In October 2016, I found myself stepping into the sprawling narrative of Goodbye Christopher Robin, a film illuminated by the talents of Domhnall Gleeson, Margot Robbie, and Kelly Macdonald.
This role, cast as a WW1 soldier, beckoned me into a transformative journey, beginning with a haircut that I believed would immerse me deeper into my character’s world. Yet, upon my arrival at the set, nestled within the tranquillity of the countryside, this very haircut became a point of contention, a miscommunication that threatened my place in this cinematic endeavour. It was Simon Curtis, the director, whose creative foresight salvaged the situation, suggesting makeup and a helmet to conceal the haircut that didn’t quite match the era’s authenticity.
The camaraderie among the cast, all of us donned in the heavy wool of our uniforms, grew as we engaged in the ritual of muddying ourselves to achieve the war-torn look our roles required. This authenticity extended to our preparation with a reenactment coach, an expert in the nuances of WW1 soldiering, who meticulously honed our abilities to carry and handle the period-accurate rifles, each piece carrying the weight of history.
However, as dusk enveloped the set, my encounter with the otherworldly shifted the night’s trajectory. Emerging from the holding tent, I was confronted by a spectral figure in white, her visage marked by the absence of eyes and mouth, replaced instead by haunting voids. At first, she seemed unaware of my gaze, but upon realising she was visable, she unleashed a silent scream—a chilling reminder of the veiled maiden in white who has haunted my footsteps since childhood, a presence I’ve chronicled as Angel, Demon, Djinn, Malak or Messenger?
This encounter seemed to herald a series of misfortunes: the initial haircut fiasco that almost cost me my role, a rogue flare disrupting a crucial first take of the scene, and a concerning moment when Domhnall Gleeson appeared unwell—all of which felt like manifestations of the spectral figure’s silent antagonism.
Yet, amidst these challenges, there were moments of victory. The casting director, making her rounds to determine which soldiers would remain for the next day’s filming, chose to keep me. This decision, a beacon of light amidst the spectral shadow, granted me another day on this remarkable journey. As the production day wound down, the crew’s reward of ordering Domino’s pizzas to our remote location felt like a celebration of our shared resilience, a moment of joyous reprieve in the face of the day’s earlier trials.
Reflecting on the day’s events, I recognised the interplay of light and shadow, of tangible and spectral challenges, as emblematic of my foray into the film industry. My initiation, marked by both creative fulfilment and encounters with the unseen, stood as a testament to the journey’s complexities—a path woven through with the fabric of dreams, ambition, and the lingering presence of a spectral antagonist.