The sun had just crept over the horizon when Matthew walked into Disney Studios. The crew wouldn't shoot today; the main point was to gather the key cast and department heads for a pre-shoot huddle.
Thanks to Walt Disney's internal power struggles, the two pirates of the caribbean sequels were running behind schedule. So far only the returning cast from the first film had been locked; new roles like Davy Jones and the witch-priestess still hadn't been cast.
Then there were the legions of extras—well over a thousand would be used across the two sequels.
Stepping inside the studio lot, Matthew's first impression was sheer numbers. Around the sound-stages near the gate, hundreds of hopefuls queued for extra auditions.
Thanks to pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl, Matthew knew landing a pirate extra role wasn't easy: you needed memorable looks. A guy with his face would probably be rejected on sight.
This time, for example, the production had issued bizarre specs for "pirates": 18–50, either rail-thin or downright skeletal, crooked teeth preferred, a squint the cherry on top—the nastier the better. Long hair and a big beard mandatory. Looking like him? Don't even bother showing up.
Matthew skirted the sound-stages, watched from a distance, then headed for an office building near the front gate; the huddle would take place in its main conference room.
The directors' office and casting office were in the same small building.
Inside, Matthew checked the casting director's office first, then Gore Verbinski's—both empty—before resigning himself to the conference room.
He'd kept Helen Herman's words in mind; within reason, he'd do what he could for her.
Besides, Eva Green's gender and career path put her in no direct competition with him.
Down the long corridor he went, pushed open the door, and found someone had arrived even earlier.
"Hey, Keira." Seeing Keira Knightley glance over, Matthew walked straight up. "You're early."
Keira Knightley smiled. "So are you."
Matthew pointed at her hair. "Last time at the estate things were rushed—why the chop?"
At the engagement party he'd noticed her brown-blond mane had become a short, choppy cut—nothing like Elizabeth Swann's look.
Keira ran a hand through the short strands. "I took a film that needed it, so I cut it." She shrugged. "I asked production—they didn't mind. Extensions are so good these days, Elizabeth Swann won't suffer."
Matthew pulled out a chair beside her. "That cut with your angular face? Seriously sharp."
Keira rolled her eyes. "Compliment or crack?"
"Compliment, obviously. Long hair you're gorgeous; short hair you've got this fierce vibe—drop-dead cool."
"Still not Charlize Theron."
"My fiancée…"
"Oh, spare me, Matthew." Keira cut in. "You think I can't tell it's all an act?"
Matthew smiled and didn't deny it.
"Sometimes I really admire you," Keira said. "Last time we fake-dated; now you're fake-engaged to Charlize Theron—next up, fake marriage?"
"No next time." With no one else around, Matthew spoke plainly. "Do it again and the magic's gone."
Helen Herman had warned him: the stunt had a short shelf-life. With one foot already in the A-list and Bella Anderson building fan clubs, he'd rarely need such tricks again.
"What's to fear?" Keira bit her lip. "You're no idol; you don't have fans ready to riot."They clearly fake dated and he has been always been a good friend and an excellent bedmate but as soon as she thinks of his fake fiancee, she clearly feel bitter that's why avoided contacting him too much to calm her emotions. She cursed him inwardly for being despicable.
Matthew still shook his head. "If ever again, it'll be seven or eight years down the road." He'd never worried about fans. "For Pirates sequels we won't need gimmicks either."
Keira nodded, studying him. For all his looks, the guy had never once chased the teen-idol route.
Not being confined to the teen-idol mold is a stroke of luck for any actor.
Matthew quickly changed the subject. This is America, not The other side of the Pacific; celebrities here are barely hassled by fans over their love lives. Apart from a few quintessential teen idols, hardly anyone gasps or kicks up a fuss when a star starts dating.
Of course, even in relatively open-minded America there are extremists—the man who shot John Lennon and the one who tried to assassinate Reagan for Jodie Foster, for example.
But by now such fans are vanishingly rare; the most rabid ones still orbit teen idols. In today's Hollywood, when a teen idol goes public with a romance, losing part of the fanbase is simply unavoidable.
Over the past few years Matthew had worked closely with Walt Disney Pictures, a studio famous for minting teen idols, and he'd seen it firsthand. Coupled with the manufactured scandals of flow stars he once watched on The other side of the Pacific, he had formed his own take on the phenomenon.
Hollywood has a saying about teen idols: Mickey Mouse never takes his head off in front of the crowd.
In a way, for teen idols—especially those in a few countries across the Pacific—dating is an easy target for public attack, almost a breach of professional code, a self-dug pit.
From an industry standpoint, teen idols differ from actors or singers: they don't trade in content or honed skills; their hard skills are usually lacking.
Yet even with those gaps, idols can still make fans open their wallets gladly.
Why are teen idols so popular? Looking back with a few years in the business, Matthew figured they mold the ideal lover in fans' minds—or fulfill sexual fantasies. For some superfans, following and bankrolling an idol is their most sophisticated answer to a physical need.
In other words, teen idols are entertainers who spark sexual arousal, leave just enough room for fantasy and catharsis, and monetize it.
As for what "room for fantasy and catharsis" means, the answer isn't hard to imagine.
When Matthew lived across the Pacific he was only a moviegoer who loved gossip, never inside the industry. He knew little about teen idols there. Judging by Disney's products, idols without solid works or skills should have vague commodity value.
Yet insiders know that if an idol trips—underage drinking, drugs, or messy relationships—fans revolt overnight and careers can end in a snap.
Two paths follow: total collapse or reinvention beyond the teen-idol label.
Hence the quantified commodity value of a teen idol: maintain a stable, effective persona.
Hollywood is kinder; the social climate around teen idols is looser.
Across the Pacific, shaped perhaps by culture and history, idols must be publicly pure, spotless, even perfect.
They can't be privately "owned" by anyone; that would wreck the product. Female fans fantasizing about an idol feel like mistresses if he's attached, triggering subconscious guilt.
Male fans are simpler: "Don't say you love me with the mouth that kissed someone else."
Worse, fans who pour money, time, and effort into voting and merch feel betrayed when the idol uses that cash to woo someone else instead of advancing a career. Trust collapses.
Matthew guessed that in those countries an unspoken rule bans dating for teen idols. For idols and their agencies, it's the bedrock of survival. Unlike actors or singers, idols live by selling partial control of their intimacy; their public image moves product.
A teen idol who steps past that line may find a bigger future waiting.
Perhaps one day teen idols will break these taboos.
"Matthew…" Keira Knightley suddenly shifted topics. "We're still friends, right?"}]