From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

In front of the monitor, Steven Spielberg watched the screen with rapt attention. The soft light fell gently on Anson's eyelashes, fluttering like butterfly wings.

A pause, a turn of the head, a lowering of the eyes, a rest.

It was in these brief moments of reaction that his heart was tugged, a faint bitterness welling up, a complex emotion that words couldn't describe.

At this moment, Steven saw himself. He saw Little Frank and he saw himself—

In truth, they both understood.

Parents thought they were still children, not understanding anything, but that wasn't the case. Perhaps they were children, but that didn't mean they were ignorant.

They knew the storm was coming, they knew the family was teetering, but they didn't know what to do. In their short lives, they had never faced such a difficult problem. Even if they wanted to solve it, they didn't know where to start. So, they could only bury their heads like ostriches, and then carefully maintain normalcy while secretly praying that as long as they didn't expose the truth, the end wouldn't come.

Those bitternesses, those struggles, those fears.

Like fragile butterfly wings, fluttering weakly and stubbornly in the wind and rain, and then... little by little, falling apart.

Steven was stunned.

His focus had always been on composition, camera movement, lighting, and visuals. The acting was up to the actors. He really didn't need to interfere with their profession.

But now, in those clear blue eyes, he saw a crumbling world.

Involuntarily, Steven paused in place.

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

Little Frank tried to smooth things over, the panic and unease settling back down as he continued to carefully flip the pancake.

Then, Steven noticed a clear pause in Christopher's performance in the shot—

Missing the cue?

How could that be? An old actor like Christopher couldn't possibly make such a mistake.

Moreover, Christopher was a typical method actor.

No matter how Anson performed, Christopher couldn't lose control. Just look at stage actors, they won't stop performing even if something unexpected happens.

Moreover, Anson's performance was delicate and restrained, not violently releasing energy. Christopher shouldn't be so shocked as to be stunned—

It wasn't that exaggerated, really not.

So, what was wrong with Christopher?

The thoughts in Steven's mind flashed by, because Christopher's pause was very subtle and very brief, and then he acted.

His shoulders and steps were slightly stiff. When he spoke again, he raised his voice slightly, the contrast between his voice and body language subtly creating a sense of awkwardness—

Guilt. Sadness. Bitterness.

Christopher noticed it. He also noticed the details of Anson's performance, so he responded with his acting immediately, showing Old Frank's equally complex emotions.

Looking back now, the blank space revealed by that pause echoed Anson's rest—

They both realized the storm was coming, a sense of unease shrouded their hearts, but in order to maintain family harmony, they both chose to gloss over the truth.

The whole scene was thus complete.

"I opened a checking account in your name."

Old Frank said loudly.

This made Little Frank stunned. He felt a little shy and embarrassed, but still couldn't suppress his happiness. He turned off the gas stove, put down the spoon, and turned to look at his father, but didn't dare to get close. He stood in place, tiptoeing, secretly hiding the corners of his upturned mouth, muttering in a low voice words that couldn't be heard clearly.

Then, Old Frank took out a stack of checkbooks from his briefcase.

Little Frank took a big step forward, unable to contain his leaping heart, and suddenly appeared in front of Old Frank, so suddenly that Old Frank looked up. At this time, he saw the shy but happy smile on his son's face, which made the corners of his mouth also lift slightly.

"I put twenty-five dollars in the account, you can buy whatever you want."

Little Frank couldn't wait to reach out his hands.

Old Frank was about to hand over the checkbook, but retracted it before touching Little Frank's fingertips, reminding him in a rare light tone, "Don't tell your mother."

Little Frank nodded obediently, "I won't."

Old Frank then put the checkbook into Little Frank's hand.

Little Frank's heels swayed gently up and down, as if stepping on springs, looking down at the blank checkbook, a smile finally climbing onto the corners of his mouth, a touch of nostalgia and excitement flowing from his eyes and fingertips. He reacted a beat late, and looked up at Old Frank again.

"Thank you, Dad."

Little Frank's raised arms were slightly restrained, but he still hugged his father.

At this moment, the air completely quieted down.

Steven, Christopher, and Anson, as well as the on-site staff, could all feel a subtle warmth, like an electric current moving at their fingertips—

A connection belonging to the family, and also belonging to the Abagnale father and son, was quietly established in a strange and awkward way.

However, the filming was still not over.

Little Frank let go of the embrace, took two steps back, and sat down next to the dining table, "Didn't that bank refuse to give you a loan?"

Old Frank didn't deny it, his face full of frankness, "Yes, they all refused me."

Little Frank couldn't help but chuckle. He could hear the self-deprecation in his father's words, "Then why are you still opening an account there?"

Old Frank patted his son's shoulder, walked to the gas stove, and continued the work that Little Frank had just started, "Because sooner or later you will need to use the bank, to get loans to buy houses and cars, they control these funds."

But Old Frank didn't hear a response.

Turning around, Old Frank saw Little Frank open the checkbook, his gaze unable to move away, as if he had gotten a new toy, constantly flipping through it and playing with it, extremely focused.

Old Frank came behind his son, supporting his shoulders, "There are fifty checks here, Little Frank (Junior), which means that from today onwards..."

In the script, it was called "Frank" here, not "Junior", but very, very rarely, Christopher, who had always adhered to the principle of control and precision, changed the line.

A negligible detail, but it completed the connection between the Abagnale father and son.

"...you've joined their little club."

Monthly tickets are doubled! I'm also asking for monthly tickets from Qimao! I wish everyone a happy new year!