Chapter 873: Martin and the Crossdresser!

Disney Studios - Inside the Makeup Trailer

The soft hum of chatter filled the makeup trailer at Disney Studios, where Martin sat patiently before a large, brightly lit mirror. His reflection stared back at him, but it was no longer entirely his own. Two skilled makeup artists, their hands steady and practiced, meticulously shaped his eyebrows and applied makeup to his eyes, transforming his gaze into something both delicate and fierce. The final touch, a wig of flowing dark hair, cascaded down his shoulders, completing the illusion. Nearby, a short red skirt hung on a rack, waiting for its turn.

"Alright, let's get you dressed," one of the makeup artists said, stepping back to admire their work. Martin nodded, rising from the chair with a graceful ease that belied the intensity of the transformation.

He reached for the red dress, feeling the smooth fabric between his fingers before slipping it on, the crimson material clinging to his form. Next came the black stockings, sliding up his legs like a second skin, followed by the challenge of the ensemble, high-heeled boots. He stepped into them one by one, feeling the unfamiliar weight on his feet. When he finally stood, his reflection was startling. The man who had entered the trailer was gone; in his place stood a tall, poised figure, a cross-dresser who exuded confidence.

Bruce, standing by the doorway with his arms crossed, watched the transformation with an amused grin. "Need a hand with those boots? You sure you won't topple over?"

Martin shot him a sharp look, a smirk playing on his painted lips. "Please, I'm not new to this. Watch and learn." With that, he took a few deliberate steps, his gait smooth and cat-like, each movement accentuated by the click of his heels on the floor.

Today marked the first day of shooting for "Split," a highly anticipated project under the meticulous direction of David Fincher. To immerse Martin in his character's psyche, Fincher had chosen to begin with one of the film's most striking scenes, the introduction of the female personality, a stark contrast to the male protagonist.

Los Angeles had no shortage of cross-dressers, and Martin had studied many, trying to find the essence of femininity that he needed for his role. But the individuals he encountered were either too flamboyant or too monstrous, nothing like the nuanced character he was set to portray. Seeking guidance, he had flown to New York the previous month, where he met with supermodels Karolina Kurkova and Angela Lindvall. Their insights had been invaluable, offering him a crash course in grace, poise, and the subtle art of seduction.

Martin wasn't a method actor; he didn't need to lose himself entirely in the role. For him, acting was a craft, not a lifestyle. Once the cameras stopped rolling, he would return to being Martin. But as he exited the makeup trailer, it was as if he had flipped a switch. He moved with the fluidity and confidence of a woman, his transformation complete.

On set, David Fincher scrutinized him with a critical eye, as he always did. "Not bad," he said, nodding slowly, "but you're still a little too strong."

Martin adjusted the prosthetic breast beneath his dress, grimacing. "Do I really need this? It's incredibly uncomfortable."

Fincher's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know the game here in Hollywood. This character, this female persona, she's your ticket to an Oscar. Play it right, and the discomfort will be worth it."

Martin's expression softened with understanding. "Alright, let's get it done."

With a nod from Fincher, the assistant director called for everyone to take their places. The set, a dimly lit basement room designed to look like a prison cell, was already buzzing with anticipation. Three actresses awaited their cue: Anya Taylor-Joy, dressed in a snug grey bodysuit, lounged casually on a couch to the left. On the bed to the right, Ana de Armas and Sofia Stallone sat close together, whispering quietly.

The moment Martin stepped onto the set, the chatter died down. All eyes turned to him, the atmosphere thick with a mix of admiration and curiosity. Sofia, the most familiar with him, couldn't hold back her surprise. "Wow, Martin, you look stunning."

Martin responded with a subtle smile, one that held a hint of the character he was about to portray. "Are you three ready for this?"

Anya spoke up first, her voice light but firm. "I've been ready. Remember, Martin? We rehearsed this scene together."

Sofia glanced at Anya, her eyes narrowing slightly. The tension between the two actresses was palpable, though only Sofia allowed a hint of her thoughts to show. "Bitch," she thought, her expression betraying nothing.

Ana de Armas, meanwhile, remained silent, her eyes reflecting a depth of thought that was hard to read. Her journey from Cuba to Spain, and then to Hollywood, had been long and arduous. Unlike the others, she wasn't just preparing for a scene, she was preparing for her next big break. Focused and intense, she kept her thoughts to herself, channeling all her energy into the role she was about to play.

As the final preparations were made, the air buzzed with a quiet intensity. The stage was set, the actors in position. It was time to bring the scene and the characters, to life.

The crew was in position, the set was quiet, and anticipation filled the air as the script supervisor clapped the board to signal the start of the first scene for "Split."

Martin stood just outside the basement door, taking a deep breath before stepping into character. As he pushed the heavy door open and entered the cell, the cameraman followed his movements, capturing him from the side. Martin's imposing height, long legs, and the careful attention to his costume, complete with a flowing wig and prosthetic breasts; made him a striking figure on camera.

"Cut!" David Fincher's voice rang out, stopping the action. He leaned forward in his chair, his keen eye catching something the others had missed. "We need to adjust the camera position. Lower it further. I want the shot of him entering the door from an upward angle, let's emphasize the character's dominance and allure."

The Director of Photography, Jeff Kronweiss, nodded and immediately relayed Fincher's instructions to his crew. Within moments, they were repositioning the camera, lowering it to capture the desired angle.

Martin stepped out of the cell, waiting for the adjustments to be made. He remained in character, his mind focused on the scene ahead. Once everything was set, the script supervisor clapped the board again, and Martin gracefully re-entered the cell, his steps slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking its prey.

The main camera started with a high angle shot, then slid smoothly along its track to position itself in front of Martin. As the lens lifted from the ground up, it followed the line of his body, highlighting his transformation. Finally, the camera focused on a close-up of his face, capturing the softness in his eyes, the careful way he held his hands in front of him, and the relaxed posture he had crafted to embody the character's feminine persona.

This was no caricature of femininity, no exaggerated parody. Martin had crafted a performance that was both subtle and captivating. His movements were delicate, his eyes gentle, and he deliberately lowered his shoulders to convey a relaxed, almost serene presence. The camera lingered on his face, capturing every nuance of his expression.

"Cut! Perfect! This one's a wrap!" David Fincher's voice carried a note of satisfaction. "Great job, Martin. Keep that energy."

Martin, still in character, glanced at the director's monitor and flashed a thumbs-up before resetting his position for the next take.

As filming resumed, the scene shifted focus. This time, the dialogue would begin, and the three actresses, Anya Taylor-Joy, Ana de Armas, and Sofia Stallone, were no longer just background figures. They stepped into the frame, ready to play their parts alongside Martin.

As the scene unfolded, it quickly became apparent that the difference in acting ability was stark. Anya and Ana moved through their lines with practiced ease, their performances layered with complexity. Sofia, however, struggled to keep up. Her performance was competent, but lacked the depth of her co-stars, highlighting her inexperience compared to the seasoned professionals around her.

Recognizing this, Fincher made a quick adjustment. He added a new layer to Sofia's character, incorporating a touch of mysophobia, a fear of germs, to add dimension to her performance. This tweak not only helped Sofia find her footing but also served to foreshadow the tragic fate of the personality she portrayed, aligning with the overarching narrative where each personality the male protagonist created faced its own demise.

The morning continued with a series of takes focusing on the female personality. Martin, thoroughly prepared, delivered each line and gesture with precision, though the discomfort from his high-heeled boots began to take its toll. After several hours of shooting, he was more than ready for a break.

When the lunch break was finally called, Martin wasted no time slipping out of the torturous heels and into a pair of comfortable slippers. He headed to lunch, the relief evident in his stride. Just as he was about to enter the trailer afterward, Ana de Armas approached him, her smile warm and inviting.

The Latin American actress, who had journeyed through three different countries and nearly a decade of hard work without yet achieving the stardom she deserved, greeted Martin with a knowing look. Her eyes flickered down to the slippers on his feet. "I see you're not exactly in love with the high heels," she teased lightly.

Martin chuckled, shaking his head. "I've never had to wear them before. I didn't realize just how much they'd hurt after a few hours."

Ana laughed, nodding in sympathy. "They're a killer, aren't they? But you handled it like a pro. You're really selling the character."

"Thanks," Martin replied, appreciating her encouragement. "I'll just have to keep reminding myself that it's all part of the role."

As Ana headed off to prepare for the next scene, Martin lingered for a moment, reflecting on the morning's work. The discomfort was real, but so was the satisfaction of bringing the character to life. He knew that every detail, even down to the pinch of those high heels, was contributing to the authenticity of his performance. And for that, it was worth every moment of discomfort.

Ana arrived well-prepared, her demeanor both professional and warm. "I understand what you're going through," she began, her voice laced with empathy. "Wearing high heels for long periods can be brutal on the feet. I've experienced it myself, and it used to leave me in agony. That's why I learned a bit of foot massage. It really helps with circulation and eases the discomfort."

Her offer was straightforward, her eyes meeting Martin's with sincerity. "You've been strutting around in those high-heeled leather boots all morning, and I can tell it's taking a toll. If your feet are hurting, it could impact your performance later. Would you like me to give you a massage?"

Martin studied her for a moment, taking in the earnestness in her gaze. Ana was no stranger to the struggles of the industry, and she knew better than to hide her intentions. "I'm just trying to help," she explained. "Your performance is crucial to the success of this film. If it's a hit, we all benefit."

After a pause, Martin gave a small nod. "Alright," he said, opening the door to his trailer and gesturing for her to follow. "You're welcome to come in."

The trailer, like most on set, had a cozy, familiar layout. Ana immediately took the initiative, asking Martin a few questions to ease the tension before disappearing into the washroom. She returned with a basin of steaming hot water, setting it down near the sofa. "Sit down, take off your shoes," she instructed gently. "I'll wash your feet first."

Martin, always open to suggestions, obliged without hesitation. He settled into the sofa and kicked off his shoes, sighing in relief as the pressure on his feet eased.

Ana carefully lifted one of Martin's feet and lowered it into the warm water. As she began to wash them, she spoke softly. "I've traveled a lot over the years, and one thing I learned in East Asia is that soaking your feet in hot water is believed to improve blood circulation. It's a simple remedy, but it works wonders."

Martin, reminded of a skilled masseuse he had once encountered, responded with a casual nod. "I've heard that too."

As she worked, Ana began sharing stories of her life, weaving together tales of her experiences in Cuba and Spain. Her voice was soothing, almost hypnotic, as she recounted the challenges she had faced. She spoke of her family often, emphasizing the roles they played in her decisions.

"When I was younger, I had dreams of making it big in Hollywood," she confided, her hands never pausing in their gentle massage. "There was a time when I had two offers, one from a Hollywood crew and one from a Spanish production. The Hollywood offer was only $3,000, but the Spanish one offered me a supporting role and 15,000 euros. The decision was tough."

Martin, now fully relaxed, couldn't help but ask, "So, you chose the Spanish crew?"

Ana nodded, her expression bittersweet. "I did. My father had just lost his job, my mother was ill, and my brother had been accepted into college. He needed tuition money, and the higher pay from the Spanish crew was something I couldn't turn down, even if it meant giving up on Hollywood for a while."

As Ana's words sank in, Martin felt a strange sense of connection. The combination of her heartfelt story and the expert way she massaged his feet brought a wave of nostalgia over him. He was reminded of literary tales that delved deep into the human condition, stories of struggling families, lost dreams, and the heavy weight of responsibility.

Their conversation flowed naturally from there, touching on everything from Ana's life in Cuba and Spain to the intricacies of film and the craft of acting. The atmosphere in the trailer became increasingly comfortable, almost intimate, as Martin's large, tired feet rested in Ana's lap. Her hands worked with care, pressing into the soles with just the right amount of pressure, easing away the morning's strain.

By the time their impromptu session ended, Martin felt rejuvenated. His feet no longer ached, and his mind was clear. He thanked Ana sincerely, appreciating her effort more than he could express.

That afternoon, Martin returned to the set with renewed energy. The soreness in his legs had vanished, replaced by a sense of lightness. His performance that day was nothing short of explosive, his portrayal powerful and precise. It was the first day of filming, and already, Martin had delivered a performance that hinted at the brilliance to come.

During a break in filming, David Fincher, ever the meticulous director, approached Martin, who was intently reviewing footage on the camera monitor. Fincher's curiosity got the better of him. "Martin," he began, his tone genuinely inquisitive, "how did you manage to get into character so quickly this time? It's like you flipped a switch."

Martin paused, considering the question. With a small, almost mischievous smile, he replied, "The pleasure of the soles of the feet can do wonders for lifting one's spirits."

Fincher raised an eyebrow, clearly not following. But with time pressing and a tight shooting schedule, he shrugged it off, quickly shifting back to business. "Alright, let's get back to it. Just keep in mind the adjustments for the next scene."

As always, even with meticulous preparation, filming presented its own set of challenges. New ideas and spontaneous changes often sprang to life, especially when Fincher had one of his flashes of inspiration. This meant that Martin, who was both the leading actor and an eager learner, frequently found himself back at the director's monitor, deep in discussion with Fincher about the direction of the film. Martin soaked up these moments, often listening more than talking, but his input was valued and added layers to his performance.

Over the next two days, the crew focused entirely on scenes featuring Martin's female personality. It became a ritual: after each day's lunch break, Ana de Armas would discreetly slip into Martin's trailer, ready to soothe his aching feet with a skilled massage. The routine helped Martin stay in peak condition, ensuring his portrayal was flawless, no matter how grueling the shoot became.

On the final afternoon of filming this segment, the set buzzed with a new energy as Jack Nicholson and Leonardo DiCaprio dropped by to observe. The two Hollywood heavyweights watched in amazement as Martin embodied the female persona with such finesse and naturalism.

Leonardo, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, leaned closer to Nicholson. "No wonder Martin can dive so deep into the psyche of his characters. He's got this hidden side, who knew he could pull off cross-dressing so convincingly?"

Nicholson, ever the seasoned observer, chuckled. "It's true. Watching him just now... it's like it's in his bones. Even at my peak, I couldn't pull off a cross-dressing role with such authenticity. Hell, not even me and Brando combined could touch that."

Leonardo couldn't resist a sly grin, recalling a famous scene from Nicholson's career. "Maybe you just needed to use butter a few more times."

Nicholson shot him a knowing look before nodding toward Martin, who was once again deep in conversation with Fincher behind the director's monitor. "Aren't you feeling any urgency?"

Leonardo frowned, confused. "Urgency? About what?"

Nicholson gestured subtly toward Martin. "His acting skills are surpassing yours, Leo. And look at him, he's diving into directing, soaking it all in like a sponge. Meanwhile, what have you been doing? Eating, drinking, having fun? If you don't step up, you're going to lose this bet."

Leonardo's gaze drifted back to the monitor, where Martin, dressed impeccably in women's clothing, was passionately discussing the next shot with Fincher. The realization hit hard, and a wave of frustration washed over him. "This is so fucking unfair," he muttered, his brow furrowing in irritation.

His mind flashed back to a conversation with Martin, and the memory made his blood boil. "I remember now," he growled. "That bastard Martin, he's been gunning for me all along! Instead of just enjoying the perks of being a top star, he's actually trying to become a director. He's too much!"

But there was no time to dwell on it. As Martin wrapped up his discussion with Fincher, he returned to the set, delivering three flawless takes in a row. With those, the intense, demanding scenes of the female personality came to an end.

Relieved, Martin headed to the rest area. He kicked off the torturous high-heeled leather boots and slipped into something more comfortable. He reached under his dress, ready to rid himself of the prosthetic breasts that had been weighing on him all day.

"Hold on, don't take them off just yet!" Nicholson's voice rang out, loud and playful.

Startled, Martin froze, his hands still under his shirt. "What's wrong?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Nicholson, eyes twinkling with mischief, couldn't help but laugh. "I just wanted to see how long you could keep up the act! You're too damn convincing, it's almost scary."

Martin let out a breath, shaking his head with a grin. "You had me worried there for a second."

The tension eased with laughter, but the underlying respect in the air was palpable. Martin had proven himself, not just as an actor, but as someone who could surprise even the greatest in the business. And as he looked around, he knew that this was only the beginning.

Nicholson, with a mischievous grin, quickly approached, his hands outstretched like old, eager talons. "Come on, let me feel it first!" he joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

But Martin was quicker, dodging Nicholson's grasp and pulling off the prosthetic breast. With a smirk, he playfully plopped it right on top of Nicholson's head. "Here, it's all yours!"

Nicholson chuckled, pulling the fake breast off his head and tossing it over to Leonardo with a flourish. "Hold onto this," he said with a wink. "When Martin wins an Oscar for this role, this thing will be worth a fortune, hundreds of thousands, at least!"

Martin laughed, shaking his head. "I was careless! Should've seen that coming."

Leonardo, ever the jokester, caught the prosthetic and held it up like a prized possession. "We should save it for a few years and then auction it off. Imagine the global sensation that would cause!"

Martin, now shedding the remnants of his costume, peeled off the wig and slipped out of the skirt and jacket. Bruce, ever reliable, handed him a T-shirt, which Martin gratefully pulled on. "You know what," he said, still chuckling, "I won't even argue with you two bastards. Keep it, it's my gift to you."

But Nicholson wasn't done yet. He grabbed Martin's arm and beckoned Leonardo over. The two of them, grinning like schoolboys up to no good, flanked Martin, boxing him in. "Bruce!" Nicholson called out, "Get over here and snap a photo of us with Martin, capturing this... in-between moment!"

Bruce didn't hesitate, pulling out his phone and snapping a photo of the trio, the mischievous glints in their eyes evident. He quickly sent the picture to both Nicholson and Leonardo, who couldn't stop laughing.

As Martin headed off to remove his makeup and change clothes, the playful atmosphere began to settle. He returned moments later, back in his regular attire, looking more like himself. He met up with two close friends, and together they made their way to Christopher Nolan's residence in Beverly Hills. Tonight was special, a private screening of "Interstellar."

"Interstellar" was Warner Bros.' heavyweight contender for the upcoming awards season, and Nolan was gunning for at least a Best Director nomination. But Martin had his own stakes in the game. Apart from his work on "Split," he was heavily involved in the Oscar campaign for "Interstellar," aiming for another Best Actor nomination to solidify his place among the greats.

Both Leonardo and Nicholson were also on the guest list, their long-standing relationships with Warner Bros. ensuring their presence. "Interstellar," which had hit theaters in July, was still showing in select locations across major cities like New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, all part of Warner Bros.' strategy to keep the film in the Oscar conversation.

Over time, the film had sparked a heated debate, with opinions growing increasingly polarized. Nolan's passionate fanbase continued to sing his praises, while his critics were equally vocal. Despite the divide, "Interstellar" had proven to be a commercial juggernaut, raking in $337 million at the North American box office and $887 million worldwide.

For Martin and Nolan, this success was more than just numbers, it was a career-defining moment. Martin had starred in two blockbuster films that year, both of which had dominated the box office. "John Wick: Chapter 3" had outperformed even "Interstellar," pulling in a staggering $522 million in North America and $1.078 billion globally.

With "John Wick: Chapter 3" claiming the title of the highest-grossing film of 2014 in both North America and worldwide, Martin's star power was undeniable. The film was expected to top the charts not just in theaters, but also in the rapidly growing markets of online streaming, DVD sales, and rentals.

As the group arrived at Nolan's home, the evening promised not just a glimpse into the potential Oscar glory of "Interstellar," but a celebration of a year that had firmly established Martin as one of Hollywood's most bankable and versatile stars. The night was young, and the possibilities, just like the universe in Nolan's film, seemed infinite.