From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Harris was retreating—

The camera took in the entire corridor, making the whole space seem long and empty. The light from the teaching building entrance ensured the corridor wasn't dark, but there were no windows on either side. The light on the longitudinal line made the straight corridor seem like a tunnel, extending infinitely towards the end.

Then, a figure walked out of the office, breaking the tranquility of the tunnel.

It was Anson.

Leaving the car keys at the front desk of the classroom office, Anson turned and left, dragging his backpack and carrying his coat, walking along the school corridor.

Quietly, without speaking, without any expression.

He straightened his back slightly, trying to stand up straight, but after only two steps, he couldn't help but open his shoulders and straighten his back again, trying to cheer himself up. But the backpack and coat still drooped powerlessly.

A small movement was enough to show his unease.

Despite trying to rally himself, the frustration accumulated in his chest like a ball of yarn, impossible to shake off; trying to vent it, but drooping down powerlessly.

The cleaner was cleaning the corridor nearby, and there were still students wandering around, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, lost in his thoughts and slightly distracted.

But it was only for a brief moment, and the focus of his vision quickly reconverged.

Walking, just walking slowly like this, as if walking in a tunnel with no visible exit, aimlessly walking, not knowing whether he was moving forward or backward, vaguely forgetting his location, walking all the way to the end, until he was exhausted.

Harris tiptoed, lightened his steps, retreated all the way, and with the help of others, turned a corner and entered the empty room on the right side of the corridor, continuing to retreat, taking a position against the wall in the room one step ahead, preemptively blocking the angle, holding his breath, and waiting patiently.

Waiting, still waiting.

However, Anson didn't appear for a long time.

Anson was still in the corridor.

Even without a camera, Anson was still wandering.

To immerse, to feel, to experience, not acting, but a state.

Walking aimlessly, his mind seemed to be filled with countless thoughts and worries, yet unable to start any thinking, both irritable and confused, both perplexed and lost, vaguely lost in this corridor.

This was truly absurd, wasn't it?

Just a straight corridor, yet like a dense and dim forest, losing direction as he walked.

The whole world was without a trace of noise, only Anson's youth was flowing gently, sometimes quiet and sometimes noisy, sometimes rapid and sometimes gentle.

Alex stared at Anson intently—

It was hard to imagine that such a peaceful scene could have such an attraction.

If he hadn't experienced it himself, and someone had told him that just watching a person walk could make him feel the power of the image, he might have laughed very loudly; but now, he was indeed feeling this overwhelming power.

Like a whirlpool, drawing all thoughts into it.

But.

This scene wasn't recorded by the camera, was that really okay?

The entire crew only had one camera, and it was in Harris's hands at this time. This was the first time Alex felt confused. Why didn't the film crew bring a few more cameras? The audience really shouldn't miss this scene.

Subconsciously, Alex glanced at Gus—

Gus's face was calm, his eyes were on the monitor, which was Harris's lens, quietly waiting for Anson's appearance in that empty shot.

Then.

Anson realized he should stop, he needed to be quiet.

He randomly rolled his coat into a ball, stuffed it into his backpack, looked around, but didn't go to the classroom, but turned into the student activity room.

He peeked in, and it was empty.

Harris: He's coming.

Harris completely held his breath, pressed against the wall, trying his best to hide himself, even though he knew his clumsy body couldn't hide at all, he still diligently sucked in his stomach, eliminating his sense of presence.

The camera, motionless, aimed at Anson.

The Anson in front of him, everything was as usual, on the surface, there was nothing special, no emotional surge, no explosive acting skills, and the loneliness and struggle of continuing to move forward after the long shot in the corridor had not been presented. The scene that Alex was worried about still happened:

Anson's performance didn't enter the lens.

Just when Alex was regretting it, Gus and Harris were not in a hurry at all, watching the screen intently, their minds perfectly integrated with the lens.

But then.

Anson casually threw his backpack at the door, went straight in, walking straight towards the camera lens, seeming to be wandering and seeming to be running away.

Then, Anson raised his head, slightly raised his chin, his eyes aimlessly scanning around, trying to find a focus, but seeming a little flustered. The side of his face in the lens couldn't be seen the azure blue eyes, but it could capture the confusion of his swaying eyes, his thoughts in turmoil.

He casually found a target, froze, and refocused.

But there was no relief, instead, he stiffened there.

It was in this brief moment—

The daze and confusion of the previous wandering, the silent noise and surge, fleetingly froze in the lens, even though it was only a momentary contact, it seemed as if the power of time could be seen.

Even if the lens wasn't focused, even if it was completely outside the audience's sight, but the Dogme 95 filming method didn't use editing to complete the connection, but patiently waited for the passage of time, the power accumulating little by little.

In the end, it wouldn't be let down.

Moreover, it was more condensed and more turbulent, like a straight punch to the face.

So, movies can be filmed like this.

So, performances can be presented in this way.

In front of the camera.

Anson raised his chin, originally just needing an excuse to divert his attention, trying to silence the voices in his head, but stopped when he saw the photographic work on the cantilever:

An ocean.

In fact, the photographic work wasn't outstanding. Like the Hawaii photo in the teacher's office, it was more like a batch-printed inferior work; but at this time, he couldn't help but explore the depth behind the ocean.

Azure. Vast. Empty.

The whole world seemed exceptionally quiet, as if he could hear the sound of dust slowly settling, as if he could hear the sound of the sea breeze gently blowing past, the sound of thoughts surging in his mind suddenly became clear, evolving into a roar on his eardrums.

Without warning, his eyes felt warm.

Oh, God.

He quickly raised his hands to cover his eyes, covering his eyes with the warmth of his fingers, closing his eyes tightly, intercepting it one step ahead before the moisture surged out, and then—

Deep breath.