Restless in spirit, Renly vigorously scratched his head and attempted to unbutton his shirt. To his surprise, the top two buttons had already been undone, yet he still couldn't catch his breath. The sensation was utterly wretched, leaving him feeling like a headless fly, darting aimlessly without a sense of direction. Even if he wanted to vent, he couldn't find an outlet.
Ever since "The Pacific" began, Renly had already filmed five productions in the blink of an eye, displaying remarkable efficiency. While he couldn't claim vast experience, he was no longer a novice in the industry. However, the current situation was unlike anything he had encountered before.
During the filming of "Like Crazy", upon returning to London, his state of mind had been affected. There was always a sense of detachment in his performances, requiring him to make more adjustments when fully engaged in acting. Yet, he remained acutely aware of what he was doing and where he stood.
Later, during the filming of "50/50", he had initially exerted excessive effort. After calming down, he reinterpreted his role and adjusted his performance rhythm, returning things to their proper course. Throughout the process, his thinking remained clear.
But this time was different. He couldn't find the rhythm of his performance, couldn't locate his acting state, and, most importantly, he didn't know what he was doing. There seemed to be a rift between him and the character, an inability to build a connection. This was an unprecedented occurrence.
From an objective standpoint, his previous performance had been exceptional. Every detail, layer, depth, and intensity of his acting had been perfectly balanced, never veering into exaggeration. Yet, it had conveyed all the pain and sorrow, demonstrating precise control. While it may not have been his peak performance, it was undeniably accurate.
From a technical perspective, such a performance was more than sufficient. On this point, both Tony and Renly agreed. If they were to use it directly in the film, there would be no issues, and it would satisfy Tony.
However, on the other hand, Tony had an inkling that something was missing, although he couldn't put his finger on it. From the director's perspective, sufficient emotion, excellent acting, and proper pacing were all that mattered. His hesitation and indecision were merely self-doubt and self-challenge in pursuit of perfection. If you could achieve a perfect score, why settle for ninety-nine?
Tony's thoughts found approval from Renly.
Yet Renly's perspective was radically different. For an actor, that previous scene lacked a spark, a minuscule chemical reaction, a feeling that couldn't be accurately described in words, actions, or expressions – just a sense, an elusive feeling. It was akin to the process of artistic creation: something just didn't feel right. Everything was right, yet something was wrong, causing everything to fall apart.
Regarding the character of Henry Barthes and the script's theme, Renly had conducted a comprehensive and thorough analysis. He understood Tony and Carl's intentions, as well as the weight of the character. Moreover, he had presented the character's emotions and feelings with utmost precision. So, what was missing?
His mind was flooded with countless thoughts on how to convey sorrow, how to express pain, how to depict transformation. Every detail was vivid and alive, filled with the acting techniques he had learned during his time in drama school. He kept replaying the scene from earlier in his mind, breaking it down to the finest nuances, but it was all a jumbled mess, impossible to make sense of.
Taking a deep breath, then another, Renly understood that he couldn't afford to be impatient. At this moment, impatience wouldn't serve any purpose. They had been stuck here for four days already, and things couldn't get much worse. Instead of rushing, he decided to slow down, organize his thoughts, for as they say, "Well begun is half done." This moment of retreat was for a better advance.
As he strolled down the street, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. This time, for his role as Henry, he kept cigarettes on hand at all times, saving him the trouble. Involuntarily, he thought of Nathan and Roy, their anxious expressions, and it struck him as somewhat amusing. His lips relaxed slightly.
From the perspective of method acting, the scene displayed overwhelming, uncontrollable emotions, reaching the utmost depths of sadness and torment, causing tears to flow relentlessly on the bus.
Then, seeing Erica, Henry's sorrow deepened, as if he saw his former self, plummeting into the abyss of hell, unable to see the end. He knew no one could help her, and even if they did, things wouldn't improve because he was still in that hell, continuously descending, never glimpsing the end.
His emotions settled, and despair gradually took hold. He returned to a state of numbness, neither sad nor happy, but the sadness and bitterness between his eyes couldn't be dispelled, making the emotion on his brow even more somber.
In a single performance, there were three stages, three layers: the rise, development, and deepening of emotions. This demanded precision and finesse in acting. During yesterday's shoot, he hadn't quite mastered this balance, and the resulting footage naturally failed to satisfy. What about this time?
With a cigarette between his lips, the soothing yet slightly stimulating scent lingered beneath his nostrils as his concentration gradually intensified.
The initial sobbing and wailing had completely released his emotions, making the grief boundless. Then, the silent tears began to gnaw at his heart, slowly eating away at the numbness, once again exposing the profound pain in his soul. Finally, the numb silence, returning to the previous deadness.
The whole performance had clear layers, a well-defined rhythm, and a distinct storyline, seamlessly connecting the emotions. If he were to focus on the details, there was indeed room for improvement, such as slightly slowing down the emotional transition in the second stage, allowing the entire transformation to be displayed, strengthening the connection between Henry and Erica. However, when he watched the playback just now, he didn't get the feeling that it was a matter of adjusting a specific part; it was something missing in a particular part.
So, what was missing exactly?
Going back to the roots, where did the emotional nuances of method acting come from? The connection between the character and the story, in simple terms, was why Henry was crying. Why was he crying on the bus? Why did he break down at this particular moment?
Revisiting the timeline of the entire night: a sleepless night, wandering late into the night, a call to the hospital, persuading his grandfather, scolding the caregiver, and finally, an emotional breakdown on the journey back home on the bus.
Undoubtedly, his grandfather was the focal point of this timeline. While helping his grandfather get into bed, the elderly man, tormented by Alzheimer's, muttered, "Some old people sleep a lot before they die. Isn't that silly?" Watching his grandfather's bewildered and lost expression, Henry felt a deep sense of helplessness.
Henry then picked up his grandfather's diary. According to the doctor's orders, in the battle against his illness, his grandfather needed to practice writing frequently, jotting down every fragment that appeared in his mind. But the entire diary was blank. Henry suddenly realized that the footsteps of the Grim Reaper were gradually drawing closer.
Yet, even so, his grandfather remained fixated on his mother's suicide. It seemed that from that moment, his grandfather's time had come to a halt, his life frozen in that one night. And wasn't he the same? Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see his mother's naked body lying in the bathroom, foaming at the mouth, clutching scattered white pills in her hand. That image was etched deeply in his mind and wouldn't fade away.
His mother had chosen to end herself, and his grandfather had chosen to dwell in the past. Now, he was left alone, facing everything on his own, stumbling his way to adulthood. Currently, even his grandfather was departing, and he felt torn. He tried to distance himself from his grandfather, to build his own life, to resist sinking into the pain of the past. Yet, he couldn't let go either. His grandfather was his only connection to this world, his only buffer against life. If even his grandfather were to leave... that sorrow and pain made Henry lose control of his emotions, and he vented his anger at the caregiver like never before.
The rush of memories and the fear of the future shattered the facade Henry had struggled to maintain, and tears streamed down his face.
But if it were just this, then Renly's recent performance would be on point. All the frameworks, content, and details of his acting were based on his grandfather's current state and his mother's memories. That profound sorrow kept the tears flowing endlessly. But a piece of the puzzle was still missing. The most crucial piece.
Taking a deep breath, the unlit cigarette in his mouth shriveled up dryly. The cold air entered his lungs with each breath, sending a shiver down his spine. Goosebumps formed on his skin as he looked up and saw utter desolation. It was around two in the morning, and the streets were deserted. Yet, Renly knew that wandering out here were outlaws and homeless wanderers, still lingering in this cold indifference.
At the street corner stood a run-down building, an old second-hand shop. Almost every day, people could be seen bringing their belongings here to pawn or sell, exchanging them for a meager bit of cash to keep their lives going.
Not long ago, Renly had witnessed a gaunt prostitute clutching a sheet and a blanket, pleading desperately with the shopkeeper, trying to make a deal. But it wasn't wartime anymore, and these things couldn't be exchanged for money. In the end, the shopkeeper raised a shotgun and drove the stubborn woman away.
After leaving the shop, the woman collapsed on the street. A passing police officer, unable to bear it, tossed her ten dollars. Just as Renly thought she might use it to buy some milk and bread to stave off hunger, the next second, she found a drug dealer and, on her knees, pleaded with him, hoping to exchange it for some drugs. Even just a few ecstasy pills would do.
This was reality. This was life.