From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Generally speaking, when devout Catholics name their children, they often use the names of their parents or grandparents, representing a kind of remembrance, admiration, and inheritance; or they use the father's name to name the son, which often represents the inheritance of blood and spirit.

The more profound the family, the more often they do this.

So much so that later, many ordinary families, hoping that their family could grow stronger, also learned this method, inheriting the same name.

Therefore, you can often see names like "Senior," representing the elder, that is, the father; "Junior," representing the younger, that is, the son. Furthermore, there are also First, Second, and Third, representing three generations, from grandfather to father to son.

In such cases, the father often does not call his son by name—because that is also his own name. Instead, he will call him "Junior."

Referring to the background, this kind of address carries a pure and natural blood connection, naturally building a bridge between father and son.

Christopher Walken, purely in terms of age, is fifty-nine years old this year. He could already be Anson's grandfather, but the two actors must partner as father and son in the movie, which seems a little incongruous; but Steven's casting was also carefully considered.

As far as the current situation is concerned, Hollywood's old-age makeup technology is not yet mature, and computer special effects have not yet developed to the point where they can change age. Old-age makeup often looks strange; and Frank Sr. is indeed prone to aging after experiencing the blows of successive business failures. Considering the time span of the filming, it is reasonable to choose Christopher to play Frank Sr.

After all, making someone look younger is easier and more realistic than applying old-age makeup.

And now, Christopher aptly used the atmosphere of the filming scene, using only one address, to quietly enter the state—

"Hey, Little Frank (Junior), happy birthday."

Worthy of being from a traditional academy, even Anson was a little恍惚, as if he really heard his father calling him.

Anson was slightly stunned, and a smile crept onto the corner of his mouth, "Thank you. So, are you ready for breakfast?"

This is not a line, but it is obviously not Anson—

But a conversation between the Abagnale father and son, even breaking away from the framework of the script, naturally revealing the daily life between father and son.

So, this is method acting.

When the actor 100% understands the character, enters the character, and immerses himself in the character, the edges and colors of the character gradually become vivid and figurative in the body. No script is needed to react naturally—

Natural and real.

At this moment, the actor does not need to think about "What expression should I make?", "How should I act?", "What should the emotion here be?", "What if I say the line wrong?", because the traces of performance are completely abandoned, and every move evolves into the character's own actions, seamless and natural.

Thus, expressions, actions, language, and state are naturally revealed.

The actor and the character are completely integrated, making it difficult to distinguish between truth and falsehood.

Vaguely, Anson entered such a state, difficult to accurately describe in words, as if he was acting himself and as if he was not, the entire performance state from lines to actions became smooth.

Very interesting.

Pa.

The sound of closing doors came from the hall, but it was exceptionally short, and it calmed down in a blink of an eye. Then, the sizzling sound from the kitchen once again occupied the entire space like a drizzle, making the house seem even more quiet.

Walking forward two steps, looking at the boxes piled up in the house, the move has been completed but the luggage has not been unpacked, Frank Sr. was a little愣神, standing愣愣in place with a blank mind, without any thoughts.

"Hey, Dad."

Little Frank's call came from the kitchen. Frank Sr. subconsciously turned around and looked over, but the focus of his vision did not condense at all. He just glanced at it and looked again at the boxes in the house that had nowhere to be placed.

"Where's your mother?"

In the kitchen, Little Frank was making pancakes, spreading the batter on the pan. Even when he heard his father's words, he didn't stop, carefully spreading the pancake flat.

Frank Sr. was puzzled, "What can she do? Sell shoes at the centipede farm?"

"Hehe." Little Frank couldn't help but laugh, and then he imagined the scene, unable to control his laughter, "Haha." Unable to control it anymore, "Hahahahaha."

Frank Sr. couldn't help but laugh too, "Haha."

However, Little Frank laughed exceptionally brightly, bending over directly, two red blushes stained on his handsome cheeks, his eyes and the corners of his mouth full of smiles.

At this time, Frank Sr. noticed his son's appearance—

Shirt, sweater, this is the school uniform, the school uniform of the former private school.

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pullover to avoid getting in the way, but even so, he still couldn't hide the Qing Jun and handsomeness on his body.

Frank Sr.'s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Little Frank shouldn't be here, "What are you doing?"

Little Frank didn't notice the subtle change in Frank Sr.'s tone. He still smiled brightly, picked up the soup spoon again, and continued to busy himself, "Do you want some pancakes?"

Frank Sr. looked bewildered, "For dinner? On my son's sixteenth birthday? We don't eat pancakes!"

Little Frank's action of flipping the pancake slowed down slightly, and a hint of hesitation appeared on his profile. But he still couldn't control his expectations. He looked up at his father, his eyes widened, and he was trying hard to suppress the joy and excitement in that deep blue, trying his best to remain calm—

Expectation, still expecting, is just a sixteen-year-old child after all; but reason tightened the reins, because he was mature enough and experienced enough. He knew they were going through a difficult period of storms, and in such a predicament, maybe birthdays were not so important.

His mother didn't remember, did she?

He is not sad or lost.

But at this time, hearing his father's words, he still couldn't help but look forward to it, cautiously.

Just a look, a moment, Christopher Walken was slightly stunned.

Logically speaking, just a look, fleeting, can't be interpreted too much; but now, he can see that kind of complexity.

The complexity that words cannot describe.

For a moment, time briefly stood still.

Then, Anson lowered his eyes.

Because he realized that his eyes leaked his true thoughts, but the point is that he can't and shouldn't put pressure on his father, right?

If the pressure is too great, what if his father leaves like this?

He, he can't imagine it.

Lowering his eyes and raising the corners of his mouth, Anson concealed himself with some panic and embarrassment, preparing to argue a few words, but found that he had already been seen through.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Did you think I forgot?"

A word, revealing the truth, but piercing Anson's soft heart fiercely. He tried to speak, but found that his voice choked slightly in his throat.

Just a pause of a rest, and then he found his voice again.

"No, I didn't think you forgot."