In a catering tent in Morocco, far from the frozen screens of Scandinavia and the digital skirmishes of social media, Matt Damon found the woman whose arms had doubled for his own, and thanked her. It was a quiet gesture amid a production that had hauled 130-kilogram cameras across six countries, weathered Icelandic storms, and left its cast with scuffed feet and aching backs. The image lingered: not of a hero returning home, but of a crew member whose labour, like so much of the film’s invisible craft, was finally acknowledged.