“Our world is built upon a mountain of anguish. Once you stir it up, who can tell what you will find?”
Little Ulf fidgeted as he watched his father, Ulf Mikkel, practicing his lines. His father was a perfectionist, and his fellows both hated and respected him for it. He might scream at them, but he was even more demanding of himself.
“Come here, boy. We need to do another read-through.” Some of the father’s frustration with himself leaked into the curt command.
“Yes, Father,” Little Ulf replied dutifully. He walked over to his father, took the proffered script, and got into position for the scene.
“How can we know who we are if we don’t know where we came from?” The question came out in the I’m-trying-to-be-reasonable tones of a boy attempting to be older than his years. No whine, this, but a cool and calm inquiry.
“What is it you want of me, boy?” The elder removed his glasses and gave the youngster an intense stare.
Unflinching, the boy pressed his desire home. “I want to know about the Old World, from before the Illness--I want to know what we lost.”
“Everything.” After that one bitter word, there was a pause before the elder continued. “The Illness took everything from us, except each other.
“You want to know who we are?
“We are survivors.
“We are family.
“We are--IMMUNE.”
There was another long pause while the two stared at each other in a silent test of wills. At last, the elder said, “Our world is built upon a mountain of anguish. Once you stir it up, who can tell what you will find?
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
The boy’s voice never once wavered in his reply. “I need to know where we came from.
“I need to know the truth.”
“And CUT!”
At the director’s cry, the assembled crew burst into spontaneous applause. Just this first take of the scene which would open every episode of the mini-series had thoroughly demonstrated the mastery of the elder Västerström and the raw talent of the younger in their common craft.
“Should we go again?” Ulf Mikkel asked the beaming director. “I think we can do it better.”
“I don’t,” the director replied. “Are we ready for the next scene?”
“I won’t be ready until I think we can’t do this scene better.”
“Then you’ll never be ready,” the director replied. “Get into your place for the next scene. Everyone else, places and READY!”
For a moment, Ulf Mikkel looked like he wanted to object, but the director was determined to be the mistress of her set. The crew-members got into their prescribed spots and prepared for the next take...
