A/N: Feedback is very much appreciated.
Disclaimer: Don't own Prince of Tennis.
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CASTING OF ROMEO AND JULIO FINALLY COMPLETE
Atobe Keigo looks forward to shooting "very much"
TOKYO, Japan—Lights, camera, action! After five years spent in development, the tension is finally over, and the cast and crew of an new, adapted version of William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet can finally begin working. Yes, you've read that right: the highly-anticipated Romeo and Julio film will probably be released sometime towards the end of next year.
Atobe Keigo, who has been cast as the star-crossed lover Romeo, has said that he is happy to be working on such a film, and that he hopes that it will be well-received by both the public and the fans of the original play. And what of his mysterious co-star? Echizen Ryoma, an eighteen-year-old college student, was discovered in a long talent search that had the famed Director scratching his head in frustration before finding the cerulean-haired young man.
"I knew I had found Julio when I first saw him," said the director, when reached by phone, "because he has that quality—I'm not too sure how to say it—to him. Few people have that ability, but you know when you have it: and you don't want to lose someone like that. He has great potential to be a star."
Echizen Ryoma, however, refused to speak to the press about his good fortune, and only spat out a, "Mada mada dane," to this dedicated reporter. A formal press conference will be held in two weeks, and the film is set to premiere at the Tokyo International Film Festival, and will be widely released before the end of the year.
Members of the older generation (including this reporter) will probably remember the last attempt for a Shakespearean play to be adapted to the Japanese screen. The late Kurosawa Akira found triumph in the form of 1985's Ran, which was based on King Lear. It was both a critical and commercial success, and this film adaptation intends to follow the same mold.
"Of course, we've made several changes to it so that it follows a more Japanese setting, much like Ran," said Kirihara Akaya, the film's screenwriter, "so Romeo is not quite Romeo, though we intend to stay as faithful as we can to the original play. But, really, I mean, I don't want to reveal too much, or [film producer] Sanada'll have my hide—he doesn't like the media knowing too much, you know. And, anyway, this is Echizen Ryoma's first production of any sort: his character will be written to reflect this detail, just as his Julio is experiencing true love for the first time—or something phony like that. But I'm really glad that it's not me. I hear kissing Atobe is like kissing Hitler."
So in the end, this latest—and sure to be dazzling spectacle with renowned designer Mizuki Hagime heading the costume department—production is still shrouded in mystery, and Japan will have to wait until its release date to find out more. Leading star Atobe Keigo already has legions of fans in a frenzy through word on the Internet. Wardrobe testing had a few of its stills leaked online, which have thousands of female fans in a tizzy . . .
Atobe Keigo was storming through the production lots, something that any innocent bystander might have noticed for a number of reasons, the least of which was that he was walking, which required two legs, which meant physical exertion on his part.
Ever since he became a headlining star, he'd demanded for private transport from lot to lot, even if the distance was hardly anything, because he was a star and he wanted everyone to know it. (They did.)
For him to withhold from his privilege meant that the offense done to him was serious enough for him to forget about the limousines on stand-by for him. Bystanders said prayers and did a quick rosary for whoever would have to face him.
Arriving at the publicity department, he barked at the secretary. "I want to see Tachibana, and I want to see him now."
Tachibana An immediately recognized the look on his face. Though not one to usually bow to demands from the major stars, she had a female's intuition that took note of her current sensitive situation, and something told her that this was no ordinary the-idol-is-acting-like-a-child-again situation. She quickly placed a call to her brother's office.
"You can go in," she said, and he did so without another word to her. She decided that he really was upset.
Tachibana was sitting behind his desk, and he was talking on the phone. Seeing Atobe, he motioned for him to sit down, but Atobe, angered, refused to do so and said, "I'm going to talk to you, so you'd better stop talking to whoever's on the other end."
He cupped the phone with his hand, and with a sigh, said, "I'm on the phone with Mizuki who, as you know, is in charge of your wardrobe. We're discussing which textiles and colors would best suit you for the publicity posters and in front of the camera. After all, it is period drama, and we're going have the dressing experts working on you soon enough." He knew that Atobe always liked having people talk about him—good or bad, since attention is always attention.
"Forget that. I'm talking to you now. Call him later."
With another sigh, Tachibana uncupped the phone: "Yes, it is him. Yes, I will call you back. Bye." Turning back to Atobe, he said, "Well?"
Atobe was not going to be subtle. "Why the fuck is Shishido Ryou in this picture? I thought I made sure his unwanted face was thrown off the lot a long time ago."
"You should be discussing this with your producer," Tachibana said, calmly, "rather than your publicity agent."
"I found this out only this morning," he barked back. "One of the secretaries spilled the secret to me, and I must say that I'm rather outraged. Outraged that someone should have been planning this behind my back, and outraged that you actually let them do it. Is it not specifically mentioned in my contract that Shishido Ryou is not to be placed within a hundred meter's radius around me? Need I remind you of last year's debacle?"
He got the reaction he wanted to see. Tachibana's face tightened up.
"They found a loophole, one that I was unable to combat back with. You know how they are, rushing in the courtrooms with their lawyers and preposterous claims." He sighed. "All I can say is that the director didn't like any of the studio's character actors, and he insisted specially on Shishido for one of the supporting roles. Yes, supporting, so you don't have to worry about the billing order. Well, Sanada wants this picture to be a moneymaker—and, well, let's just say that he's invested especially on this picture— so we went over to International and bargained for him, just for this. He got him on the condition that he pay him twice his salary and expect him to work for no more than three months."
"The bastard."
"Atobe, you and Shishido will be working on this picture together," he said, choosing his words carefully. "The public loves this pairing, and you're going to not let anything in the past jeopardize this. Nothing. Besides, he's Benvolio, Romeo's cousin, close friend, and confidant. You must let nothing show. This is a time when professionalism is advised. You two are a team, and teammates support each other. There is no 'i' in 'team.'"
Atobe seethed. "But there's 'me'."
Tachibana ignored the retort. "They've got it covered on this one, and it has nothing to do with me, because I tried to get it your way," Tachibana insisted, "so I'd advise you to grit your teeth and pull through. Don't let them bother you. Don't do anything that might cause a scandal. "
"Funny how you say this to me after the deal's been sealed."
"What does it matter? You image is very helpful for the publicity. You may not believe it, but there are thousands of people out there who like the Atobe and Shishido pairing, and what the public wants, Sanada gives. It's a very wise policy."
Still furious, Atobe left the department.
Tachibana watched him go and placed a call to Yukimura.
Wardrobe testing was a long and hazardous process. The clothes were ill-fitting and there were a great deal of costumes that needed to be tried on and re-fitted. Hair styles needed to be determined and paired with the correct color tones and designs.
It was dreadfully boring, and Ryoma fidgeted constantly. "This is itchy," he told Mizuki, who had taken it upon himself to take in this young boy under his wing when, in reality, all Ryoma wanted was to get out of there. Mizuki and his flamboyance annoyed him; and Mizuki was not getting the point.
"It's a costume," Mizuki unhelpfully told him. "They're always like that. Just smile and get on with it."
"I don't want to wear this."
"Then, Good Heavens, why did you ever audition for this part in the first place, you ungrateful brat?" And Mizuki sent him off to an apprentice designer who would create clothes for him.
Hair-styling proved to be a similar experience for him; that is, frustrating, unending, and tortuous. "My hair is fine the way it is," Ryoma bluntly said.
"This is a period drama," Oishi tried to explain to him. "Why, no one has spiky hair back then, Echizen-kun. Need I explain to you the dressing styles of the period? I don't think anyone had cerulean colored hair back then either. I'm sorry; I rather like your hair, too. We may have to take alternative routes."
"You mean I have to dye it?"
"A wig will be good enough," he said. "We can try on a couple before we send you off to Fuji."
"Fuji?"
"Head of the photography unit. You'll like him very much, I'm sure."
The photography studio was small and cold due to the air-conditioning. When Ryoma was brought here, he was under the impression that taking photos were a matter of 'one, two, three smile, okay, get out of here' routine, and was very disappointed when he realized there was a line there. For he was not the only actor of the movie—though, up until that point, he had never thought otherwise—and the motley group of actors, young and old, surprised him.
Each wore a distinctive costume. Each wore a different hairdo. Each had been given make-up and voicing lessons. The only thing that brought them together was the singular love of acting, something Ryoma did not quite possess. In a way, he had to admit that their passion for acting was similar to his passion for tennis. He wondered how he was supposed to be a star when, really, he did not want it at all.
What was he supposed to do? Here he was, on the verge of being thrust out into the open stage, and he knew no one. And he knew nothing of acting, he knew nothing of its mechanisms and methods. Knew nothing of its harshness and its difficulties. All he knew was that he had been spotted by an old director who had liked him. It seemed unfair that the director had chosen him when he had never wanted, never desired this at all.
Why was he here again? He couldn't compete with any of them—not in acting, poise, or looks. He was an amateur, and the revelation of the thought suddenly depressed him. But it was a short-lived feeling.
"You!" came a soft voice. "You must be Echizen Ryoma." A fair-skinned young man reached for him and brought him to the front of the line. "Fuji Syuusuke, at your service. I heard from Mizuki earlier. He wants you photographed at this instant so you can be sent back for any more changes." He smiled. "Nervous?"
Ryoma adamantly shook his head.
"Oh, good. You don't know how it is these days. People are so scared. They get stage fright in front of the camera and they can't do anything. They're wonderful off camera, but then you have ten sets of lens directed at them and they just freeze. I hope you're not like that."
Ryoma vigorously shook his head.
"Good. That's somewhat reassuring. That's how people become stars. Hopefully, you'll be one of them, Echizen Ryoma. Say, can I call you Ryoma-chan?"
It brought Ryoma to his senses, and then, he decided that he was glad to be here. He was glad that he wasn't one of those people. He was different. He was above them; he was going to pull through whether he liked it or not, because a challenge was a challenge, and that was how things were going to be.
"No," he said, with a definite—and soon to be signature—glare, and he was on his way.
Kirihara Akaya lounged in his office with his feet on the desk, feeling completely drained of energy. He found a sudden desire to eat American hamburgers, but his secretary informed him of a new revision required in the script.
"So I can't eat?" he said.
"Sanada wants it before noon," she had replied, and that had been the end of it.
His stomach growled once again. It was at moments like this that he disliked Sanada, who had to be so much in control. He enjoyed presiding over big projects like this, and he took pleasure in ordering others around, though he damn well made sure that no one saw it. Maybe Yukimura did, but then again, Yukimura liked him an awful lot.
His typewriter looked oddly menacing at this point. His fingers had found no inspiration, though the assignment given to him by Sanada had only required technical changes, none so to the actual story; apparently, it was decided that the setting was going to be changed from period drama to high school comedy. Kirihara mumbled under his breath about the dictatorial Sanada and wished for a few sandwiches to materialize by his desk.
It did not, and Kirihara swung his head up towards the clock. The minute hand had increased by a minute since the last time he'd checked.
Sanada was a real dictator, he thought, and in his mind, reeled off the number of producers who had been total control freaks. He decided that Sanada would have fit well in the old Hollywood system where everything was studio-controlled. The studio controlled the actor, commanded his roles, his salaries, his personality, everything. Sanada would have liked it a lot, and, not to mention, he could not help but think, Sanada would have had access to pretty much anyone he would have liked to have.
He wondered if Sanada was even interested in that, and discarded the thought before it scarred him too much.
Verily, the clock struck twelve-thirty, bringing Kirihara out of his thoughts. He jumped out of his seat and made for the door. He was glad that it was lunch, conveniently forgetting the fact that he had not done any of the work given to him for the day. The idea was: he could always do it during the afternoon, right?
He also missed the latest memo from his secretary telling him that all changes Sanada had wanted earlier was now void; it would have made his life much easier.
Oshitari Yuushi dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up. After three rings, someone did.
"Hello?"
"I'm looking for one Echizen Ryoma."
"You're talking to him."
"Good. I'm calling to let you know that from today onwards, I'm going to be your agent. Specially assigned to you from Sanada, who wants everything to run as smoothly as things can be, just because he can."
"I never asked for an agent."
"No one cares what you want. You think I was pleased to be called back from my vacation just to oversee some young nobody? But there are some things an agent can control and other things he cannot. This is one of the latter situations. Anyway, I'm your agent and there's nothing you can do about it. But let me bring you up-to-date on some of the things an agent does: I'm in charge of you.
"I represent you. I fight for your rights from the studio bosses, who in this case turns out to be Yukimura. Sanada's nothing compared to him. Yukimura's some sort of Boy Wonder, you got that? The Son of God, some people say. I mean, not too many people get to be executive producer of a big-shot studio like this before the age of thirty-five. Maybe he isn't even thirty yet. Who knows? There was an old Hollywood producer—same thing, the biggest exec out there before he's thirty-five, and what happens to him? He dies of pneumonia when he's thirty-seven.
"The point is this: I negotiate for you. I let you in on the minds of the greatest men in this business. I tell you what to do, and you go do it. If this happens, we'll be best friends. But I pull out for you and you don't deliver . . . well, then let's not say anything more on that. When the going is good, I'll be happy. When the going is bad, I'll ignore your phone calls and refuse to let you date the starlets. Capisce?"
What was there for Ryoma to say but yes? "Sure," he managed.
"Good kid. I knew you were. See, I know the people in this town. I know Atobe and I know Shishido and you don't get any bigger than that. I know the big bosses on the opposite ends of town. I know the directors, the producers, the writers, the cameramen, the actors, the actresses, the little people, the—"
"I get it. So you know a lot of people. Big deal."
Oshitari leaned in on the desk he was sitting at; he decided that he liked the new kid. He drawled, "You've nerve, haven't you? I'm not talking about any regular denizen or dame plucked right off the streets. I'm talking about the biggest names in the business. The people who could banish you from the country and not get reprimanded for it. That's power right there."
"Is that all?" Oshitari detected a sense of boredom coming from the other end of the telephone line.
"Hardly. What are you doing right now, Echizen?"
Holding his tennis bag in his left hand, Ryoma tightened his grip. "What's it to you?"
"I'm your agent. I'm supposed to know everything about you. What you do, what you eat, where you sleep, who you sleep wi—"
"I'm going to play tennis."
Oshitari took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "No tennis."
"What?"
"You heard me. No tennis. Not today. Not this week. Hell, maybe not for a month. No, you can't play tennis—ping pong, maybe, but tennis? No."
It was as if the ground beneath him had suddenly disappeared and he had toppled down a skyscraper. "What?" he said.
"Uh-huh. No tennis. Kid, you're in a historical drama. Get that? People were fair-skinned back then. You go to the set with a slight tan, and the director is going to kill you. He's going to flip, and guess who gets in trouble? Me, got that? And I'm not going into the hot seat because of you."
"That doesn't mean I can't play tennis. I just won't get tanned."
"No guarantee to that. Best be on the safe side. So, kid, no tennis, you hear?"
"But I don't tan in the first place."
"That's even worse. What if you turn pick or red and scald from sunburns? No, the risk is too much. You'd better stay in the house. Read a little—memorize the script, okay? You're coming by the set on Monday, aren't you?"
A very dejected, "I suppose so," eventually emerged from other end.
"Good. That's real good. So do I have your word? No tennis until the word is okay, okay?"
A long sigh; resignation: Oshitari sensed it. "Yeah."
"You're a good kid, Echizen. I'll let Atobe know," and like that, Oshitari was gone.