"No, this isn't what I want. The direction is correct, but the details are too rigid, and the traces of performance are too obvious. Let me do it again. I now understand the rhythm and scale."
"Are you sure? In my view, this take is correct, or at least more correct than the previous one. We can use this."
"You can, but I can't. Let's do it one more time. Trust me, okay? I can do better. The importance of this scene far surpasses the opening scene on the first day. You were relentless back then for an entire afternoon. So, is this scene enough for you? Don't you want to see a more complete and fitting performance?"
"Well, you know how to talk. Let's do it one more time then, let me see the true essence of your performance. I trust you!"
"No problem, trust me!"
After that, Tony turned around and shouted to the crew once again, "One more time!"
"Oh!" Complaints erupted this time without any attempt to hide them. Ninety minutes had passed, a full ninety minutes, and the shoot for the scene they had just attempted was still making no breakthrough. Renly and Tony were still stuck in place. Now they were going to do it all over again, and many crew members were on the brink of collapse.
It was already past four o'clock, and in another half hour or hour, dawn would break in New York. Did that mean they had achieved nothing on the fourth day of shooting? This was torture for anyone.
Even Jeremy, this time, had no energy left to console the other crew members.
If he had the choice, he'd want to wrap it up right now and go home to sleep, more importantly, to end the shoot for this scene formally. But evidently, he wasn't the one with the authority to make that decision. Tony and Renly were two absolute lunatics, and when lunatics met, it was the common people like them who suffered.
He didn't like Renly. Or, to be more accurate, Renly didn't make him like him.
Honestly, in the performances of the scenes just now, Jeremy couldn't discern any significant difference. He always believed that the performance just before Renly called for the interruption was nearly identical. He couldn't say which one was better or worse, but he could be sure that the quality of both was outstanding. So Jeremy couldn't understand the persistence of these two lunatics. Moreover, even Tony had given his approval, but Renly remained unyielding. It was truly frustrating.
A surge of frustration built up in his chest, suffocating him.
Outside the bus, the restlessness seemed ready to explode at any moment, and if it did, the scene would be an ugly sight. No one wanted to witness that. But inside the bus, there was an unusual calm, seemingly untouched by the commotion outside.
Sami watched Renly, who had calmed his breathing and settled down. He sat in his place, meticulously reading the script. He had already torn this page of the script into bits, and the content was the same palm-sized portion, so small that even Sami could fluently recite it. But Renly was once again beginning to read it.
Renly's calm and steadiness somewhat eased Sami's restlessness and anxiety. She sat quietly beside him, a bit lost in thought. Then, Renly's voice abruptly shattered this calmness, "Alright! Let's begin!" Sami quickly snapped back to attention, took a deep breath, another deep breath, and then knelt back down, facing the other extras and taking her position.
This time, Tony didn't step onto the bus; instead, he stood behind the monitor, observing the entire scene's filming from a holistic perspective, including the cameraman's shots and the pre-set angles. Once he saw the actors were ready, Tony called out, "Action!"
If it weren't for the clapperboard displaying the glaring record of the 69th take, even Tony himself might have lost count. The script supervisor finished clapping the board and yelled, "Action!" before bending over and sprinting away like a streak of smoke. The bus began to sway and move forward.
Henry let out a gentle sigh, but halfway through, it got stuck. The breath caught in his throat, neither swallowed nor exhaled. Weariness was evident in the furrows between his brows. The weighty fatigue tugged his eyelids downward. He raised his left hand, weaving it through his hair and pushing it back. This simple movement made him lean back, making every detail of his body look fatigued after a bitter struggle. The remaining breath was finally released, his entire shoulder slumping down.
That nearly unbearable heaviness pulled him down. He tried to lift his shoulder, but it was an almost imperceptible movement, as if an invisible weight as heavy as Mount Tai was pressing down, amplifying the effect of gravity by tenfold or a hundredfold. His shoulder line drooped, and he sat there in a daze.
His eyes seemed to lose focus, staring ahead lifelessly. The deep brown irises showed a painful expression that flickered and quickly disappeared. His furrowed brows struggled in pain for a moment. The torment of despair surged and boiled deep in his eyes, as if he were immersed in the fiery torment of hell. The excruciating pain seared his soul, tearing it apart bit by bit. It felt like the whole process was visible to the naked eye, turning into ashes. Despair had reached its extreme, and the pain had reached its peak, to the point that not even a sound could escape.
Without warning, the tearing pain collided with boundless despair, and a glint of tears flashed deep in his eyes. Henry quickly closed his eyes, and the glistening teardrops hung from his long eyelashes without falling. They refracted the swaying light inside the bus, casting a shattered scene.
Even with his eyes closed, the slightly tangled brows still revealed a strong sense of suffering, restrained bitterness, and suppressed agony welling up.
He clenched his teeth as if enduring unimaginable torment. His facial contours began to stiffen, revealing a desolation amid the icy coldness. But as the restraint reached its limit, tears still slipped from his tightly shut eyes. It was a momentary breakdown, and a muffled cry emanated from his chest, pressed tightly against his throat. However, it still leaked out as a suppressed groan. The hidden suffering, the suppression, and the concealed despair all seeped through his trembling lips.
Suppression, suppression, and more suppression, all efforts to restrain were in vain, unable to prevent the descent into the abyss of darkness. It was a forceful free fall, ruthlessly destroying all control.
Tears fell, big drops, and despite tightly closed eyes, clenched teeth, and clenched fists, they surged uncontrollably. However, there was no sound in the entire cry, not even the faintest breath, only the scalding tears kept cascading down—an unvoiced scream, an unspoken accusation, a silent roar, all outlining boundless despair.
He sat quietly, sobbing silently, as if you could see all the defenses, armor, and shells breaking apart. The glistening tears refracted through this shattering, like the world crumbling apart.
Quiet, everything around was quiet, only the bus's engine hummed softly in the deep night. But one person's world was collapsing.
It was truly too cruel, to the extent that it was unbearable to watch any longer.
Jeremy was completely stunned. Before he even realized it, tears had blurred his vision. He hadn't even wiped away the moisture to hide his disarray. Tears had already burned his hand back. Raising his hand, his entire face was already moist. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He just stood there, as if losing control of his emotions and losing touch with his feelings, standing there numbly, crying uncontrollably. He didn't even know why he was crying, but the tears just wouldn't stop.
This scene was truly too heart-wrenching, bitter to the point where he couldn't catch his breath.
The volcanic eruption of emotions within this seemingly calm and composed performance unleashed a shockwave like a cataclysmic event. The entire set fell into an eerie silence, and this spreading tranquility felt like waves crashing against a cliff, one wave higher than the next, inducing panic, torment, and despair.
Breathing deeply, the surging emotions seemed to calm in an instant. Those eyes finally opened again, deep brown irises veiled in a thin mist, profound and bottomless, rippling with waves of bitterness, regret, self-blame, pain, sorrow, loneliness, desolation, and countless other emotions, all indescribable. There was just darkness, endless darkness, surging with mixed emotions, stepping steadily towards despair.
He took a deep breath, but all the oxygen seemed to accumulate in his throat, impossible to swallow. His burning lungs began to smolder, and then he began to cough violently, as if he were about to cough out his entire lungs, overturning the barely established defenses again. Each bout of coughing released the scalding tears, almost burning his cheeks, yet they couldn't be stopped.
All he could do was clench his fists tightly, furrowing his brows, breathing heavily. The sweat-drenched cheeks had a touch of sickly flush, like rouge on the lips, outlining a bewitching grimness. Then, he slumped his head weakly, as if his soul had been emptied, sinking into the chair. The despair binding his ankles descended rapidly into the bottomless abyss.
The free-fall impact and speed of destruction began to accelerate. His battered soul was now riddled with wounds, and even the last trace of persistence between his brows was dissipating. Then, he released his fists, no longer resisted, no longer struggled.
At the end of despair, was it surrender or acceptance?