Please vote for me! Vote, vote, vote!
Riiiiiing—
The sudden blare of an alarm clock jolted Matthew awake. He reached over to switch it off, and a warm glow from the lamp filled the room. Though it was still pitch-black outside, he quickly got dressed and headed to the bathroom, shouting to his still-sleeping roommate, "Mike! Time to get up!"
Michael Sheen struggled to open his eyes. "Is it time already?"
"Get a move on!" Matthew's voice echoed from the bathroom.
Today marked the first day of shooting war scenes—no more sleeping in until sunrise. Helen Herman had reminded them last night that they needed to be up by 3 a.m. and on set before 4.
By the time Michael rolled out of bed, Matthew was already finished getting ready.
"I'm going to grab us seats," Matthew said as he opened the door. "Meet me at the dining hall."
"Alright..." Michael stretched with a groan.
The second floor of the inn was dead quiet—barely anyone else was awake. Matthew descended the stairs to the first floor. The buffet-style breakfast was already laid out. He grabbed a few items and headed into the small dining area, where only one person was eating.
He walked over intentionally. "Morning, Helen."
It was Helen Herman, the lone diner, and the first client of the agency. She nodded. "Morning, Matthew."
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, motioning to the seat across from her.
"Go ahead," she said.
Matthew set down his tray and sat opposite Helen, casually commenting, "You're up even earlier than the actors."
"You're observant," Helen replied with a hint of meaning.
Truth was, Matthew had been paying a lot of attention to Helen over the past few days, often appearing wherever she was.
Helen had clearly noticed.
But Matthew showed no embarrassment and asked bluntly, "I'm just curious—how did you land roles in a production like Gladiator?"
Helen offered a professional smile. "Just lucky, I guess."
Seeing that she wasn't going to elaborate, Matthew didn't push. He focused on his breakfast—it was going to be a long day.
As they ate, more people began to trickle into the dining room. Helen wiped her mouth and stood up. "I'm done. Enjoy your meal."
Matthew nodded, his mouth full of bacon.
Moments later, Michael rushed over with his tray and plopped into the seat beside Matthew. "I saw the boss of Angel Agency just now. What were you two talking about? Are you trying to hit on her?"
Matthew rolled his eyes. "Do you think that's even possible?"
"Definitely not!" Michael cracked a boiled egg and stuffed it into his mouth. "So, what did you talk about?"
"I asked how she got all these casting gigs," Matthew replied honestly.
Michael leaned in. "Did she tell you?"
"Nope," Matthew shook his head. "She's tight-lipped."
After breakfast, they stepped outside the inn. The sky was still dark, but the street was brightly lit. The fifty or so extras from Angel Agency quickly assembled. Helen Herman and her assistant Amanda led the group out of town toward the edge of a forest.
Bright lights towered above, pushing back the darkness and flooding the area with brightness. Around twenty makeup trailers were parked in a row, and over fifty makeup artists and assistants were ready for action.
From the outer circle of makeup trailers, Matthew spotted Helen speaking to a bearded man. After a few words, she returned.
"We're splitting into two groups!" she announced. "One group follows Amanda for makeup! The rest come with me to change into costumes!"
The extras quickly formed two lines. Michael made a beeline for the makeup group, but Matthew yanked him into the costume line.
"What are you doing? We all need beards glued on," Matthew said.
He had done some asking around after yesterday's rehearsal. "It's not even 4 a.m. yet. The earliest they'll start filming is after 9. Do you really want fake hair glued to your face for five hours?"
Michael quickly switched sides.
Epic films were a massive hassle to shoot—especially when it came to styling actors. Matthew had spent the past few days doing more than just rehearsing. He'd been networking with assistants and crew members to learn the ropes. While extras were told to arrive before 4 a.m. to start hair and makeup, the lead actors wouldn't show up until after 7. And the male lead, Russell Crowe, had a reputation for being difficult—being ten or even thirty minutes late was routine.
Such was the privilege of being a star.
After three productions, Matthew was starting to see a pattern: extras and bit-part actors worked their butts off, while big-name stars strolled in late without consequence.
He didn't know if that was true across the board, but it certainly seemed typical.
The costume line slowly shuffled forward toward the wardrobe trailers. It was just after 4 a.m., and the entire Gladiator production was already running like a well-oiled machine.
This was Hollywood, after all. A-list all the way—especially today's battle scene, which featured over a thousand actors. Combined with the crew, there were more than 2,500 people on-site.
As Matthew passed by various departments, he saw how precisely everything operated. The production was like a massive machine—efficient, disciplined, and in perfect order.
"So this is what a real industrial-scale production looks like," he thought.
Compared to the Gladiator set, the Dreamgirls shoot he worked on before was just a backyard operation.
When the line reached the wardrobe trailers, progress slowed. Hundreds of extras had gathered. No matter how efficient the crew was, the wait was inevitable.
Matthew waited quietly. Over an hour passed. Only when the sky began to brighten did it become his turn.
Extras didn't get custom designs. A wardrobe assistant looked him over and handed him a rough-spun tunic and a faux-fur cloak. After changing into the outfit—slightly too small but passable—the assistant patted his arm. "You're good to go."
Lastly, Matthew put on a pair of tattered shoes and walked out of the trailer like a barbarian warrior.
"Makeup's next," Helen Herman called nearby, pointing the way. "Move fast!"
"Got it!"
Matthew joined the makeup line, his costume thick and warm. Thankfully, Los Angeles mornings in March were still cool—filming this kind of scene in summer would be unbearable.
By the time it was his turn, the sun was already up. A female artist tousled his short hair until it looked like a bird's nest. Then her assistant began applying a fake beard.
In Hollywood's epic films, beards were essential—regardless of how good-looking the character was.
Barbaric Germanic tribes were no exception.
They used pre-made facial hair that matched his hair color, glued directly onto his face—not strand by strand, as Matthew had imagined.
With so many extras, there was no time for perfection. Matthew figured that level of detail was reserved for lead actors.
After the beard came face paint—random symbols and grime-like effects. As time passed, the glue itched, but he couldn't scratch it, or the whole look would fall apart.
He endured.
Finally, at the props trailer, Matthew was handed a barbarian-style weapon.
The prop master sized him up and gave him a two-handed battle axe. Despite its fearsome double-bladed design, it was surprisingly light—probably plastic or resin, weighing just five or six pounds.
And with that, a fearsome barbarian warrior was born.
Axe slung over his shoulder, Matthew was led to the forest's edge to join the others waiting for their call.
He asked around—turns out it was already past 8 a.m.!
From arriving before 4 a.m. to finishing his costume, over four hours had passed—most of it just waiting.
His legs ached. His feet were numb. Many extras looked tired and half-asleep.
But if you wanted even a split-second of screen time, you had to keep waiting.
The sun climbed higher. Matthew watched as cameras, cranes, and tracks were all set up and ready to go.
A bearded man walked over with a white-haired older man—followed closely by Helen Herman, who seemed very chummy with them.
"Alright, people!" the bearded man shouted. "Get ready! We're about to shoot!"
He looked to the older man, who nodded, and then called out, "Okay, places! Just like we rehearsed!"
"Quick!" Matthew felt someone tug his arm—it was Michael. "That old guy is Ridley Scott! Let's move up front!"
Clearly, they weren't the only ones with that idea. A surge of extras rushed forward, eager to get closer to the cameras—hoping to appear in the frame and maybe impress a legendary director.
Michael muscled his way through the crowd, shoving a shorter man aside and even yanking someone's shirt to get ahead.
He was desperate to be seen by Ridley Scott.
In just a few seconds, the whole group of extras descended into chaos.