Perfume

The Story Of A Teenager

In 2005, a film called ‘Perfume’ was released. Based on a novel by Patrick Süskind, it’s a breezy little story about a perfumer who aims to create the ultimate scent. Only instead of pressing flowers, he’s offing young women and capturing their essence.

I was fortunate enough to be cast as flame-haired aristocrat Laura Richis, an innocent young girl who unfortunately becomes the thirteenth ‘note’ of this sinister blend.

While the film was released to mixed reviews, it struck a chord with some viewers who appreciated the rich visuals and aesthetic of it all. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hash over all that, eighteen years later. Instead, I thought I’d share a little about what it was like working on this project as a tender fifteen-year-old.

The film’s production took place in three idyllic locations – Germany, France and Spain. My intermittent involvement spanned the final months of Year 11 (final year of Secondary School) and first months of Sixth Form College. During this time, I quite literally flew between lessons and the film’s set, occasionally on the same day. One bright morning in Munich I was filmed getting out of a bath, and by the afternoon I was back in leafy Surrey, huffing my way into Art class, getting barked at by the sour-breathed teacher for being late and my drawings being inadequate. Both fair points.

Like many teens, my preoccupations were largely with who I fancied and who fancied me. At school, I’d accepted I’d never be considered ‘fit’ – too lanky, posh, weird and late to blossom, aka grow boobs. Mocked relentlessly for having been in Peter Pan – “Fly Wendy, fly!” hollered at me across the playground on an almost daily basis – but not desired. Especially not once my hair had been dyed red for ‘Perfume’. Red-haired kids were seen as fair-game for ridicule, and many of the bully-boys were baffled as to why I’d choose to go ginger. I think they thought I had some say in the decision-making.

On film sets, however, it was another story. For one, they were environments in which adults dished out endless words of affirmation about my appearance. They also had been environments in which adults had transgressed appropriate boundaries. On a project before ‘Perfume’, crew members had openly lusted after me, a pre-pubescent girl of fourteen. This led to an assumption that I appealed only to grown men as opposed to boys my age, and was confused when the crew of ‘Perfume’ seemed indifferent. The men were polite, but weren’t slipping me their number or finding dubious reasons to get in my personal space.

If school was a write-off and film sets were too, I realised getting fancied was going to take some effort. So I set my sights on a Spanish actor with whom I had one scene and prepared to wow him into submission. He was a bit out of my age-range, but handsome, sweet and visibly nervous – my tactic was to reassure him he’d nail it and dazzle him with conversation. This proved a challenge when it transpired he spoke about five words of English, but I was undeterred. That is, until he introduced me to his equally gorgeous boyfriend.

I wondered if the film’s lead, Ben Whishaw, might be a candidate. He was significantly older than me and I didn’t fancy him, but I hoped he might like me just for the ego-boost. He definitely didn’t. He was kind and respectful, funny and warm, but patently uninterested.

Another person who definitely didn’t fancy me was legendary actor Dustin Hoffman. He was the star of the film, the one everyone spoke about in hushed, reverent tones. I was aware he had decades of impressive credits, but to me, this was ‘Hook’ from ‘Hook’ (“Good form!”). He was full of charm and charisma, donning a flowery bonnet for a photo op with me and my mum. When I next saw him at a dinner hosted by the film’s producers, I approached him excitedly, hoping for more attention and lols… and he totally blanked me.
“Um, Dustin” I began. “I’m Rachel, we met before, at that costume fitting–”
“I know” he replied cooly, unwilling to grace me with so much as eye contact. And that was that.

I decided to give up on romance and focus instead on riding out the sharp mood-swings that marked this part of adolescence. Most of my scenes in the film were with Alan Rickman (RIP) as he played my dad – I remember him sighing on occasion when my emotional volatility was particularly potent – but he carried a paternal air both on and off screen, and was always generous with his time and conversation.

‘Perfume’ is a film in which there is an undoubtable focus on female beauty. In my own life, I was just discovering what that meant, looking to women in their twenties and thirties for inspiration. Between the radiant female cast and crew, I marvelled at the magic of their womanhood, the effortlessness they projected, exuding confidence in who they were and what they were about. They seemed to lack the crippling self-consciousness I felt and I wanted to know how they did it.

I’m eternally grateful that I got to take part in ‘Perfume’. It might not have yielded a Spanish admirer, but it was inspirational to witness talented professionals in their element and be part of something so beautiful.

If I could go back and talk to that tender fifteen-year-old, I’d tell her to relax. I’d tell her that one day, she would feel sure of who is and what she’s about, that she’d care so much less about how she’s perceived. That it just takes the one thing that can’t be forced or rushed – time.