From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

"Cut."

Shooting, finished.

But the scene remained still, the usual spell not broken, no sounds, no movement, time seemingly frozen within the light and shadows.

Alicia stood in the corridor and saw Gus approaching from the monitor. Her mind was blank, and she subconsciously nodded politely.

In a daze, the boundary of the film set blurred, fiction invading reality—

Anson was still Anson, Gus was like a teacher. Just as Alicia left, the teacher appeared. The scene in the movie hadn't ended. Anyway, there was no script or plot; everything happened naturally and reasonably.

His gaze remained fixed on Anson amidst the roar of chaotic thoughts.

Gus noticed this as well, but he didn't point it out because this was the effect he was pursuing. Now it seemed the entire crew was in the zone.

He stopped beside Anson.

Gus glanced up at Harris:

Poor Harris, with a body like a hippopotamus, had to tiptoe like a crane.

This brought a smile to Gus's lips. He nodded lightly to Harris, signaling with his eyes: the shooting was over.

Harris exhaled a long breath, slid down the wall, and collapsed onto the ground. He bent his knees, placed the camera on the ground, and finally began to pant, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Gus looked at Anson and could see the calmness in his eyes.

In the previous shot, Anson had never looked directly at the camera, either showing his profile or his chin, so the lens hadn't captured Anson's eyes, that breathtaking azure.

But now, Gus finally saw clearly, the depth beneath the calm, just as he had imagined, the intricate and delicate thoughts carefully hidden, cleverly disguised with a smile.

"Everything's good."

Gus said.

In fact, it was far more perfect than he had imagined.

Gus had no way of knowing what had happened during Anson's brief moment of emptiness away from the set, but the lonely soul sitting on the swing from their first meeting had reappeared in front of the camera. Everything was perfect, even elevating the images in Gus's mind to a whole new level.

Anson nodded slightly, but didn't respond.

Gus was a little worried, "Are you alright?"

The two sentences were similar, yet they presented completely different effects. The former was in the movie, the latter in reality.

Anson noticed it, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly into a faint smile.

Last time, in "Cat and Mouse," he was too immersed in the role, and it resulted in a kind of exhaustion, a deep fatigue. The mental consumption and overdraft were truly indescribable.

But today, not at all.

Embracing the role was also embracing himself, and slowly beginning to embrace reality.

Art was originally a means of expression. Painting, music, sculpture, writing, and so on, all express experiences and emotions, ultimately becoming a way to review oneself, complete reconciliation, and continue moving forward.

The method acting approach often leads to a loss of control, a madness to succeed, making it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion, ultimately descending into madness. Anson couldn't be sure where he would go in the future, whether he could reach such a state, or whether he would experience such a process—

But at least, for now, everything was wonderful.

Anson needed this kind of reconciliation.

Now, he had finally officially stepped into the world of acting, using his true self as the key, taking a small step forward, but ushering in his first major breakthrough.

The boundary between reality and illusion was broken, immersed in it, but without feeling pain or struggle, feeling more of a sense of relief and relaxation.

He seemed to be falling in love with acting.

Involuntarily, Anson recalled the starting point of this new life. Perhaps from the beginning, the god of fate had already given a hint that this was the path that belonged to him.

Gus's question made Anson look up, his eyes faintly flashing with a hint of light. He tried to raise the corners of his mouth into a smile, but unfortunately, he failed.

Anson said, "Just need some time."

Slightly fragile.

Gus nodded gently. He tried to comfort Anson, but he couldn't kiss Anson's cheek like Alicia, and looked a little at a loss.

He raised his right hand, trying to pat Anson's shoulder, but on second thought, such an action seemed inappropriate, so he put it down again; then he raised his hands slightly, hesitating whether he should give Anson a hug, but in the end, he just gave Anson a smile, expressing affirmation with his eyes.

Such an action made a smile appear in Anson's eyes, and the dull and lost mood slightly cleared the clouds, scattering a ray of golden sunshine.

"Director, are you sure everything's alright?" Anson asked.

Gus was puzzled, "Good. Of course. Everything's good. Perfect. What's wrong?"

The words were disjointed, popping out one after another, like a toy spitting out gold coins, which was really funny.

Anson's state pulled slightly back toward the side of reality again, "No, I just think this scene isn't complete."

Gus, "I'm all ears."

Anson, "The emotional arc isn't complete."

"I think, after Alicia's kiss, the inner distress and confusion temporarily come to an end, and finally, I force myself to cheer up again. Maybe I should show a smile to cheer myself up and put a period to the entire emotional arc."

Simply put, it's about having a beginning and an end. In this way, the emotion of this scene is complete, and its function in the entire movie can be highlighted.

Almost all movies are like this. A plot, a performance, an emotion, with an arc running through from beginning to end and finally completing a closed loop.

Gus gently raised his chin, "But why didn't you do that?"

Anson shrugged, "I don't know, just an intuition."

A pause.

"I just think, maybe this is where the emotion needs to be incomplete."

In general movies, the plot and performance are indeed like this, requiring a closed loop, like Lego bricks, one part fitting together with another, finally forming a whole.

So, when the audience watches a movie, even if they don't know what's happening, and don't know what's going on, they vaguely feel that they can't be persuaded, or that the sense of immersion isn't enough. The incompleteness of the plot or performance is a high-probability event—

The director and screenwriter may both need to take responsibility; similarly, the actors are no exception.

But, what about "Elephant"?

Vaguely, Anson believed that this movie was different. This was also the experience and lesson brought about by the fourteen NGs, an intuition, setting off an alarm.

So, this time, Anson didn't continue to perform according to his familiar inertia.