Great Actor in Hollywood

For the longest time, l thought the actor's greatest friend was his voice; the hammer that delivers the final blow. But the more l have seen of this world, the more I understand: it is not the voice but the shaky hand covering the face, or the wild welled up tears, or the smile that can light up a room which are the actor's truest companions. 

And in this project l realized that to make the audience believe (the only goal l have or any other performer has) in the story l need to look like a younger Bruce Willis. Look like has many components but the chief one is the non-verbal communication: the posture, the tension. When l drove to Thibodaux, Louisiana to go to the custom diner, all of my doubts of selling this to the audience bubbled out. 

'I bet he doesn't even like me. He wanted someone more blue collar.' 

As I pulled up to the set, I saw a lonely stretch of road melting into the sugarcane fields, the sky hung low with dense Southern heat. The asphalt shimmered under the late morning sun, and for a second, I wondered if I was in the wrong place. But then it emerged from the horizon: the diner.

It wasn't a real diner, of course. It had been built just for Looper, a skeletal frame dressed in mid-century chrome and red trim, perched like a relic of an America. There were no other buildings nearby, just this set piece dropped in the middle of nowhere as if a UFO had abducted an old Route 66 pit stop and placed it here.

Around it, trucks were parked in a loose semicircle — grip vans, makeup trailers, black SUVs with producers on Bluetooth calls inside. Crew members in cargo shorts and tool belts shuffled cables, some sipping coffee despite the heat. A boom mic operator leaned against the hood of a car, eyes closed, headphones on

The diner doors creaked slightly in the wind though I later learned they were rigged to a motor that would trigger just before each take. Everything was artificial. And yet, as I stepped out of my rental car and walked toward it, it all felt authentic.

Inside, the diner had that yellowed, nicotine-stained glow of a place that had seen too many coffee refills and no renovations. The walls were lined with peeling wallpaper made to look like it had aged over decades. A cracked jukebox stood silently in the corner. Plastic stools flanked the counter, and on one of them sat a half-empty coffee cup placed by set decorators. The cup, too, had been aged: a fake brown ring around the rim, as if some red neck trucker had left to take a piss in the fields. 

A production assistant handed me a bottle of water and smiled politely. I nodded, barely seeing her. My eyes were locked on the booth. I imagined how Bruce would sit: relaxed but ready to uppercut someone, I'd seen in so many movies before like in Pulp Fiction, Die Hard, Sin City, in the countless hours of research l did.

I sat down opposite the empty seat where he'd be. I placed my hands on the table. Not flat. Not clench. Could I pull this off?

But then I remembered what my mom told me before I completed an off-broadway play that only had 100 people in it. "Your character does not know he is in a movie". 

And so I sat there. Not as Ryan. Not as some stand-in hoping for approval. I sat there as Joe. A man who didn't ask to face his future self across the table but wanted to go to France and retired. 

Bruce Willis walked in wearing an orange jacket and a plain white shirt underneath. "Hello, Ryan" 

"Good to see you, Bruce. You were around here last year, right? For Red?" 

"Yeah l was in the French Quarter in March. If you want to talk about being red then that was the time" 

"You liked the shoot?" 

"Anything with Morgan Freeman is a smooth ride" 

'I would love to work with him' 

Bruce and Ryan were both conversing when Rian called both actors inside the diner. He gave them time to get ready and before long said, "Action". 

"Coffee?" A black waitress came wearing a yellow uniform from the 1950s 

"Please. Black and some water." Old Joe said. 

"Anything else?" 

"What you going to eat" 

"I already ordered." Young Joe said 

"Steak and eggs. Rare and scrambled." 

"Two steak and eggs coming up" 

"Must hurt." Old Joe said. 

"I wasn't sure if you would remember her" 

"I put it together. Clever" 

"You know there is another girl who works here in the weekends" 

"Jenn." 

"Right. Less letters" 

"That be better" 

The waitress delivers the food. 

"Merci. How's your French going?" Old Joe, sipping his coffee. 

"Are you going to tell me to learn Mandarin" 

"I never regretted learning French. No, you get it eventually. Obviously " 

"I know this is a hard situation for you. But we both know how this is going to go down. I can't let you walk away from this diner alive. This is my life now. I earned it, you had yours already. So why don't you do what old men do and die. Get the fuck out of my way." Ryan said with such a surprising amount of anger. 

"Why don't you stick your little gun out of your legs and shoot me"

There was a brief silence and Old Joe whispered, "Boy". 

"Your face looks backwards. So you know whats going to happen?" 

"You have done this already." 

"I don't want to talk about time travel shit. If we start talking about it then we are going to be here all day. Doesn't matter" 

"If l hurt myself then it changes your body then if—" 

"Doesnt matter" Old Joe yelled out 

"I could remember what you do after you do it. It hurts" 

"So even when we are apart, you could remember what l did after l do it" 

"Yes but this is a precise description of a fuzzy mechanism. It's messy. But all l know. There's two things: I know whats happening in my head and l know you are going to meet her" 

"Who?" 

"Shes going to save your life" 

"For a long time she thought we were going to have a baby. She would have been a great mother" 

"Yeah but she… how? You said she saves your life" 

"Lets take a look at your life. Your a kiler, your a junkie, a fuckin child mentaility." 

Old Joe continued in a whiny voice, "What's mine? My life. Save your life." 

"You're asking me how. The question is why would anyone save your life. Why would someone waste—" 

"Cut your high and mighty bullshit. I don't need my ife—" 

"Shut your fucking mouth" Old Joe paused and said, "Your so self absorbed, stupid, and shes going to clean you up". 

Young Joe changed the subject, "Seth said there is going to be a new boss. Holy terror?" 

"Yeah. Rain of terror. Mass executions. Purges. Everywhere at once. Listen, the rainmaker came out of nowhere. And in the span of six months, he took control of the five major syndicates."

"That would take an army" 

"But he didn't have an army. The story is that he did it alone. Alone. Alone. It's insane. Story says that he has a synthetic jaw, saw his mom shot, shit like that. The first thing he did was closing the loop. All of them" 

Old Joe pulled out a map and showed a number: 07153902935. "Im going to stop him from killing my wife" 

"Fuck you and your wife. None of this concerns me." Young Joe leaned in and his eyes looked straight at his old self. 

"This is going to happen to you" 

"This doesn't have to happen to me. You have a picture there on my watch" 

Old Joe pulled the watch away from it.

"Show it to me" 

"I fucking marry someone else. Promise. All of that fog will be wiped from your memory. She be gone. If you give her up you will be safe"

"Give her up?." 

"Yeah, give her up.You're the one that got her killed. Never meets her your safe"

"You don't understand. I'm not going to give her up" 

Young Joe pulled out the gun but Old Joe punched him in his balls. He hit him while he was in pain. Old Joe looked around and Rian yelled, "Cut" 

Production was shocked. The chemistry between the actors was undeniable but was eclipsed by Ryan's own performance. 

'We got the right kid' Rian thought to himself .