The chaotic gunfire subsided, another gun battle scene was wrapped up, and Martin handed the pistol he used to Bruce,
waited a mont, then joined ne to head for lunch.
Nolan ca over and said, "Co on, let's go together."
As Martin followed him to a nearby restaurant, he asked, "I just looked at the latest filming schedule. Are all my scenes finished for today?"
Nolan emphasized, "It's the Los Angeles scenes." He asked Martin, "Do you have other plans?"
Just yesterday, Martin had received an invitation: "Tom Cruise has asked to discuss sothing."
Nolan didn't inquire further and turned the conversation back to the action scenes they were shooting: "The scenes in Canada, all of them will be shot on the snowy mountains. Can you ski?"
Martin nodded, "I can ski, trained a bit before, but I wouldn't say I'm an expert."
He once doubled for an actor in a film with a Soviet the and had lots of ski scenes.
Bruce followed behind. When Nolan walked a bit ahead, he deliberately muttered to ne, "Our boss, the pri example of all brawn and no brains."
The group entered the restaurant to eat.
The production had reserved the entire restaurant, where they would have lunch and dinner during the shooting. Martin and Nolan's entrance caught the attention of many.
Clayson, who worked as an assistant set designer, ate his lunch quickly as usual and left the restaurant with two colleagues.
The two colleagues with their bulging bellies looked for a place to cool off and rest.
Lately, Clayson had taken walks near the street closed off by the crew after lunch.
Many others on the set did the sa, so he didn't stand out at all.
With his hands in his pockets, Clayson strolled toward the alley where the props team was stationed. Since the crew used real guns for filming, soone from the props departnt was always left on guard even during al tis.
But the person on watch would always take a nap in the chair around this ti every day.
Clayson had witnessed this several tis.
This ti was no exception. Between the two prop trucks, the guard sat on a lounge chair with sunglasses over his eyes, seemingly dutiful yet actually snoring away.
In Hollywood, many productions don't manage their departnts very strictly, leading to quite a few accidents caused by carelessness and negligence.
As usual, Clayson passed by. Everyone nearby had gone for lunch, leaving no one else around.
His gaze fell on a locker, and he coughed softly a few tis.
The guard didn't react, probably because he partied every night at clubs.
Clayson put on a pair of gloves, slipped to the back of the prop trucks, placed a folding workbench by the vehicles, opened the half-closed back door, and revealed the inside of the cargo hold.
The props team had at least so professional integrity, storing guns, magazines, and blanks all inside the cargo hold, rather than on the workbench.
Yet the cargo hold's safety lock wasn't secured.
Once this lock was fastened, it required a code to reopen, which was a bit of a hassle.
Hollywood crews Clayson had worked with would usually leave it open all day long after unlocking it in the morning.
An assistant set designer, Clayson was quick and skillful with his hands. He gently slid the locker door open and saw the firearms used by the main characters.
The guns and magazines were all disassembled, each magazine loaded with blanks.
There were five M9 handguns inside, but Clayson couldn't tell which one Martin used.
As an assistant, he rarely had contact with the main actors on set.
Ti didn't allow for delay, so he casually took a magazine, ejected the six dummy rounds inside, inserted three live rounds he brought, and topped them with three more dummy rounds. He carefully replaced the magazine, leaving the locker as it was.
Clayson quickly checked his surroundings to make sure no one was around, then walked through the long alley, turning onto another street not blocked by the crew.
After a distance, he carefully removed his gloves. The drains in the city center were dilapidated, so with broken grates. He tossed the gloves and blanks into separate drains.
Clayson was confident no one had seen him.
Hands back in his pockets, he strolled back to the set design area as he had done for the past few days, looking relaxed and carefree.
Lunch break for the crew was over, and shooting was about to resu.
In the production Martin was part of, Bruce always officially worked with the prop departnt.
Before the other actors arrived, Old Cloth ducked into the alley where the props were held to inspect the guns for the shoot.
"Don't you find it troubleso? Or don't you trust us?"
A prop master complained with resentnt, "We've been guarding these firearms; they won't give us any trouble."
Bruce replied, "It's part of my duty, try to understand."
The prop master with sunglasses said, "We understand you, but who's going to understand us?" He couldn't help adding another comnt, "Old Cloth, are you guys suffering from so kind of persecution complex?"
The truth is, these two idiots really did have one.
Bruce specifically explained, "You guys must have forgotten. The last one we took down was a Russian spy. Think about it, that's an entity second only to Arica. You're still struggling in Hollywood, and you forgot the infamy of the KGB?"
The two complaining prop masters imdiately fell silent. The polar bear was too frightening, and one could never be too careful.
Bruce first inspected the rifles, removing all blanks from the magazines and then reinserting them to make sure each bullet was fine.
The actors using these firearms would be shooting at Martin in the upcoming scene.
He then moved on to inspect the handguns.
Just as Bruce picked up the M9 used by Martin, English actor Tom Hardy ca over to receive his weapon.
All the handguns were the sa; he casually picked up an M9.
Bruce reminded, "Wait till I've checked it."
Tom Hardy didn't dare to confront Martin, but he didn't care about Martin's lackeys and snickered, "Don't overrate yourself; no one's out to get you or your master all the ti."
Bruce turned to look at him.
Tom Hardy had a roguish air about him. He raised an eyebrow and challenged, "Am I wrong? Huh?"
Bruce, who had dealt with the English with a mortar, said, "Watch your filthy mouth."
"Heh heh..." Tom Hardy knew the man was not to be trifled with and toned it down a bit, casually grabbing a magazine from the cabinet and unloading the bullets, "Look, prop bullets, prop bullets, still prop bullets!"
He unloaded three bullets in a row, placing them in front of Bruce, "See it clearly now?"
The prop master with sunglasses hurriedly stepped between the two and said, "The crew is about to start shooting soon, don't waste ti."
Tom Hardy pressed the blank rounds back into the magazine, shoved it into the handgun, and, without giving Bruce another look, turned and walked away.
Since the other party wasn't going to film the sa scene with Martin today, Bruce didn't say anything more and carefully inspected the rest of the weapons and magazines.
The other actors ca one after another to collect their guns.
Bruce handed ne a handgun and picked up the one for Martin's use, heading back to the set together.
ne asked, "Did you have a conflict with Tom Hardy?"
Bruce was surprised, "Did the news spread that quickly?"
ne said, "That guy is going around claiming that you and I are slaves and Martin is our slave master."
Bruce frowned slightly, saying, "I rember Nicholson's homade rocket launcher is still around; it might be necessary to bring it to set tomorrow."
ne's eyes lit up, "Then light the fuse, and the rocket will follow the path of the rocket launcher..."
Bruce nodded, "That's the civilized way to do it! Dealing with an English gentleman requires a civilized approach."
ne said, "Make sure to call ."
When they arrived at the shooting set, Bruce handed the gun over to Martin.
Action director Tom ca over, discussed the scene with Martin, and gave instructions on what to pay attention to in the upcoming action scene.
The dream sequence shot in Los Angeles was split into two parts: Martin and Ellen Page were one team, and ne led the others.
First to be shot in the afternoon was the part where ne, with Ken Watanabe and Tom Hardy, kidnapped Cillian Murphy and then had a gunfight with the dream guards.
Martin had nothing to do at the mont and simply ward up.
Ellen Page, wearing a hood, ca over and said, "That Tom Hardy is like a shit-stirrer, spreading rumors everywhere."
Martin nodded, "I've heard. Just ignore him."
The clapper went to the cara to slate as the crew maintained silence.
Martin and Ellen Page stopped talking as well.
As filming started, the sound of semi-automatic rifle fire was the first to ring out, with a cinematography assistant setting up for handheld shooting with a Steadicam.
From the severely damaged taxi, Tom Hardy opened the door, jumped out, clenched the gun with both hands, and, using the taxi for cover, pulled the trigger.
Three consecutive shots rang out, bang, bang, bang! As planned, a gunman fell.
Tom Hardy quickly spun the gun around and fired again.
Many gunfight shots have to be completed with post-editing, and the actors don't really need to aim. Tom Hardy's turn was sowhat exaggerated, and he pulled the trigger once more.
Bang! Bang—
The assistant who was filming with the Steadicam saw the cara in front of him explode, with black fragnts flying up.
That's when he heard the third gunshot and suddenly his right hand lost strength, followed by searing pain in his shoulder. Unable to support the cara, it crashed to the ground with a thud.
The assistant fell, his shoulder bursting open with a spray of blood.
Nolan, sensing sothing was wrong, yelled, "Cut! Cut! Stop right there!"
The set turned chaotic.
But Nolan's command and charisma won out, taking up the gaphone and shouting, "Tom, don't move! Put down the gun, stay still! Doctor, where's the doctor? Emma, call 911! Everybody, don't move! It's just an accident!"
With Nolan's efforts, the set did not devolve into real chaos.
In the waiting area, Bruce had already stepped in front of Martin and asked, "How many shots did Tom Hardy fire?"
Martin, experienced with firearms, heard clearly, "Three shots at first, then another three, but the first three were fine, blanks, and the next..."
Bruce rembered very clearly, the first three rounds Tom Hardy unloaded were indeed blanks.
Tom Hardy's handgun lay on the back seat of the taxi, his hands clutching his head, unclear about what had just happened.
The others were equally confused.
So veterans on the crew suddenly recalled "The Crow."
Situations like this were not new to Hollywood, nor would they be the last.
Tom Hardy was well aware that it was bullets from his gun that had injured the assistant.
At this mont, he was full of regret. Why hadn't he let that bastard Bruce check the gun and magazine thoroughly?
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