The entire set fell into a hushed silence. It wasn't due to the need for quiet during filming; rather, it was because they could vividly sense the power of that performance. It drew them into the authentic scenes of "The Pacific", making them feel like they were right there, experiencing it firsthand.
In the entertainment industry, there exists a certain kind of people. They possess an innate sense for the camera, always able to effortlessly capture the lens' focus, presenting their most wonderful, natural, and vivid side. The lens seems to particularly favor their presence, and their acting charm reaches its peak. They effortlessly touch the souls of the audience. They are called natural actors.
However, such geniuses are truly rare. This has nothing to do with acting skills but rather with their innate gift. They always easily win the favor of the camera, making them God's darlings. For instance, Marlon Brando, or Audrey Hepburn.
In that brief performance just now, they once again witnessed this gift, a gift that filled them with envy.
Every gesture, every expression, forced one to savor it, as complex emotions danced on their taste buds. That fleeting glimpse was interpreted into a rich texture of sensations. It even outlined the entire character in their minds: delicate yet tenacious, fragile yet strong, slender yet resolute. It was hard to imagine that in just five short seconds, they had stirred up tempestuous waves in the minds of all onlookers.
Even more astonishing was that this performance came from a rookie, someone who had caused the entire crew to experience low pressure due to a basic mistake just three minutes ago. Someone who revealed only a tip of the iceberg of their performance's power and depth, yet that was enough to trigger a tsunami. This contradictory combination seemed like a joke, but it was truly unfolding before their eyes.
"Hey," the door swung open again, and Renly re-entered the set. A faint arch of his narrow eyebrows conveyed his puzzlement as he inquired, "So, how was the performance just now?"
Darin, amidst the crowd, felt a slight warmth creeping onto his cheeks. What had initially been a casual prank was now causing unexpected feelings. He knew well that Renly would remain speechless, even if he confronted him. He wouldn't be concerned at all because the entire crew would stand by his side. Instead, it would be Renly who found himself in an awkward position. However, the situation had taken an unexpected turn. Now his cheeks felt as if they'd been slapped, especially when he saw Renly's professional and earnest gaze. It made him feel utterly embarrassed.
Before Darin realized it, he had averted his gaze, avoiding direct eye contact with Renly. But soon, he realized he was retreating. He, retreating in front of a rookie actor? Even if he intended to assert dominance over the newcomer, what of it? Such situations were common in Hollywood. However, his air of superiority had been diminished by the newcomer. A sense of humiliation ignited from the soles of his feet.
"No problem." David, as the director, was the first to regain his senses. He responded, and then a low commotion swept through the crew. Once everyone snapped back to reality, they each attempted little actions to mask their embarrassment. This lively scene helped David completely regain his composure. "Impressive." David provided a fair assessment. In fact, the performance just now could certainly be described as "remarkable." Yet, it was still just the first day; there was no need to set the bar too high, was there?
Renly clenched his fist discreetly. He had finally passed the first scene – a good start.
David paused for a moment, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer. "Is this your first formal performance?" He had been a television drama director for a decade now, and he had worked with countless actors – perhaps not a thousand, but certainly hundreds. Yet, he had never witnessed such a spirited performance.
Spiritedness was something invisible and intangible, yet something that could be felt. Like the delicate vulnerability Edward Norton displayed in his debut film "Primal Fear", or the trepidation and innocence conveyed by Haley Joel Osment under the lens of "The Sixth Sense". Such performances turned watching into an enjoyment and gave films a unique quality.
However, these kinds of actors were more common in the film industry. The TV drama industry was constrained by factors like the shooting format of series and the market's positioning. It was rare to explore the layers and depths of an actor's performance, let alone capture their spiritedness. At least, David had never come across it.
Until today.
"Yes," Renly nodded, affirming, "Before this, I had only participated in theater performances."
David suddenly realized, "That makes sense." The basic errors he had committed in the first take were particularly common among theater actors. "Shall we continue shooting? Any problem?" David was even more curious. Was this just a fleeting moment of brilliance, or was it a genuine natural talent? After all, the previous shot lasted only five seconds, and this was just the beginning of a ten-episode series. There was still a long way to go in the shooting process.
"Of course," Renly responded confidently.
Acting was an intriguing endeavor in Renly's perspective. After the command "action", he entered a unique state. Though portraying a completely different person, he did so based on his own understanding and interpretation. He even felt his connection with the real world weakening while his link to the fictional story strengthened. Navigating between reality and illusion, within the realm of self and others, familiarity and strangeness, was truly exhilarating.
Renly was eager to dive back into filming.
Glancing around, Renly was looking for Darin's figure. He needed to know how to position himself and how the lighting would work for the next scene. These details would be explained by the assistant director.
However, Darin was nowhere to be found. Just a few minutes ago, he had been standing by the monitor, but now he was nowhere to be seen on the entire set.
"Eugene," a short man in suspenders, appearing to be around thirty years old, approached. "I'm Stuart, the assistant director. I'll explain the next scene to you." Renly redirected his gaze and nodded at the man, who continued, "In the next scene, you'll have a solo performance. You'll run out from the door, pick up the bicycle on the ground, and then ride away from the mansion. Deacon will chase after you, but you'll let it stay behind and continue on your way."
Eugene hailed from an affluent family – his father being a private doctor who was part of the upper echelons of society in the 1940s. As a result, Eugene resided in a grand mansion, a traditional estate where slave owners lived during the feudal era. Deacon was Eugene's sheepdog, his most cherished companion.
Following Stuart, Renly arrived at the doorway. Stuart showcased the entire pathway ahead and the camera's position, as well as the depth and breadth of the framing. Renly wasn't content with theoretical explanations. He personally mounted the bicycle, rehearsed the scene, and after confirming, inquired about the positions of Eugene and the other actors, even down to the comparisons of the gardener's location on the lawn and his mother rushing out to call him for dinner. His inquiries were quite detailed.
Patiently, Stuart answered all the questions. Finally, he gave David the signal for "action". By this point, the whole crew had waited for nearly five minutes.
David wasn't in a hurry. He rewarded Renly with ample time. Once he got into the flow of filming, he knew his patience had paid off.
Eugene dashed out of the house, swiftly lifted the bicycle from the lawn, and hopped onto it. He started peDaring on the gravel path. However, due to his intense emotions, his actions appeared a bit awkward. His hands seemed unable to steady themselves, causing the bicycle's front end to sway. But his concentrated gaze remained unwavering, displaying resolute determination.
One pedal after another, he exerted force on the pedals.
The uneven gravel path kept his anger trapped in his chest, preventing its release. His shoulders, once again tensed, lacked strength and firmness, revealing a touch of unease and vulnerability. The bicycle's front end wobbled a few times, almost causing Eugene to tumble. Hearing his mother call out, "Gene, supper's ready!" her heart skipped a beat.
Gritting his teeth, he pedaled another round, barely avoiding a fall. Then, he regained his rhythm, accelerating faster and faster. Eugene seemed to lift off the ground, his jacket fluttering in the strong wind. The golden-brown curls danced wildly in the sunlight, unrestrained and defiant. Even light couldn't settle on his hair tips.
"Deacon, you stay."
Eugene yelled as his loyal companion tried to catch up. Sunlight spilled into his narrow eyes, gently rippling yet stinging slightly with heat. In a blink, he charged into a gust of wind, disappearing from view, leaving only the corner of his jacket vanishing beneath the verdant tree shade.
"Genius!" That was David's only thought. It was just a bicycle ride, yet Renly had portrayed Eugene's surging turmoil and unease with utmost vividness. It seemed like the bicycle, the sheepdog, and even his mother became integral parts of the performance. All elements became pieces of this performance's puzzle, playing vital roles in the seemingly untraceable yet profoundly immersive act – a seamless display, presenting a canvas beyond imagination!
As a director, David understood the three-dimensional depth of the scene better than anyone. He knew that this scene was flawless and impeccable. Not because of the script or the camera angle, but because of the actor – the prodigious talent who was inherently destined to be an actor.
"Cut!" David couldn't hold back any longer. Clenching his fist, he stood up and slammed it into the air, releasing the excitement that had built up within him.
Such an opening, such a start, such an embarkation, was truly magnificent. No one could ask for more. No one!