FROM ADAM TO JESUS

It’s the beginning of two months in Italy. Two months working on a film in the blistering heat with every location nearly inaccessible. We’re shooting The Young Messiah the story of Jesus at 7 years of age, based on the Anne Rice Novel. The Young Messiah is being directed by Cyrus Nowrasteh, written by Cyrus and his wife, Betsy Giffen, produced by Christopher Columbus’ 1492 Pictures, and will be released by Focus Features in March of 2016.

I have been hired as the acting coach. My job is to turn young Adam Greaves-Neal into Jesus, every day, for forty days. We have 9 ½ hours on the set each day. Take out 3 hours for school, 4 hours on camera, 1 hour for lunch, another hour for mandated breaks. Then there’s hair, make-up and wardrobe, and all I’m left with is a mere 15 minutes each day to coach this young, rambunctious boy and prepare him for the role of a lifetime. I’ve been hired because of the success of THE TRAVIS TECHNIQUE™ on other films, but this lack of access to the lead character, who is in every scene, is really putting me to the test. Until, on the fifth day of shooting, Adam and I have a breakthrough.

I’m standing outside of my trailer. Linda, Adam’s guardian, is waiting in front of Joan’s trailer (his teacher) where Adam is in the middle of his daily schooling. We’re discussing the enormous challenges and burdens on this young actor. He’s only 9 years old and spends nearly half the day in school, doing math, science, and literature. I share a story with Linda, “Two days ago, Joan invited me to sit in on one of Adam’s lessons. They were studying literature and comprehension. I listened to Adam read a story. And then I listened to Adam discuss the story, in detail. I was impressed. His ability to comprehend the subtleties and subtext is amazing.”

Linda smiles at me, “Yes, he’s a bright boy with a quick mind. Behind that mischievous and impish 9-year old, is a thoughtful, considerate and serious young boy.”

My mind races back to the challenge, my time challenge. I have too little time to achieve so much. I’ve been working with Adam for only a few days and I see the mischievous, impish 9-year old. But how do I tap into the thoughtful, considerate and serious child? How do I ignite the ‘Jesus’ that is inside Adam?

“And, he does love to read,” Linda confirms. And then it hits me. I turn to Linda, “I’ll have something special for you and Adam to take home tonight. Please don’t leave without it.” And I abruptly dive into my trailer.

And I begin to write. I rewrite the script, every scene, starting with the scene we are going to shoot the next day, turning the dry script format into a lively journal that could only have been written by the 7-year-old Jesus, a Jesus who is thoughtfully and patiently recording his experiences. A young Jesus who is describing and reacting to everything he sees, hears, feels, senses or thinks.

That evening I present Linda and Adam with the ‘journal’ for tomorrow’s scene. Here’s an excerpt:

     I’m riding on the donkey seated in front of my Uncle Cleopas. He’s my favorite Uncle. Truth is, he’s my only Uncle. I’m worried because he is very sick and I’m afraid he’s dying. I think I can help, and I want to help, but Mother and Joseph have forbidden me to help. I don’t know why.

     The rolling motion of the donkey makes me sleepy. I nod off, safe in my Uncle’s arms. In a dream I see the face of the Dying Man, the man who saved my life in the canyon, saved me from the Roman soldiers. Horses and fighting soldiers race around me. The Dying Man looks at me pleading, and I want to reach out and touch him. I know I can heal him so he won’t have to die. He is so close.

     The donkey stumbles. I wake up with a start and cry out, “I saw him! I saw him!” Mother, walking beside the donkey, looks at me, “Who darling? Who did you see?” I tell her “the man, the Dying Man. I could have saved him.” Mother strokes my arm as the donkey lumbers forward and Cleopas starts coughing again. Mother says, “It was just a dream, my son. Just a dream.” But from the look in her eyes I can see that she is worried about me. But she is more worried about Cleopas, her brother, who is now coughing violently, so violently that we have to stop, Miriam and Mother pull me off. All I want to do is touch Cleopas, and heal him, and save him. But I know I’m not allowed.

I watch Adam as he reads the three-page journal. He smiles, frowns, smiles again, laughs, takes a deep breath, shakes off a tear, and then looks up at me. “That’s a good story, Mark. Thank you.” I look into his big brown eyes that are usually full of mischievous delight, but now are open, soulful pools of wonder. “This is your new script, Adam. Everyday I’ll give you a new scene, the next scene we’ll be shooting. But, remember, this is just the way I see you, as Jesus. Make any changes you like. If you see it differently, change it.”

He looks at the journal again, scans it, reads parts of it. Again I see him getting lost in the imagery, moments, and the detailed struggle of young Jesus. Then his eyes begin to sparkle and he laughs, “I found two mistakes.” “Really? Is that why you’re laughing?” “Yup.” And he lifts up the papers to show me, “Two typos. You’re a bad typist.” His eyes twinkle at me and the mischievous look is back. “You also write run-on sentences. I’m going to have to show Joan. You need her help.” And the old Adam is back.

That night I continue writing. It’s exhausting. Four or five scenes in one night, trying to stay ahead of the schedule.

The next morning I see Adam, there’s no time to rehearse. We’re walking to make-up. “Did you read the story again?” “Yeah. I read it to Linda. She likes it. I also read it to Joan in school this morning.” “Did you mention the typos and run-on sentences?” “No, I cleaned it up as I read it. Tried to make you look good. But I have a question. I couldn’t save the dying man in the canyon, but he saved my life. And now my Uncle is dying but I do nothing. Then later I refuse to save him, even when Miriam, his wife, asks me to. Why?” “Because you promised. You promised your mother, your father and even your cousin James. You promised you would never try to heal someone again. Tell me, Jesus, do you believe in promises?” “Yes, I do.” “When is it okay to break a promise?” He slows his walk and then stops, thinking deeply. “I think only when a life depends on it. I would break a promise to save a life.” He looks up at me. Those dark eyes are again soulful pools of wonder and curiosity. “Are you sure that your Uncle is dying? Or is he just very, very sick?” “I’m not sure. I’m just afraid.” “And if you were sure?” “Then I would break my promise and try to save him.” “Okay. Good. Follow your heart, Jesus.” He gives me a final look, a small smile starts to form and he walks into the make-up trailer.

Jesus and Cleopas are riding the donkey. The producers, director and I are watching them on the monitors. For the first time we see a Jesus we had not seen before. Not only is he deeply conflicted and passionate, but many of us see flickers of the Jesus yet to come, the adult Messiah. The producers and director give me a look of appreciation. I’m thankful for it, but my confirmation comes straight from Adam’s performance.

For the next ten days I continue to write the journal. I deliver scenes to Adam one day at a time. I include every important line of dialogue, and insert the reactions and feelings of all the characters as I imagine them. I write what I sense Jesus sees, feels, hears, imagines, wants and fears. I insert historical details to ground Adam in the era, the culture and the religion. I describe every aspect of the scene and the inner life and experience of Jesus, every detail that Adam needs to transform himself into the Young Messiah.

The journal, called “The Journey of Jesus,” became one of our major coaching and rehearsal tools over the forty days of shooting.

In another entry I will discuss other techniques I developed for Adam, the other children in “The Young Messiah,” as well as, for some of the adults.

I look forward to your thoughts, feedback and comments.

Mark

Munich, Germany