AN: FOR ANYONE WONDERING WHAT MOVIE IS THIS, GO WATCH 'ANDHADHUN'. IT'S AVAILABLE ON YOUTUBE WITH SUBTITLES AND IT'S REALLY GOOD.
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Gregory spotted Harry pacing outside the soundstage, cradling a cup of coffee that had long since lost its warmth. Harry was mumbling to himself, likely running through his lines for the next scene, when Greg decided to clear his throat to get his attention.
"We got samples," Greg announced, waving a padded envelope in the air.
Harry lunged for it like a hungry animal being offered a meal. "Great! Let's hear them."
Inside the cramped temporary production office they were using, Harry shoved aside storyboards and snack wrappers to clear a spot on the small stereo setup. Greg carefully placed the labeled CD tracks one by one, keeping an eye on Harry's reactions as each cue played.
First sample: nice strings, but a bit of a cliché dramatic swell. Harry grimaced as if he'd just bitten into a raw onion.
Second sample: electronic sounds, intriguing but way too offbeat for the film's vibe.
Third sample: soft piano with a haunting quality. Harry's foot stopped tapping, and his expression turned serious.
"Greg," Harry asked in a low voice, "who's this?"
Greg quickly checked the list. "Hans Zimmer."
Harry nearly dropped the remote for the stereo.
Hans. Zimmer.
In 2003.
A composer whose later works would shape the sound of countless films… offering a sample for his little thriller?
"Set up a meeting," Harry said without hesitation. "Tomorrow. First thing. I want to talk to him myself."
Greg couldn't help but grin. "I had a feeling you'd say that."
Hans' studio had a subtle aroma of coffee, polished wood, and a sharper scent—perhaps varnish from the instruments lining the walls. Synthesizers, keyboards, and racks of gear created a beautifully chaotic scene around the desk.
As Harry walked in, Hans greeted him with a polite smile. "Mr. Jackson, right? I hear you're making quite a stir for someone your age."
Harry shook his hand firmly. "Noise can be good if it sounds nice, don't you think?"
Hans chuckled lightly. "That really depends on who's listening."
They settled into their seats.
Harry didn't beat around the bush. "I heard your sample. I want you on board. For the full score. For the original songs. Everything."
Hans raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That piece? I've only glanced at the first page of the script."
Harry was taken aback for a moment, but then it clicked. Zimmer often composed from a place of emotion rather than getting bogged down in details. It made sense.
"Well," Harry cleared his throat, "I want piano. Something real, emotional, and clean. Two romantic tracks, one suspenseful piece, and one that captures the chaos inside a deranged mind. Also—"
Hans raised a hand, clearly entertained. "You know exactly what you want."
"I do," Harry replied. "But I need you to bring it to life."
The composer leaned back thoughtfully. "Usually, I just go with what feels right. But since you have such clear ideas, I'll definitely keep them in mind." He extended his hand.
Harry shook it firmly. "Deal."
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Harry strolled onto the set, coffee in one hand and clipboard in the other, determination etched on his face. Today was a pivotal moment — the scene where Sophie uncovers something that completely shatters her trust in Aaron. This scene picks up right after Aaron's poisoning.
Daniel was slumped in a chair next to Harry, rubbing his tired hands.
"How's the piano practice going?" Harry asked, still focused on his notes.
"My hands are killing me," Daniel replied with a groan. "Four hours a day, every single day. Are you trying to drive me to madness?"
"Pain is just a stepping stone to greatness," Harry said, barely paying attention.
Daniel shot him a glare. "Please don't become one of those directors who thinks suffering is essential for art."
Harry shrugged. "I'm not saying you should suffer. Just give it your best shot."
Daniel playfully swatted him with his script. "You preachy bastard."
Harry just smirked in response.
Today marked Anne Hathaway's first day of shooting. She looked stunning yet nervous, quietly rehearsing her lines. She was well aware of the gossip swirling around — after all, half of Hollywood was. Every now and then, she stole glances at Harry, a mix of gratitude and awkward curiosity in her eyes.
But as soon as the cameras started rolling, she transformed into Sophie.
The first setup was outside Aaron's apartment, a dingy hallway dressed with flickering lights.
A child actor—playing the neighbor's boy—stood by the railing. They'd cast a bright-eyed kid with a mischievous streak, perfect for the role.
"Ready?" Harry asked him.
The boy nodded confidently. "I got this."
"Action!"
Sophie (Anne) approached the door, clutching her purse anxiously.
"Is Aaron here?" she asked the boy.
The kid leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's not blind, you know."
Sophie frowned. "What?"
"I saw him," the boy insisted. "He can see. He pretends."
Anne played the moment with subtle conflict—half disbelief, half curiosity.
"Thanks," she murmured, then knocked on Aaron's door.
"Cut!" Harry said. "Good. Reset for interior."
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Cate Blanchett was already in costume, wrapped in a blanket as if she had just thrown it on after some.....escapades.
She looked unfairly stunning, even in her disheveled state. Harry tried to act like he wasn't paying attention, but she caught the flicker in his eyes and couldn't help but smirk.
"Focus up, director," she teased softly.
"I am," he muttered, turning away a bit too quickly.
The shot was set. Sophie knocked. The door swung open.
Cate leaned against the frame, the blanket slipping just enough to be strategic yet tasteful. Sophie's eyes went wide.
"Simi…?" she gasped.
"Oh—Sophie," Simi said, putting on a show of being flustered. "I didn't expect… well—it just happened. In the moment."
The camera captured Sophie's shocked expression as she pushed past Simi and into the bedroom.
Aaron lay there, naked under the sheets, completely still, out cold from the poison.
Sophie rushed to him, shaking his shoulder.
"Aaron! Aaron, wake up!"
Harry observed Anne's performance unfold — shock, betrayal, hurt, confusion — all flowing out so naturally.
She turned sharply to Simi.
"Why?!"
Simi wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, pretending to be embarrassed. "After my husband died… he was there for me. He was just so—"
"Sensitive," Sophie finished bitterly. "He said that to me too."
Cate tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "Men can be… complicated."
Sophie stepped in closer, her voice shaking with anger.
"He's not even blind. He's just pretending."
Simi widened her eyes in exaggerated shock. "What?"
"He faked it," Sophie whispered. "Just to manipulate people."
Cate's face shifted from surprise to disgust—classic acting.
"You're better off without him," she said softly.
Sophie glared at both of them—liar and liar.
"You deserve each other," she spat, tears welling up. "Both of you… sons of bitches."
Then she stormed out.
"Cut!" Harry called out. "Anne, that was brilliant. Cate, just tone down the sympathy a bit—just a bit. We want Sophie to feel sorry for you, while the audience might want to curse you. Let's reset for coverage."
Cate nodded, smiling. "Got it. Just a bit."
Daniel, now modestly draped in a robe, lifted his head from the pillow and groaned, "Do I just keep pretending to be dead?"
Harry smirked. "For now."
Daniel muttered, "This film is going to ruin my back."
Javier called from across the set, "At least you're not being choked with ropes anymore!"
Harry rubbed his temple. "Alright, everyone, let's get ready for the next setup."