"After a long day, exhaustion wins and you sink into deep sleep."
In a soundstage at a small studio near the University of Toronto, Zack Snyder, headphones around his neck, stood inside a set dressed as a police station and explained the scene to Matthew. "When you wake up, the world's changed. The station is eerily silent instead of hectic. Then—bam—something's off; your partner's been attacked, turned into a zombie. You sense it's wrong and start to investigate, cautiously…"
Matthew wore a tight black police-issue T-shirt on his upper body and standard-issue black pants below, nodding at Zack Snyder.
Zack Snyder turned and crouched in front of a little girl done up in horrific makeup, walking her through her part. Compared with adult actors like Matthew, child performers were the ones who really gave a director headaches.
Every director has personal habits and demands. Zack Snyder was nothing like the directors Matthew had worked with before: he forbade rehearsal before shooting, preferring the spontaneous sparks that fly when actors collide in the moment—perfect for strangers thrown together by disaster.
So, during prep the production hadn't arranged any cast meet-and-greets or advance rehearsals.
Of course, actors who'd handle firearms on camera still had to train and learn basic weapons safety.
Matthew didn't know about anyone else, but he certainly hadn't rehearsed with a single cast member before arriving in Toronto.
Every location for this shoot was in Toronto, the Canadian city many Hollywood productions love—nicknamed "Hollywood North." It had become the third-largest film-production hub in North America, right behind Los Angeles and New York.
After arriving in Canada, Matthew learned a few things: Universal Pictures and Sean Daniel hadn't chosen Toronto just because a big mall scheduled for demolition was available.
Besides serving as a nearby "satellite city" for Hollywood, Toronto's government had dangled irresistible incentives. Matthew had overheard Sean Daniel mention that the city could rebate nearly ten percent of the production budget.
That wasn't even the ceiling; Matthew later found out local subsidies for Hollywood shoots could climb as high as twelve percent of total production costs.
Compared with California and Los Angeles, such perks were magnetic.
If he were the producer,
he'd bring the shoot here instead of staying in L.A.
After finishing with the girl, Zack Snyder reminded her accompanying family of a few points, then gave a couple of notes to another cop-costumed actor. Seeing no other issues, he got ready to roll.
While departments made final tweaks, Matthew stepped off-camera, lay down on a sofa, and shut his eyes. Though there'd been no rehearsals, he'd received the script earlier than any principal cast member—starting the very day he'd signed his contract at the beginning of the month. At Angel Talent Agency he'd studied the role, found people to run lines with, and analyzed every scene.
"dawn of the dead, scene one, shot one!" the Assistant Director called. "Rolling now!"
Zack Snyder and the DP each operated a camera from non-interfering angles. The set fell dead silent; at the director's insistence, even the crew's breathing was hushed.
Matthew rolled over on the sofa, waking. He stretched, glanced at the wall clock, and was about to stand when his partner, dozing near the door, stirred awake as well.
A rash of biting incidents had stretched local police thin. Matthew's lead character and the other officer had worked late, never leaving the station, grabbing rest in a spare Room.
The door burst open; harsh sunlight spilled in. Matthew squinted, still adjusting, as the partner near the door asked, "What's up, Cordill?"
It was the girl they'd picked up on the way back to the station last night—separated from her family.
Matthew blinked, eyes adapting, and noticed something wrong with the child's mouth—but before he could react she sprang and sank her teeth into the officer's carotid.
The pre-rigged blood pack burst on cue, a geyser of red splashing the white walls.
Matthew lunged, yanking the girl away. She tore at the chunk of flesh taped to the actor's neck; he clutched his throat and collapsed. Then, maw gaping, she whirled and came for Matthew.
Though clearly bewildered and a bit flustered, Matthew's resolute face still showed enough composure; after all, this was a seasoned cop. He grabbed the little girl by the shoulders and flung her out.
The crew had long since set up safety measures, so there was no need to worry about accidents.
Matthew rushed over and slammed the door shut. The instant it closed, violent pounding began outside, shaking the entire door.
Ignoring the door, Matthew turned to check on his partner, who lay on the floor twitching while blood gushed from his neck. He quickly grabbed a towel and pressed it to the man's throat.
"Help!" he shouted at the same time. "Help! Someone here needs help!"
But everything around was eerily quiet; no one answered.
Unable to stanch the bleeding, Matthew, frantic now, yanked the blood-soaked radio off his partner and yelled, "We need help! Someone's badly hurt here…"
The radio gave back only crackling static—no response.
"Cut!" Director Zack Snyder called a halt. "Pretty good! But, Matthew, your expressions need a bit more range. Let's go again."
In the whole crew, apart from Sean Daniel, Matthew had the biggest name. Zack Snyder, who had spent years shooting music videos for stars and ads for top brands, knew how to talk to celebrities, and any film director is, by definition, an expert at coordination and communication.
Matthew waved to Zack Snyder. "No problem!"
He sat on a nearby sofa; his personal make-up artist hurried over for touch-ups. The other two actors had it worse—they had to be made up from scratch, especially the cop who'd "died," who had to Shower first and then be redone.
But no one complained, even though everyone knew it was Matthew's flat expressions that had caused the hassle.
This is the privilege of an A-list male star.
An hour later shooting resumed. Matthew did a little better this time; Zack Snyder, coming from commercials and music videos, cared more about composition than performance. When it basically met the mark, he called it good.
He'd prepared for years to cross over into film and knew full well that acting in commercial blockbusters is very different from acting in indie dramas.
Many performances that pass in the former would fail in the latter, yet the latter's deep psychological digging is equally unsuited to popcorn entertainment.
After this scene Matthew improved slightly, and there were no more takes that meant hours of re-make-up. Filming went a bit smoother; although every shot still needed several takes, this was the start of production—normal teething troubles.
The retakes weren't necessarily his fault. Apart from the cinematographer and production designer, who'd come with Zack Snyder, the crew had been patched together. Even with plenty of prep, such a team still needs on-set break-in.
The morning's shoot proceeded in fits and starts. About a third of the stops were for Matthew's limited expressions; the rest came from other issues—lighting tweaks, actor marks, camera moves, or Zack Snyder suddenly having a new idea.
By lunchtime they'd shot five setups. After Matthew escaped the zombified station by climbing out a bathroom window, Zack Snyder called wrap for the morning.
To keep continuity, Matthew didn't remove his make-up. He took his phone from his assistant and headed for the canteen. His previous PA had quit, so the production had supplied a new one—slightly inconvenient, but he had no secrets to hide.
The studio near the University of Toronto was small and currently home only to dawn of the dead. The production had arranged for the commissary to cater all meals.
Because he was still in costume—his shirt smeared with ketchup that looked like blood—Matthew stayed back, had his assistant load a tray with his favorite dishes, and found a table to eat alone.
This morning's scenes had been on the soundstage; this afternoon they'd move to an outdoor set. There was no leading-lady work scheduled, and Matthew hadn't seen Jessica Alba on set.
He sat, took a sip of water, and was about to taste the promising-looking beef-and-potato stew when two women suddenly appeared and sat opposite him.
Matthew glanced up: Helen Herman and Alexandra Daddario, who had scenes to shoot that afternoon.
"Something on your minds?" he asked.