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Future
Perfect
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"Bad News from Ivor Prime"
from Future Perfect
© 1998 by Jeff Greenwald
Jonathan Frakes has been in the director's chair for nearly eight
hours by the time I arrive on Stage 29. I walk quickly past the
catering table and makeup stations to the radiant corner where
filming is underway. The Main Bridge is dormant, lit only by auxiliary
lights. Peering over the sound man's shoulder, I read the daily
call sheet. They're shooting scene 17, the last work of the day.
The action takes place in Jean-Luc Picard's ready room, stage
right of the bridge. Patrick Stewart is inside, separated from
the film crew by a cut-away wall. The space is jammed; he's barely
visible through the clutter of lights, cameras and cables. I sneak
up behind Jonathan Frakes and watch the action on the director's
twin Sony monitors.
Stewart currently inhabits a position that every actor dreams
of: dominating a role so completely that a replacement would be
unthinkable. With Captain Kirk in cold storage, only one man alive
can bridle the Enterprise, and Paramount wants to keep him happy.
As a result, Stewart's touch can be felt all over First Contact.
He edited the script, helped choose some of the music, and lobbied
- hard - for the choice of Frakes as director.
Movies are almost never filmed in chronological order. The scene
now being shot comes just moments after the opening credits. Picard
struggles awake from a bone-chilling dream. Images of his assimilation
into the Borg collective, the gory alien surgery that transformed
him into a cyborg, invade his memory, and the murmur of the Borg
hive rattles through his skull. The inhuman chirp swells in volume,
until a bleep from a nearby terminal jars him back to reality.
Picard swings from his cot in full uniform. Visibly shaken, he
authorizes the incoming message. A Starfleet Admiral appears on
the screen. "Catch you at a bad time, Jean-Luc?" The actor portraying
the Admiral isn't there; his part is read by a script supervisor.
"No, of course not."
"I've just received a disturbing report from Deep Space Five,"
the Admiral continues. "Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed
this morning. Long-range sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
That's it: one line. Five words. That's the meat, the goo, the
gold ring that Frakes is after. Once it's in the can, everyone
goes home. But first takes are rarely perfect, and Frakes asks
Stewart to do the line several more times. There's a short delay
between each take while the lighting is adjusted, the cameras
refocused, and the film rolled up to speed. The clapboard snaps,
then: "Action!"
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know." The camera zooms slowly in from just below Stewart's
chin line, moving until his face fills the frame. "The Borg."
A beat. Frakes frowns; sound man Tommy Thomas reaches for his
New York Times crossword puzzle. After seven seasons as Jean-Luc
Picard, Stewart needs no direction. There's nothing Frakes can
say to explain how the line ought to be read. Frakes himself might
not know what he's after, but he knows that wasn't it. The cameras
are realigned, and he tries a fifth take.
"Long-range sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
Still not there. "Again."
"Long-range sensors have picked up..."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
The weary Stewart sounds like he's anticipating a visit from his
mother-in-law. Frakes, ever cheerful, stifles a laugh.
"Sorry, Patrick.... let's try it once more, shall we?"
Stewart gives no argument. The two have an excellent rapport,
on and off camera, that dates back to the first day they worked
together on TNG. Stewart, then a self-described "pompous ass",
blew a line, and Frakes playfully dissed him: "I say! That must
be what they call British face-acting! Not bad... for a Brit!"
The crew howled, and Stewart's slow, often painful process of
Americanization began.
"Everyone ready? Action!"
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. A pregnant pause; so far, so good. "Borg." Stewart
groans; he forgot the "the."
The irony of all this is that Stewart excels at live performance,
the kind where you've got to get it right the first time. A veteran
of the Royal Shakespeare Company, he's as comfortable with a monologue
as he is in a large ensemble cast. From 1988 until 1995, during
winter breaks from the production of TNG, his solo rendition of
Dickens's A Christmas Carol (in which Stewart played all forty-six
characters) drew standing ovations on Broadway. His 1995 appearance
as Prospero in The Tempest - performed to enormous crowds in Central
Park - was the toast of the town. Prior to First Contact, Stewart
appeared in no less than 150 stage productions. Seeing him stumble
over this stupid line is like watching Mohammad Ali get beaten
up by a kangaroo.
"Action!"
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
Frakes rises from his chair and approaches Stewart. They speak
in hushed tones, a pitcher and manager huddled on the mound. What's
the problem here? Is it with Stewart? Or the script itself? In
a very real sense, the film begins with this line; it anticipates
everything to come. All the emotions that Picard feels at this
instant - revulsion, fear and a wretched awareness of his bond
with the enemy - must be expressed in five syllables. I glance
around; the grips and gaffers are all mouthing the line, trying
to get it right. From the looks on their faces, no one is succeeding.
Because it's not Stewart, and it's not the script. It's the fucking
aliens themselves. The Borg. It looks great on paper, but you
just can't say it; much less with a British accent. Bawg. The Bawg. Klingons, Cardassians; these names roll off the tongue like restless
fillies. But Borg articulates like a belch, and there's no way
to save it. I know it, the crew knows it and I have a big feeling
that Stewart and Frakes know it, too. What to do? The word must
die, but die it cannot.
Frakes returns to his seat and takes a long swig of designer water.
"Okay, quiet everybody. Last time... we hope. Lights.... action!"
"Our colony on Ivor Prime was destroyed this morning. Long-range
sensors have picked up...."
"Yes, I know. The Borg."
Stewart peers hopefully into the camera, his face cloned double
on the director's monitors. "How was that, Jonathan? Much better,
I think."
"Uh.... great." Frakes turns toward his peanut gallery, holding
his nose. "Try it again, Patrick."
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