In the previous life, Adrian Brody portrayed the role of Henry in "Detachment".
Adrian was indeed an outstanding actor, and his natural temperament matched well with Henry's. He vividly presented the state of melancholy, gauntness, and confusion, leaving a profound impression.
However, Adrian hailed from the American acting system, and in his performances, he mostly drew from the method acting approach. Additionally, he was a typecast actor who struggled to escape the constraints of his appearance. His performance in "Detachment" had never surpassed that of "The Pianist". The difference lay in the nuances of emotional change. Adrian's sadness and gloom remained fixed on one level, without variation, depth, or layers.
For outsiders, it might be difficult to articulate these subtleties, and audiences might not discern specific differences. Nonetheless, the viewing experience was greatly altered. It was like the sea's surface—seemingly calm, yet its swells and undulations were worlds apart. Observing from the shore and immersing oneself yielded vastly different feelings.
Only true disciples of the academy could savor its depth and intricacies.
Without exaggeration, this was the ultimate challenge of performance acting!
At least for Renly at the present moment, it was the ultimate challenge. Perhaps in the future, he might encounter more difficult roles, more severe challenges. However, at this very instant, the difficulty of portraying Henry Barthes had reached the limits of imagination. Even if Renly gave it his all, he might not achieve the ideal perfection he envisioned.
The magnitude of the performance challenge far exceeded the oppression and tension brought about by "Buried", not to mention other works. Moreover, this wasn't the exploratory pursuit of method acting, but rather pure performance acting—without a doubt, this was the ultimate test for Renly, who had previously studied in the academy.
This was Renly's most proficient field, yet it was also a height and depth he had never explored. Even West End or Broadway theater might not be as difficult.
This was because the nature of film lay in leveraging the advantages of the camera to magnify every detail. Compared to theater stages, it was akin to placing everything under a microscope. Thus, actors had no place to hide; even the minutest changes in detail would be candidly presented before the audience.
If the effort was too intense, it might result in being overly stylized, veering away from the realism of film, fixating on the dramatic effects of the stage, and subsequently affecting the audience's viewing experience. The movie "Fences" was an example of this.
If the effort fell short, it might deviate from the director's creative intent, making it impossible to infuse characters with more soul and, naturally, limiting the stimulation of thought. The previous "Detachment" in the last life had some issues in this regard.
In other words, it was a fine balance, not a bit more or less, combined with control over the details, levels, changes, and depth of emotions. Every aspect would be executed to perfection, embodying the essence of performance acting—the pinnacle of it.
This… this was truly exhilarating! Even if it was merely conceived in his mind, every cell in Renly's body brimmed with excitement.
Indeed, perspectives differed greatly between an actor and an audience.
"Detachment," Tony voiced the movie's title, his expression revealing undeniable satisfaction. "To be more accurate, what I want to present is not a state of struggle, but a state of detachment. It's as if the soul has separated from the body, observing the world's futile activities, while the body still senses pain and torment."
"Like a lunatic," Woody, seated beside him, couldn't hold back and commented with a jesting tone.
Tony didn't mind at all. He nodded vigorously and burst into hearty laughter. "Absolutely, just like a lunatic."
Renly's thoughts snapped back, and within mere seconds, his mind had undergone a complete transformation. "I've never felt so profoundly detached from my body while my existence remains so real."
He spoke this sentence in French.
In the realm of philosophy, both France and Germany indeed boasted world-leading levels of research. Even in the UK, the philosophy department at Cambridge was no longer as thriving as it used to be. Of course, Renly could translate it into English, but in classical literature and philosophical discourse, French and German had nuanced differences in their expressions. To savor the authenticity, it was best to use the original language.
Tony, however, stared blankly for a moment, not grasping the meaning of the words. He then turned to Woody for assistance, and Woody gave him a sardonic look. "It's not me who said that. You should ask the person involved." Nevertheless, after grumbling, Woody translated the sentence with an exasperated sigh, and his gaze eventually landed on Renly. "Albert Camus?"
Renly nodded in affirmation.
Albert Camus was the recipient of the 1957 Nobel Prize in Literature and one of the most renowned representatives of existentialism and absurdism in France.
If it were in his past life, Renly wouldn't have known these details at all. In the domestic education system, philosophy was far from being the universally loved topic. However, in this life, philosophy courses were a requirement for every noble. In the past, Renly didn't understand the reason, but now he finally comprehended it.
Many times, that knowledge seeped into the bloodstream, altering one's thoughts and temperament. Even if the knowledge faded from memory, its influence remained pervasive. It granted a different perspective on things, which was the essence of learning.
Watching "Detachment" now, Renly's feelings should be completely different from his past life.
"Albert Camus?" Tony repeated, savoring the name, then nodded in satisfaction. "It seems I need to do my homework when I return."
Tony wasn't pretending not to know; he adopted an attitude of eager learning. He earnestly took out a pen and jotted down notes in his notebook. His focused demeanor was somewhat amusing, but no one would mock him.
Once finished, he looked up, his gaze again fixed on Renly. "So, are you willing to take on this role?"
Tony's impatient appearance didn't leave Renly time to think. He resembled a child who lacked understanding, driven by a sincere heart that never concealed itself.
For some, this behavior was rather offensive, displaying an ignorance of social etiquette. But Renly couldn't help but feel a trace of admiration. Similar to Woody, the only thing they cared about was the movie, and that was all.
Observing Tony's childlike eagerness, Renly suddenly felt like playing a prank. He leaned back slightly, adopting a posture of bargaining. "We still have many issues to discuss, like, for example, the salary."
Renly had initially thought his proud provocation would infuriate Tony or perhaps Woody.
After all, in the presence of two seasoned figures like Woody and Tony, Renly had no standing whatsoever. His audacity to haggle and pick and choose here was utterly out of his league.
However, unexpectedly, Tony burst into a bright smile. He joyfully tapped the table and chuckled with a sense of delight. "Go ahead. As long as you're willing to take the role."
Renly was mildly surprised, but the surprise only lingered briefly in his eyes. Soon, it transformed into a wry smile, tinged with a hint of self-mockery. "Are you sure?"
Tony didn't hesitate at all. He nodded directly. "Yes, I'm sure."
Though his interaction with Renly had been brief, Tony knew that details were everything. Renly couldn't possibly be the type of actor who would make extravagant demands. He was merely presenting standard actor requests.
Setting aside the performances in the two independent films before, even from their interaction today, Renly had gained Carl's respect. He had listened to Carl's explanations, and he even correctly grasped Albert Camus' essence in the film.
An actor like this was a rare find. He couldn't be found in the $20M club. Renly had already displayed enough professionalism, and despite being only twenty-one, he surpassed the dedication of many actors who had been in Hollywood for a decade or two.
Furthermore, Tony believed in Woody's judgment. Village Vanguard, singing performances, waiter... These details were enough to piece together the vivid character image in Woody's eyes. It was the beginning of their presence here today.
"Here's the deal: $300,000 upfront, and then five percent of the box office revenue, five percent of the DVD sales. How does that sound?" Tony lightly tapped the table, speaking straightforwardly. In his casual words lay a staggering offer.
Renly didn't know what the budget for "Detachment" was, but it probably wasn't higher than "Buried" and might even be as tight as when Tony had dipped into his own pockets for Drake. So, for Tony to throw out three hundred thousand as the salary was already quite significant.
This price wasn't particularly high compared to Renly's current salary range of $1-3M, but it was the highest he had been offered for a role so far. Renly could already envision Andy's mocking expression. Another project with such a low salary!
But that wasn't all.
Five percent of the box office revenue was already elevating Renly to the status of a film producer, indicating Tony's high regard. Moreover, Tony knew that the box office for "Detachment" was likely to be dismal. So, he sweetened the deal by adding five percent of the DVD sales, which was truly mind-boggling.
Among Hollywood's top actors, having a share of the box office was no longer uncommon, but having a share of DVD sales was rare. This was because ancillary sales were the core of a production company's profitability. It was a realm not allowed to be touched by just anyone. Even someone like Steven Spielberg, unless working with DreamWorks or other production companies, couldn't share in the profits from ancillary sales.
Yet here was Tony, casually presenting it. Such a price was indeed extraordinarily generous, to the point where Renly was taken aback.