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"Are you sure you don't need us to drive you back to the hotel?"
"No, it's fine. I like to take a walk after dinner to clear my mind."
"Just like in a Woody Allen movie?"
"Hah, I'm not that romantic. The story of 'Manhattan' doesn't suit me; I'm more of a 'RoboCop' kind of person."
"Oh, Paul Verhoeven. 'Turkish Delight' was truly a bold attempt."
Standing at the restaurant's entrance, ready to say goodbye, they ended up exchanging a few more words—a conversation that was casual yet packed with information.
Despite the seeming small talk, the amount of content was overwhelming—
Edgar was already completely lost.
Sam was also quite surprised, not expecting Anson to know about "Turkish Delight." "When people talk about Paul, they always bring up 'Basic Instinct,' but the truth is, 'Turkish Delight' and 'RoboCop' are his real masterpieces."
Anson smiled. "And 'Showgirls.'"
In 1992, Paul Verhoeven's "Basic Instinct" achieved incredible success in North America, bringing this bold and avant-garde Dutch director into the public eye. As a result, the 1995 release of "Showgirls" received unprecedented attention, only to be met with a wave of criticism and backlash.
At the time, the film was a complete failure in both critical reception and box office, nearly destroying Paul's career prospects in Hollywood.
However, two decades later, countless critics and fans have revisited the film, and with time, its brilliance finally began to shine through. People started to see Paul as a director far ahead of his time, with an unparalleled sharpness in his social and cultural critiques.
All of this was already evident in his 1973 film, "Turkish Delight."
This time, Sam was genuinely surprised—
For the first time tonight, Sam temporarily returned to his director's perspective, carefully considering the actor in front of him.
After a moment's thought, Sam decided to speak his mind. "I think you're too handsome to play Peter Parker. If you have anything to say in rebuttal, now's your chance."
Edgar's heart suddenly started racing: A chance!
Anson hadn't expected this opportunity to arise, especially in such an unexpected context. But he shook his head, "No, I don't plan to rebut."
Sam blinked.
Anson chuckled, "My appearance, your bias—these are facts that can't be changed, right?"
Intrigued by the unexpected angle, Sam found it interesting. "So, are you just going to give up? You spent the whole evening chatting with this old guy, and now you're giving up?"
Does Sam not understand?
No, he understands everything.
The difference lies in Anson's candidness and sincerity, his knowledge and warmth, making everything feel natural. Sam wasn't some out-of-touch hermit—he had poured his heart and soul into directing "Spider-Man," so he could understand the actors' actions.
But even Sam didn't notice that what should have been Anson chasing after him to explain had now turned into Sam chasing after Anson for explanations.
The balance of power had quietly shifted.
In other words, Sam's prejudice had already been shaken.
Anson laughed heartily. "Of course not."
"Director, I've spent the whole evening just to prove to you that, first, appearance is only a part of a character. The charm of a character shouldn't be limited to looks; it should be three-dimensional, diverse, and vivid. When you were discussing those topics with me, were you really focused on my appearance?"
"Second, stereotypes about a character are often one-sided. There are a thousand Hamlets for a thousand people. Maybe in the director's eyes, Peter Parker should be more ordinary, but maybe millions of viewers think Peter Parker should be more handsome. Ultimately, it's a matter of personal aesthetics."
"So the key is how the director shapes the character, how to make the character convincing."
"Or perhaps, has the director not yet figured it out, or is he unsure of his own ability?"
A sharp counterattack.
Anson's confidence and candor revealed his determination to land the role. Between the lines, he subtly hinted that Sam's fixation on appearances was a sign of insecurity.
Sam froze.
But instead of pressing on, Anson took a small step back, creating a bit of distance. "Director, let's call it a night. I hope you have a wonderful evening and enjoy your walk."
With that, Anson motioned for Edgar to follow him toward their parked car.
Edgar hesitated slightly but eventually followed Anson, leaving Sam standing alone. The balance of power had quietly shifted.
Sam remained standing in place for a long time, not moving.
As Edgar drove out of Chinatown, he only managed to drive two blocks before hurriedly finding a parking spot and quickly pulling over.
Then, he disappeared into a nearby… McDonald's.
Was he still hungry?
No, Anson found a seat and ordered some fries, while Edgar dashed to the restroom at lightning speed.
Clearly, Edgar's tolerance for spicy food wasn't strong enough. He had forced himself to eat tonight for the sake of work, repeatedly saying it was delicious—even though it genuinely was, as Edgar kept shoveling it into his mouth without realizing it.
But now, he was paying the price.
After spending fifteen minutes in the restroom, Edgar emerged, only to pause when he saw Anson from a distance. His stomach growled again, and Edgar flashed a pained smile before rushing back to the restroom with a speed that could rival Bugs Bunny.
"Haha!"
Anson couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.
After three trips back and forth, Edgar finally returned, looking pale as he sat across from Anson, beads of sweat visible on his forehead.
"Anson, sorry…" Edgar said, feeling embarrassed—
His knees were trembling slightly.
Anson gave him a thumbs-up. "Warrior!"
Edgar managed a weak smile, then eyed the Coke in front of him, glancing at Anson for approval. With a nod of confirmation, Edgar grabbed the Coke, took a big gulp, and let the sugar stabilize his shaking knees. Only then did his brain start functioning again.
A cough.
Covering his embarrassment, Edgar asked, "Was it alright for us to leave like that? Even if the conversation was over, we should have stayed until the director left."
Anson shrugged lightly. "Usually, yes, it's polite to do so. But in this case, the roles had reversed. Given the director's personality, he needs time and space to think. If we'd stayed, we would have only been a distraction."
"Just like Scott this morning."
Edgar sipped his Coke, nodding thoughtfully. "You're right. He's not someone who changes his mind easily. We've done everything we could, and now we just need to be patient."
Anson asked, "So, are we done in New York?"
Edgar nodded. "Yes, for now. We'll have to wait for further notice. I do need to follow up with Laura, but that doesn't require my direct involvement."
Anson smiled, "Oh, that means I can still make it to the awards ceremony."
Edgar: "…What awards ceremony?"
Anson: "The Emmys. I thought I might miss it because of the audition and the uncertainty of how long we'd need to stay in New York."
Edgar's eyes widened, nearly choking on his Coke. He blurted out, "Jesus Christ. We'll make it—no, we *must* make it. Absolutely!"