Illusiveone
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161: Redoing my Life, The Great White North
🕑 Added 2025-01-19 07:46:58 +0000 UTCThe SUV rumbled along the snow-dusted road, its tires crunching against the thin layer of frost beneath. I sat in the back seat, my phone pressed to my ear, a slight frown creasing my face. I was in Alberta, Canada, far from the chaos of LA. The wilderness stretched endlessly outside the window—a serene, untouched expanse that was truly awe-inspiring.
Towering pine trees lined the road, their branches heavy with glistening snow. The forest resembled a natural cathedral, with long, dark shadows cast by the winter sun dappling the pristine snow below. Beyond the trees, jagged mountain peaks loomed against the gray sky, their icy caps glowing faintly in the soft January morning light.
“Mom, I’m not going,” I said, my voice firm, though the weariness in my tone betrayed just how many times we’d had this conversation. “I’ve told you this a hundred times.”
Her voice was sharp through the phone, insistent. I leaned back in my seat, letting my head rest against the plush interior of the SUV, rolling my eyes as I listened.
“Look,” I started, “I love Nathan. Nothing against him. It’s his sister and his mom, okay? Every time I visit, his sister—she’s… flirty. Like, weirdly flirty. And it’s uncomfortable.”
I paused as Mom responded, her tone defensive.
“Just being ‘friendly?’ That’s not what it feels like.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “And his mom? At first, she was the funny conspiracy theorist type, and now… the stuff she’s saying? It’s borderline racist.”
Outside, the SUV passed a frozen lake. Its surface was smooth and glimmering like glass, broken only by jagged white cracks in the ice. A family of deer stood at its edge, their brown coats stark against the endless whiteness of the snowy landscape.
“The only reason I’d even think about visiting is Nathan’s dad,” I said, turning back to the call. “I actually like him. But no, I’m not going. Not when the rest of them are there.”
Mom finally relented after another minute of back-and-forth, much to my relief. “Love you. I’ll call you when I get back. Yes, I’ll be careful. Bye.” I ended the call with a sigh, letting the phone drop onto the seat beside me.
The landscape outside was breathtaking, I had to admit. It was raw, quiet, and untamed—exactly why I’d agreed to come along on this scouting trip for The Revenant. Alejandro Iñárritu, the director, was waiting for me at our destination, along with the rest of the team.
I really had no pressing reason to be here. But I’d decided to tag along anyway, thinking maybe the change of scenery would help me break through the persistent writer’s block I’d been struggling with lately.
I arrived at the meeting spot, stepping out of the SUV and immediately feeling the biting chill of the Canadian winter. The cold wind cut through my coat, sharp and bracing, making me pull my scarf tighter around my neck. As I closed the door behind me, a group of people approached, their breath visible in the icy air. They were bundled in thick parkas, gloves, and boots, with cameras slung over their shoulders and hiking gear strapped to their backs.
Josh Ericson, my location manager at Midas, was at the front of the group. He extended his hand with a smile.
“Mr. Adler, this way, sir,” he said, his tone professional.
I shook his hand, glancing at the other crew members as they nodded in greeting. “How’s your stay in the Great White North been so far?” I asked, grinning as I tucked my gloved hands into my coat pockets.
Josh let out a small chuckle. “Honestly, sir, it’s been miserable. Freezing cold, the snow… I don’t think we’re going to love shooting here for months.”
I laughed, shrugging. “Well, it’s going to be a difficult movie.”
“We might need a raise,” I heard someone in the back say.
Josh smirked and gestured for me to follow. “We’ll be heading to British Columbia next.”
“Ah,” I said, my mind drifting. British Columbia was perfect for the bear attack scene: its dense forests and shadowy landscapes would add the dark, forbidding atmosphere the scene needed. I remembered considering British Columbia for The Blair Witch Project when I’d been involved with it, though I’d ultimately settled on Oregon back then.
‘The Northwest was all kind of the same,’ I thought, amused.
We walked across the snowy ground. Ahead, I could see another group of people gathered with more cameras and hiking equipment. As we approached, I asked, “So we’re going hiking, then?”
Josh hesitated. “Yes, sir. Unless you’d rather stay here in the base—”
“No, no,” I interrupted, waving him off. “This is exactly what I need.”
As the group drew closer, I spotted Alejandro Iñárritu standing among them. His face lit up when he saw me, and he strode forward, arms outstretched.
“Welcome, Daniel!” he said warmly, pulling me into a firm handshake that felt more like a half-embrace.
“Good to see you again, Alejandro,” I replied, returning the gesture. “How’s the scouting going?”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling despite the cold. “Cold, exhausting, but very promising. So, you are coming with us, yes? Not planning to stay here?”
“Of course, I’m coming with you,” I said with a laugh.
“Good, good,” Alejandro said, nodding. “We have a lot of places to look at today…” He began talking as we started walking toward a small prep area near the trailhead.
A crew member handed me a small backpack filled with water, a thermos of coffee, and some trail snacks.
The trail ahead cut through Kananaskis Country, a vast, mountainous region northeast of Calgary. The towering peaks seemed to scrape the overcast sky, their ridges blanketed in pristine snow. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of pine. I already felt invigorated.
As we set off, Alejandro walked beside me, pointing out areas he thought would be ideal for certain scenes. The cold was biting, seeping through even the thickest layers of clothing as we trekked deeper into the wilderness. Everything around us was a palette of gray and white, the overcast sky blending seamlessly with the snowy ground and frost-covered pines.
I, of course, wasn’t used to snow and had come to hate it during a similar trip to Iceland for a Batman shoot. I was struggling a bit—only a bit—but I felt this place was more dangerous than Iceland. The ground beneath our boots was crunchy with frost, and occasionally we hit patches of ice that made footing treacherous. The cold pinched at any exposed skin, and I found myself adjusting my scarf and gloves repeatedly, seeking any warmth I could.
Alejandro’s voice was a steady companion against the quiet of the wilderness. “This place,” he said, gesturing around, “is magnificent, but it will test us, Daniel. It’s unforgiving.”
“What are we looking at, difficulty-wise?” I asked, focusing on his words.
Alejandro sighed, his breath visible in the air. “Unpredictable weather, for one. Temperatures could drop even lower, or we could face sudden snowstorms. Transporting heavy equipment, horses, and cast members up these mountains or through the forests—it will be a nightmare.”
I nodded, picturing the logistical issues. He continued, “Lighting will be a problem. These gray skies? Beautiful for natural light, but it means our shooting schedule will be tight. We’ll have to plan for rapid set turnovers—no wasted time.”
He chuckled grimly. “And permits—don’t get me started on permits. The Canadian authorities have been cooperative, but there are so many rules about wildlife, land protection, and safety that we’ve had to hire multiple wildlife experts. And then there are the actors. They must fully commit to this environment.”
“Well, Leo’s all in,” I said, smiling. “He really wants that Oscar.”
Alejandro laughed, the sound hearty despite the cold. “And I will take full advantage of that!” He paused, giving me a sidelong glance. “It’s remarkable, Daniel. What you’ve achieved at your age—it’s almost unheard of.”
I shrugged, brushing off the compliment. “I’ve had a lot of luck.”
Alejandro shook his head. “No, no. Don’t say that. Yes, luck plays a part, but talent and vision—that’s what carries you forward. You’ve proven that. And thank you for supporting Birdman as well. It was my dream for some time.”
I smiled. “That’s what Midas is here for,” I replied. “To support people like you…”
We arrived at a river, parts of its surface frozen into sheets of glistening ice. The trees surrounded it like silent sentinels, their snowy branches framing the view perfectly. The gray light of the sky reflected off the ice, giving it an ethereal glow. The whole scene felt like something out of a dream.
I paused, taking it all in. ‘If a sparkling vampire stepped out of these trees, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I thought, chuckling to myself. The place reminded me so much of the landscapes from the Twilight movies, mostly because of the gray lighting. I stifled a laugh, letting the thought drift away.
Alejandro stepped closer beside me, also taking in the view. “Magnificent,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice softer now. “Magnificent.”
====
We continued our trek toward the mountain, the cold biting harder the higher we climbed. Alejandro was animated, pointing out the possibilities for each location as we moved.
“We’ll need to create an avalanche here,” Alejandro said suddenly, stopping to gesture dramatically at the looming mountainside ahead.
I turned to him, raising a skeptical brow. “Create an avalanche? Can’t we just CGI it?”
Alejandro waved the suggestion away as though I’d offended him. “No, no. It won’t look authentic. We’ll make one—bomb the mountainside from a helicopter.”
I stopped walking, staring at him. “Is that even allowed?”
He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’ll see.”
I shook my head. This was why the budget was kept a secret from Alejandro. The official figure I’d told him was sixty million dollars—a lean number for a film of this scope but believable enough to keep his ambitions somewhat in check. The real budget, however, was one hundred million dollars, funded by Stardust, a handful of private investors, and me. Even Jay had agreed to invest some money in the movie after I spoke with him the last time I saw him.
Keeping the actual budget from Alejandro had been a calculated move. The man was a perfectionist. If he knew there was more money to play with, he’d never stop shooting, insisting on perfecting every detail until the film bled money.
And unlike John Wick, this was a high-budget gamble that needed to pay off both critically and commercially. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t just be Alejandro’s reputation on the line—it would be mine. Investors might start doubting whether I was worth betting on, and that was a risk I couldn’t afford. Also, this was Midas’s second movie. Sure, Stardust was involved, but I really needed this to be a home run in every aspect.
I trudged forward, boots crunching through the snow. From this experience, I was beginning to understand Becky—Stardust’s CFO—and her frustrations with me whenever I asked for more money for the DCU.
We came to a halt near a clearing, the towering trees around us creating a natural barrier against the biting wind. Snow crunched beneath our boots as we settled down, some of the crew sipping from thermoses and others checking their equipment. The icy air nipped at my face, and I stuffed my hands deeper into my coat pockets for warmth.
I was sitting with Josh when Alejandro turned to face us. “We need to find a good spot for the waterfall scene,” he said, gesturing toward the distant hills.
Josh, my location manager, nodded. “We could scout locations in Montana.”
Alejandro considered it for a moment, then nodded decisively. “Fine. After British Columbia, we’ll head there.”
The conversation soon shifted to another subject as Alejandro turned to me. “What shall we do about Hardy?”
I sighed, already dreading the topic. Keeping as much of the original cast from my old world as possible was a priority for me, but Tom Hardy’s schedule was proving to be a significant roadblock. He was tied up with other commitments, and his availability was still in question.
“Tom’s agent said they’ll have a clearer idea in June,” I said.
Alejandro’s face fell. “No, no, Daniel. Let’s not wait that long. We need the actors to start preparing soon—this isn’t something you can just jump into overnight. If he can’t commit, we should consider recasting.”
I nodded, sharing his frustration. Leonardo had already thrown himself into preparation, treating this project like a holy mission to finally secure that Oscar. The rest of the casting decisions were on track to be finalized by the end of February, so waiting for Hardy could disrupt the entire timeline.
“We’ll try one more time to lock him down,” I said. “But if he’s not available, we’ll start looking at other options. We’ve got ten months until we begin shooting in October.”
Alejandro folded his arms, his expression serious. “Pre-production for a project like this will be long. And during the actual production—especially under these conditions—many people won’t be thrilled to work in such an environment.”
I nodded again, fully aware of the challenges ahead. A longer production schedule would only add to the strain.
“I’ll handle it,” I assured him.
Satisfied for the moment, Alejandro turned his attention to Josh and began discussing the potential involvement of Native American consultants and actors. Their voices faded into the background as I let my eyes wander.
The wilderness around us was stunning.
I once joked to my mom that Canada was just a cold, empty place. I’d been wrong. It was breathtaking. The sheer beauty of the landscape seemed to dissolve the writer’s block that had plagued me for weeks. Ideas began to form—vivid and insistent—flooding my mind like a river breaking through a dam.
It was definitely a good idea to come here.
