“It is such a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, especially Matteo!” Ricardo turns to the boy. “I have a surprise planned for you.”
Matteo’s eyes light up. “What is it?”
“If I tell you, then it won’t be a surprise, will it?”
Begrudgingly, Matteo admits that no, it won’t.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ricardo says. “But first, I’m going to take you all on a quick guided tour of Royal Riviera. Follow me!”
As we fall into step behind him, Ricardo points out the structures on our left and right. “Workshop, Sound Effects Stage, Management, Warehouse, Studio 1, Studio 2—”
“Aren’t we going to visit them?” I ask.
“Eventually,” he replies. “But first we’ll go into the main building and Studio 3.”
As we head toward the vast structure with a pink façade, I realize that the guided tour is for my benefit only, considering that both Jonas and Matteo know this place like the back of their hands. A quick glance at Jonas leads me to conclude this was likely his idea.
Inside the main building, I am shown production rooms, sound stages, greenrooms, casting and audition stages, the kitchen, editing offices... Ricardo takes us down a hallway with private dressing rooms on either side. The posters, awards, and memorabilia on the walls force me to stop every few steps and take a closer look.
I’m particularly drawn to the black-and-white signed portraits of the likes of Jean Gabin and Brigitte Bardot, to name but two. Their iconic filmography comes to mind, reminding me of the golden age of the Francophone cinema, unfortunately long gone... But who knows, perhaps Jonas’s efforts, which I intend to support to the best of my ability, will help usher in a second golden age.
I love the atmosphere of the studio! It’s just like theater, only better.
As we round a corner, we come across a large set. Having viewed countless rushes with Jonas, I know exactly what it’s for—a dystopian Marseilles for the film currently in production. But the cameras are off now. The aroma of coffee and a lively, unscripted chatter permeate the space. Cast and crew members mill about, enjoying a break before the next pop of the clapboard.
“How about I get you some coffee and juice for Matteo?” Ricardo asks.
We nod, and he darts away.
Jonas introduces me to the director and his two assistants. We launch into small talk, reserving the business discussion for the meeting tomorrow morning. But it looks like Jonas can’t wait that long. He initiates an animated debate about an edit he and the director disagree about.
Rather than intervene, I observe Matteo.
A boisterous group has gathered around him. They take turns fist-bumping and high-fiving each other, visibly delighted by the reunion. Within seconds, Matteo is interacting with them. He answers their questions, addressing them by their first names, which he clearly remembers from earlier visits. It’s impressive how well he fits in! The techs show him some of the clever props they’ve built and explain how they were able to create certain effects with lights and fog machines. Matteo listens attentively, nodding along.
When they’re done, a technician in a red baseball cap asks Matteo, “Are you still into car races?”
“Totally! And you?”
“More than ever!” The man cocks his head. “Did you watch the latest 24 Hours of Le Mans?”
“Not all of it,” Matteo replies honestly. “But I know all of the winners.”
He also knows that if anyone mentions Monegasque driver Max Delaroche, he mustn’t tell them that Max is not from Monaco or that he is a royal prince. All Evorian children are trained in this covertness from a tender age, before they can even read or write. The jury is still out on how healthy the spy-kid training is for the little ones’ development. But if Mount Evor wishes to remain the prosperous jewel of a country that it is, hidden from the general public, then I don’t suppose it has a choice.
The tech in the red cap quirks an eyebrow. “You’re what, seven? And you claim you can nameallthe winners?”
“Quiz me!” Matteo pushes his chest out. “Go on!”
“Was it a Ferrari or Toyota that won the race?” the man asks.
Matteo rolls his eyes as if to convey the question was too easy. “Toyota Hybrid Hypercar Number 8.”
The others glance at the technician for the verdict.
“Correct,” he says. “Here’s a tougher one. Which car won in the LMGTE Pro category, Ferrari, Porsche or Corvette?”
I have no clue what LMGTE stands for, and Jonas is too engrossed in his conversation to ask. Fortunately, the technician notices my frown.
