From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Little Frank Abagnale committed his first crime at the age of sixteen and was only twenty-one when the FBI arrested him.

So, how exactly did he embark on a life of crime, step by step?

In his autobiography, Frank doesn't clearly point this out, but rather recounts his story in detail; while Steven keenly captures the family influences beneath the words and finds connections between the Abagnale father and son—

Is that really the truth?

It doesn't matter.

After all, a film director isn't a psychologist, and making a movie isn't about analyzing criminal psychology; what truly matters is that Steven found an entry point that allows him to peek into his own heart and allows the audience to find resonance and feel the emotional core of the film.

In the year that Little Frank turned fifteen, his father, Old Frank Abagnale's business suffered a heavy blow, leaving him with no way out.

Old Frank tried to seek help from the bank and used some "cunning" tactics of businessmen, attempting to pave the way with sweet words and small favors.

Unfortunately, all failed.

Business bankrupt, marriage broken, Old Frank lost everything like a stray dog.

Although Old Frank failed, all these tricks fell into Little Frank's eyes, who admired and worshipped his father and wholeheartedly believed in him. His father's positive image was a seed buried in Little Frank's heart, which took root and sprouted after his father's business failed and his parents' marriage broke down.

Everything originated from the father and returned to the family.

In a sense, Steven projected his own shadow onto Little Frank, but in real life, no one knows how the real Little Frank is—

However, in reality, after Little Frank was arrested, he was granted parole after serving five years in prison for good behavior.

Because of his past criminal record, Little Frank ran into walls for a long time in real life; until later, the FBI agent who arrested Little Frank gave him a chance again, allowing him to identify crimes as an FBI consultant; and the turning point was when he met his wife, Kelly Abagnale.

Little Frank and Kelly have been married ever since, and have three children.

Little Frank Abagnale refuses any form of interview from the film crew, partly because he wants to completely separate from his past and no longer wants his life to be disturbed.

Therefore, Steven's "re-creation" cannot be said to be 100% correct, but it cannot be said to be wrong either.

It is because of this that Steven, who has never been good at filming emotional scenes, rarely outlines the most touching relationship in his directing career in this film—

Even surpassing "The Fabelmans".

And when Anson read the autobiography and then read the script, a sense of déjà vu gradually grabbed his heart and slowly free-fell.

In his previous life, at the age of twenty-five, his father's business exploded, and overnight, like a tsunami, his life was swept into a storm and completely subverted. His confusion, his bewilderment, his anger, his disappointment, his fear, countless intertwined emotions collided together, making it hard to breathe.

But in fact, everything had already shown signs.

All along, his father had tried his best to maintain the perfect image in his heart, proud, kind, great, and authoritative, outlining a blueprint for success for him; but when he grew up, he realized that perfection simply didn't exist, and the more perfect it was, the more it meant that everything was an illusion.

As early as many years ago, his father had been unable to maintain such perfection, a perfect life, a perfect image, a perfect marriage, so in his senior year of high school, his father and mother divorced, like a gecko shedding its tail, escaping far away from his life, leaving a perfect profile and back view.

Unfortunately, at that time, he was too young, still a child, immersed in the unrestrainedness and flamboyance of youth, able to embrace the world as long as he opened his arms, so he did not notice those abnormalities, nor did he have time to take care of life outside of himself, the world only revolved around himself—

Until the moment of disintegration came.

So, when those victims of his father came to his door, he could not refute or resist, he could only bear it silently. He couldn't even turn his back on them, bowing his head, surrendering, facing those scoldings, curses, and attacks head-on, swallowing all the bitterness and bloodshed alone.

At this moment, Anson saw himself in Little Frank Abagnale.

He once thought that those memories were too distant, those wounds had long since healed and scabbed over, not only separated by a lifetime, even in the previous life it was already more than ten years ago, he had no time to indulge in pain and reminiscence, he had to work, he had to move forward, he had to keep struggling.

Even just stopping to catch his breath was a luxury.

However, unexpectedly, those memories were so vivid and so real, crossing time and space to grab his heart again, and feeling the endless pain again.

At least in one point, Little Frank was luckier than Anson, he could still see his father, in the chaos of the world falling apart he could still see his father; but Anson didn't, he never saw his father again, so that the image of his father in his mind evolved into a vague label.

Only an outline, no face.

Anson also found it difficult to distinguish what his feelings for his father were, hatred? Blame? Disgust? Nostalgia? Worship?

Even the demeanor of his father when he was high-spirited and pointing out the country had become blurred.

Involuntarily, Anson was stunned.

The memories of his previous life tied his ankles, slowly sinking in the endless ocean, and the surging but indistinguishable emotions filled his entire brain.

Looking up, a vast expanse, boundlessly surrounding him, he was just floating on the calm sea, sometimes left, sometimes right, but without direction.

Buzz.

A slight vibration came from his eardrums, like the sound of wind, but in the darkness it grabbed Anson's attention and dragged him into reality.

He groped for his phone in a daze, put it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Anson?"

"Huh?"

"Anson? Are you okay? Hey, Anson Wood, answer me."

The deep voice became uncontrollably anxious, stirring up ripples in the calm sea again, and a smile slowly climbed onto the corner of Anson's mouth, finally finding his voice.

"Luca, I'm fine."