Getting Back on the Horse

It is day 12 of 24 on this independent film. It is day five of a grueling week of 12-hour days of extreme heat, cold, and even rain. It is five hours into this day. I am sitting on a horse. A very large and powerful horse named Conan. Conan has also been ridden by almost every actor in the film. He, too, has worked 12-hour days. He has been tied and saddled all day, only to appear in the background of previous scenes. We calmly wait for the crew to set up the next shot. Just as Conan begins to fall asleep on his feet, someone pulls a measuring tape behind us to measure for focus. That’s when my worst nightmare omes true.

I have never ridden a horse in my life. However, in this film, I play an rodeo trick-rider, who performs stunts on horses racing at full-speed around an arena before cheering crowds of hundreds of people. A far stretch. But, I am an actress. I can play anything, right? And if Natalie Portman’s recent Oscar win for Black Swan is any evidence, learning a new skill for a role is a way to earn some serious actress cred. So, naturally, I signed on with no hesitation, looking forward to some intense days of training.

I forgot that I was working on a small budgeted, independent film. My training has consisted of two almost-hour-long sessions with our set wrangler. Despite my family and friends’ teasing and warning me “not to fall off the horse,” and unsavory mentions of Christopher Reeve, I felt rather confident after my two lessons.

Until five hours into day twelve. Until the tape measure.

Conan got spooked. You see, a horse’s peripheral vision is limited to what appears at either side of them. If they hear something behind them that they cannot see, they spook. Translation: Conan freaked out with me and my two lessons along for the ride. Suddenly, he was writhing uncontrollably beneath me. As his head turned from side to side, I recognized that look in his eye from wild horses I have seen in other movies. I pulled back on the reigns and told Conan, “Whoa.” (See, I did learn something). He continued to writhe and turn and then, he took off running faster than I’ve ever ridden a horse before. I grabbed the saddle horn to steady myself and took off with him. Thirty seconds later (or a year later, depending on who you ask), I was able to stop him, just short of a hanging rope that he could have got caught in, which I’m told would have brought the situation to WWIII status.

Of course, the wranglers, whose job it is to keep me safe on these horses, were yelling helpful directions at me the whole time and appeared at my side as soon as I came to a stop. After a few minutes of calming Conan down, I was back at position one, getting ready to continue the scene. For the next twenty minutes, I could feel Conan on edge beneath me and I could feel the same edge within me while I did what the wranglers told me to do and rubbed his neck and told him, “Easy” in a smooth calming way. He twitched and jumped at every slight movement and noise around him. One of my brilliant and observant co-stars even incorporated clapping his hands and yelling in his part of the scene. Perhaps when the film is done, we can all watch this scene closely and laugh at my clenched jaw. Perhaps.

I’d like to say this didn’t phase me. The embarrassing truth is that I bawled my eyes out the second I dismounted Conan. Encouragement from the wranglers that I handled it “like a pro” and “Cowgirl-ed up,” did help a little. However, I could not help but blubber anytime anyone asked me about it afterwards. I had flashbacks of Conan writhing and running. My family and friends’ warnings rang in my ears. Images of Superman-turned-paraplegic flashed in my trauma-enduced, dramatic mind, as I tried to shake it off.

Day twelve. Hour eight. I got back on the horsse.