pedalled furiously towards the curb and as I approached I crouched down and tried to jump my body and the bike all in one go. The back wheel lifted off the ground, but only a couple of inches. It clipped the curb. In my panic I threw my feet to the ground, but the back of the bike swung around and took me with it. When I hit the ground I hit it bottom first, and I bounced. The handful of fans all gasped and strained to see if I was ok. One of them crouched down and thrust her hand through the barrier to paw at me. I batted her hand away as Sandra and Tony ran up to me.
“Are you alright?” asked Sandra. “It’s killing me.” I said. “What is?” asked Sandra. I motioned to how I had landed, still sprawled on my ass with both legs tangled with the bike. “Oh” said Sandra trying to suppress a smile. “You know what Tony,” I said, choosing to ignore Sandra “I think I’m going to call it a day.” He bent down and began to rescue his bike. “Fine” he said. He gave me a hand up and I kept it to shake it. “Thanks for your time,” I said “I guess bikes just aren’t my thing.”
We walked into the café and some glances came my way. I held my head high and walked to a table in the middle of the room. I sat down and almost jumped out of the chair from the pain. But I disguised it as best I could. Nevertheless I heard someone laugh. Sandra brought us some cakes and everyone returned to their conversations. “A teenaged spy.” I said shovelling a forkful of cake into my mouth. “That’s just a good idea. Who wouldn’t want to see that?” “A teenaged extreme sports star is our only hope when a global pandemic threatens us all.” Said Sandra repeating the tag line. “It will be a summer blockbuster.” “That’s right,” I said “It’s a license to print money.”
A little later we stood on the street and watched the big one get filmed. Some guy I had never met, the ‘me on the bike’ sprinted towards the monument at the end of the street. He cycled up the curved side of it and executed a perfect back flip, the Eiffel tower resplendent in the background. He landed perfectly and everyone applauded. “That didn’t look that hard.” I said.
Hrududu