I stood inside the semi-truck just as a crew member opened the door. I leaned lazily against the side, a determined expression on my face as I fired continuous shots at the car speeding beside us. I wouldn't have been so lax about safety if they hadn't secured me with ropes to the other side of the truck. Thanks to that, there was no risk of falling out, even if I wanted to.
The gun in my hand was, as usual, a fake. It just emitted flashing lights, no actual gunshot sounds. Those would be added in post-production.
When my gun supposedly ran out of bullets, I casually turned to the man standing beside me, who handed me a full one in exchange for the empty. When that was empty as well, I shot him an irritated look and exaggeratedly pointed behind him. Getting the hint, he grabbed an even bigger weapon and handed it over.
"Now we're talking," I said gleefully, launching the bazooka at the police car driving alongside us.
For obvious reasons, the car didn't explode on the spot. That would be filmed on another day, once I was done with all my scenes. Only a limited number of action shots were filmed while I was present—strictly those needed for continuity or where my presence was absolutely required. Like this one.
I reloaded the bazooka and fired at another police vehicle. Before I could do more, the truck suddenly shook violently. That was the cue: the Batmobile would have collided with the semi-truck by now, sending everyone inside sprawling to the floor.
The technical rig Warner had installed to make the truck shake violently was insane. But since everyone was strapped in securely, it was a safe stunt that didn't require a body double.
In the next part, I moved up to the driver's seat, singing, "Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent. Stop being one, you're not from Kent." Then I opened the driver's side door and threw him out onto the road. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to drive."
Sitting behind the wheel, I took control of the vehicle and sped off. Of course, I wasn't actually driving—it was being towed by another truck, since I didn't have a license for a heavy vehicle.
"I love this job!" I said to no one in particular as the truck was pulled along. "Do you think they'll give me a promotion after today?"
I improvised a few more lines before delivering the scripted dialogue. All my shots would later be edited between the action scenes, making it look like I'd been driving the truck the entire time.
"Cut!" Nolan called over the speaker system installed inside the truck. "You can get out now, Frank. It's time for the truck to flip."
This was the scene I was most excited about during this leg of the shoot. And it wasn't just me—the entire crew had gathered to witness one of the two most technically challenging scenes in the movie.
Sometimes I'm amazed that the city government permits filmmakers to shoot such disruptive scenes right in the middle of the street.
Several blocks had been closed off to ensure safety at all times. An ambulance and a firetruck stood by, just in case things went south—but I had a feeling they wouldn't be needed.
"This is crazy," said Christian Bale, standing beside me in his full Batman suit. "This is the craziest stunt I've seen in any of my movies."
"Same," I confirmed, keeping to my character voice. Just one slip and he might connect my real voice to me.
"So you've done other movies as well," he observed with a grin. "Anything I might have seen?"
I laughed in character before nodding. "Sure. There was this film where I had my foot so far up your ass, you couldn't decide whether to cry or laugh."
Bale laughed heartily. "Who do you think you are—Red Forman?"
"That would make you my useless son," I shot back. "And Daddy's here to put his foot in your ass."
We both cracked up at that before Bale sobered. "Man, I feel like we'd have a lot of fun if we did a comedy together."
I shrugged. "We'll never know as long as you wear the cape, Batman. As it is, you're already committing the greatest sin in the eyes of Edna Mode."
Bale blinked. "Who's Edna?"
"[The Incredibles]?" I said, almost offended. "That's, like, the greatest superhero movie ever made!"
He shook his head. "I don't watch cartoons."
That's because he was a cartoon.
I was ready to hit back with something snarky, but then I remembered something important: I was getting distracted. I needed to refocus and prepare my emotions for the upcoming scene.
This was something I'd learned from David Morse, my co-star in [Disturbia], who played the villain. He never talked to any of the main cast while filming—kept a distance to stay mysterious on screen.
If I kept joking around with Bale, he might not instinctively dislike my character as much as I wanted him to.
When I went quiet for a few moments, Bale definitely noticed. He looked like he was about to say something, but thankfully, Christopher Nolan's voice cut through the speaker system.
"Alright, everyone, be ready. This is our one take. No mistakes. Action!"
That pulled Bale's focus away, just as the truck barreled down the road, driven by a heavily padded stuntman. It hit its mark and flipped exactly as planned. The sequence was glorious to witness in person. No one was injured, and it delivered a spectacular moment that would live on in cinematic history.
And right then, it hit me: Christopher Nolan was a certified genius. The kind of director you'd want to work with again and again, just because he was that good. Maybe that's why his regular actors stick with him for so long.
If only he didn't make most of his movies with mature characters—I'd love to work with him again without hiding from the world for half the year.
As I got ready for my scene, I realised that my time in Chicago is coming to an end, and the next schedule would be in London, where I'll be so close to home. Nonetheless, I'll stay in a hotel, if only to make sure my parents or any of my household staff don't run into me.
(Break)
"Tell me once again—why can't I know this person's identity? Bale may have declined the offer, but I really want to know."
"Bale shouldn't have told you that," Nolan said, shaking his head. "Even then, this isn't in my hands. Warner decided that this is their best marketing strategy. Just as you're curious, so will the audience be when we release the film."
Gary Oldman gave Nolan his patented disappointed look. "Why would they be curious if they won't even recognize the guy? The way you're acting, I'd assume he must be someone famous, right?"
Nolan's silence was the only answer Gary needed.
"So if we can't recognize this famous actor, face-to-face, how will the audience guess his identity over a screen?"
"I'm not saying anything else," Nolan replied, raising his hands in surrender. "If you want to talk about the scene, we can. Otherwise, go get ready."
"Just one thing," Gary said. "Why are we shooting all the Joker's scenes first?"
Nolan looked hesitant for a bit before saying, "Don't tell this to anyone else, but he's a very in-demand actor with other commitments as well. And as you can see, he's gone all in for this role, so we don't want any discontinuity in his characterization. Some scenes will need pickups later—those are inevitable—but we're trying to get as much of his main work done as possible."
Gary didn't like the sound of those excuses. Because of this "in-demand actor," everyone else had to shift their schedules. They were originally meant to complete filming in Chicago before moving to London—but now, here they were, in London ahead of schedule, only to return to Chicago later to finish all the non-Joker scenes.
Still, he didn't argue. They were already here, and complaining now would only cause delays.
So he took his position outside the room where his next scene would begin, surrounded by the other actors.
"Action!"
"Back from the dead?" Nestor, the actor playing the mayor, called out cheerfully.
"I couldn't risk my family's safety," Gary replied, eyes drifting toward the holding cell, where the Joker sat in the center, as menacing as ever.
His hands were joined between his knees, rubbing together slowly, like he was plotting something nefarious—probably was. He wore a purplish-blue shirt, paired with the signature purple pants of his suit. A green waistcoat and tie completed the look, matching the color of his slicked-back green hair and piercing eyes.
But the most striking detail was the look he gave Gary—like he could see straight through him. That white-painted face, the black-rimmed eyes, and that unsettling red smirk. For a fleeting moment, Gary felt like he knew the guy. Like they'd worked together before. He just couldn't place it.
"Cut!" Nolan called calmly, snapping Gary out of his trance. "Gary, do you need to recall your lines?"
"No," Gary shook his head, then pointed at the Joker. "He's giving me such an intense look that I forgot everything else. Can you please ask him not to look at me like that? At least not when it's not his scene."
Nolan sighed and muttered, "When will he stop making his co-actors nervous?" Then, louder, he called out, "Frank, can you please tone it down when it's not your scene? We've already shot your close-ups, so that intensity's no longer required."
The man in question—Frank—simply averted his gaze and went back to minding his own business.
"Happy?" Nolan asked.
Gary nodded, and they went back to redo the scene.
"Go home, Gordon," Nestor, who played the mayor, announced. "The clown'll keep till morning. Go get some rest. You're gonna need it. Tomorrow you take the big job. Commissioner Gordon."
Gary shook hands with the mayor as everyone around them burst into applause. He shook a few more hands, and when the clapping began to die down, one man didn't stop.
The Joker was staring at him again—and this time, he'd added a strange, deliberate clapping motion to his intense gaze.
Gary looked over at Nolan, only to see the director absolutely fascinated.
"Quick, get me a shot of him—well, the Joker, I mean," Nolan ordered.
The camera operator swiftly turned from Gary to focus on the Joker's eerie applause.
Gary felt irritation bubbling up. The moment was supposed to be his. The script hadn't mentioned the Joker clapping with the others—yet this guy had hijacked the scene and made it his own.
"That was so good, Frank!" Nolan exclaimed once the shot was done. "Let's move on to the next scene."
Frank nodded and walked off to the next set, completely unbothered.
"You don't look very happy," Christian Bale noted, joining Gary. "Come on, calm down. It's my job to get all angry in this next scene, not yours."
Only then did Gary realize he'd been gritting his teeth the whole time.
"I get it," Bale continued. "I don't like him or the mystery around him either. But you can't deny—whoever this Frank guy is, he's a damn good actor. The day this film comes out, everyone will be talking about him."
"I know," Gary admitted. "It's not just that. It's like I know this guy, but for some reason, I can't figure out who he is. That's what's frustrating me."
"Then go ask him point-blank," Bale suggested. "I'm sure he'll tell you in person. He's not all that bad once you talk to him. Actually, he's got a great sense of humor."
When Gary didn't respond right away, Bale added, "Wanna make a bet? I can make him break character. What do you say?"
Gary raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright. If you do, I'll give you my finest bottle of Bordeaux."
"Deal." Bale shook his hand.
Before they could continue, the next scene was already being set up, and Nolan called everyone to their positions.
Gary gave Bale a nod, then took his place at the entrance to the makeshift interrogation room.
"Action!"
He opened the door and stepped in—only to come face-to-face with the man he had grown to detest.
"Evening, Commissioner," the man handcuffed to the table greeted mockingly.
Gary closed the door behind him and stalked across the floor, then took the seat opposite the Joker. "Harvey Dent never made it home."
"Of course he didn't," the villain replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"What have you done with him?" Gary asked urgently.
"Me?" the Joker repeated, almost gleefully. "I was right here." He lifted his cuffed hands in mock innocence. "Who did you leave him with, hmm? Your people?" There was a biting edge to his tone, each syllable steeped in ridicule.
He launched into a monologue about the incompetence of the police force, his words laced with venom and humor in equal measure.
Gary cut him off, soft but firm. "Where is he?"
"What's the time?" the Joker shot back.
"What does it matter?"
"Depending on the time, he may be in one spot," the Joker replied, gesturing loosely with his restrained hands, "or several." His tone was playful, but his eyes betrayed a dark delight—he was genuinely enjoying the psychological torment.
Gary rose, uncuffed him, and without another word, left the room.
"Ooh, the classic good cop, bad cop routine?" Joker beamed as he spoke.
"Not exactly," Gary replied, exiting.
He stepped outside, just in time to see the moment unfold. Batman—who had been silently lurking behind the Joker all along—suddenly slammed the villain's head against the metal table.
"Never start with the head," he growled. "The victim gets all fuzzy."
What followed was sheer brilliance. Christian Bale was at the top of his game, raw and explosive, but the true revelation was Frank. Every movement, every inflection—it was like he had already watched the final cut of the film and was now just recreating it from memory. Mechanical in precision. Mesmerizing in impact.
Gary had only felt this kind of presence once before. But it couldn't be the same person—he would be too young for this role.
"Why do you wanna kill me?" Bale asked, using his signature low, gravelly Batman voice.
Frank erupted into laughter, his whole body shaking with it. "I don't wanna kill you! What would I do without you? Go back to ripping off mob dealers? No, no. You complete me."
Bale paused, staring at him. Then, in an overly emotional voice: "Shut up. Just shut up. You had me at hello."
He looked away dramatically, pretending to wipe away a tear from his Batman mask.
For a second, silence. Then Frank burst into hysterics—and soon, the entire crew followed. Everyone broke into laughter at the unexpected [Jerry Maguire] reference.
And amid the laughter, Frank turned to Bale and said, "You're an asshole for ruining that perfectly good take. I was so in the zone."
His voice had no heat to it, making it sound perfectly normal to say to a co-star. Except for one thing.
He wasn't using the Joker's weird accent anymore.
That voice—polished, deliberate, unmistakably RP. And most importantly, very distinct. At least for Gary.
And in that moment, he realized why Warner and Chris were making such a big deal about hiding this man's, no, boy's identity.
"Holy shit," he whispered with wide eyes, barely audible to himself. "It's Troy Armitage."
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AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver