"Go with the flow?" Anson was a bit surprised.
Cliff nodded. "Yes, go with the flow."
Anson thought about it for a moment. "How do I go with the flow?"
Cliff chuckled softly. "Relax, trust yourself, and follow your instincts."
Anson didn't say anything but fell into deep thought.
Cliff was a little surprised. He thought that young people didn't like old men's nagging. After all, times have changed; thoughts, concepts, and values are different. This wasn't specifically about Anson but about young people in general. So before he spoke, he hesitated, worried that he might be meddling.
But unexpectedly...
He was overthinking it.
Cliff continued speaking.
"Since joining the crew, I've observed that you delve deep into your characters and the story. You always manage to capture the perfect state."
"I believe this scene will be no different. You know the lines, you know the emotions, and you know the state. So why not trust yourself?"
"Don't overthink the emotions or the lines. Instead, immerse yourself in the character and follow your instincts."
"I believe your understanding and analysis of this scene have been deeply ingrained. Your instincts will guide you to the right answer and deliver the right performance."
"Not thinking isn't a good thing; but overthinking isn't good either."
"You should give yourself some credit."
Cliff's old voice slowly flowed, neither hurried nor slow. The bustling and noisy air of New York seemed to gradually settle down with him.
Anson tilted his head slightly to look at Cliff, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "So, do you think I'm a good actor?"
Cliff was stunned. "I thought you would say, 'You're not my father, mind your own business.'"
This was exactly what Peter Parker said to his uncle in the movie.
Words can be sharp and cutting; they often unintentionally hurt those closest to us. But words, once spoken, are like water spilled on the ground — impossible to take back. The scars remain on the heart.
But here, transitioning from reality back to the screen, Cliff created a clever contrast, bringing out a sense of humor.
The smile in Anson's eyes gradually spread. "You know, I'm an actor. I believe the Earth should revolve around me, so I care about your compliments. Am I really a good actor?"
Cliff put on a thoughtful expression, looking at Anson seriously. "Not bad."
Anson's eyes widened.
Cliff burst out laughing heartily.
Then, a voice came from the intercom under the car seat.
"Attention, attention, everything is ready. Anson, Cliff, are you ready?"
On the surface, it seemed that only Anson and Cliff were in the car, but their every move was under the watchful eyes of cameras and microphones. Not just the director, but half of the crew was watching.
Cliff and Anson exchanged a glance and both burst into laughter again.
Whew.
Anson let out a long breath, trying to calm himself down. He needed to trust himself and not get too caught up in performing well, which could cause him to lose his lightness and go too far in the other direction.
Cliff's voice came from beside him again, "You don't need to prove yourself; you just need to embody the character, and that's enough."
There was a deeper meaning in his words.
It seemed Cliff thought Anson might be worried about being labeled a pretty face, but actually, Anson wasn't concerned about others seeing him that way at all.
However, from another perspective, Cliff was right. Anson didn't need to prove he was worthy of the role to anyone—he just needed to be himself.
"Thank you," Anson said, succinct but sincere.
Behind the monitor.
James Franco, Kirsten Dunst, and other actors were all there, their eyes on the monitor, unable to resist their curiosity about Anson's performance.
The air was a bit quiet, and the roaring traffic two blocks away made the silence stand out even more.
"Action!"
Buzz, buzz, buzz—the street in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was bustling with cars coming and going and crowds bustling around as life resumed.
On the movie screen, these lively scenes appeared incredibly real, but on set, everything was a carefully orchestrated performance.
Even though Sam Raimi wasn't as intense as Steven Spielberg, he still had a keen sense for capturing the overall visual effect.
However, all of this had nothing to do with Peter Parker or Ben Parker.
Inside the car, the atmosphere seemed normal. Peter was eager to get out and leave, but Uncle Ben stopped him.
"Thanks, Uncle Ben."
"Wait, we need to talk."
With those words, Peter's expression showed a hint of surprise, and his excitement and anticipation briefly froze. He was getting ready to test his skills at an underground wrestling match to make money with his superpowers—three thousand dollars was no small amount—only to be stopped. He couldn't stand it.
"Can we talk about it later?"
"If you don't mind, we can talk about it now."
Uncle Ben insisted.
Peter didn't hide his disappointed expression, looking slightly annoyed. Like thousands of other teenagers, he clearly didn't like talking to adults.
He slumped his shoulders slightly. "What do you want to talk about? Does it have to be now?"
Uncle Ben turned off the engine. "Because we haven't talked in a long time. May and I don't understand you anymore. You won't do chores, and you're doing strange experiments in your room..."
One line after another.
Teenaged Peter grew increasingly agitated, leaning back in his seat, his gaze drifting impatiently out the window.
Uncle Ben still didn't stop; his nagging continued. "You're getting into fights at school..."
Peter immediately became agitated, sitting up straight with a face full of grievance. "I told you it wasn't me who started it."
Uncle Ben didn't avoid Peter's gaze. "You made sure you won."
Peter turned slightly, meeting his uncle's eyes, his temper flaring up. "Should I have run away?"
Uncle Ben could feel Peter's aggression and looked away. "No, you shouldn't have run away, but..."
Taking a deep breath.
Uncle Ben looked up, seeing Peter's angry glare, exhaling softly, his tone softening, speaking calmly, "Peter, you're changing. At your age, I was just like you..."
But Peter wasn't buying it, showing a sarcastic smile. "No, not quite."
Superpowers were both a surprise and a secret.
Peter couldn't tell anyone, nor was he sure if he should tell anyone. Of course, he hadn't seriously considered this question.
In short, things were different, and Peter didn't think Uncle Ben could understand.
Fleetingly, Peter's emotions between his brows were very complex, indescribable in simple terms, ultimately transforming into a kind of stubbornness and detachment.
Cliff noticed it—
That was depth.
And it wasn't acting; it was a naturally emerging depth. The boy in front of him and the image of Peter Parker overlapped just like that.
So much so that Cliff was slightly stunned.
Originally, this was supposed to be his line, but now he didn't follow through.
Behind the monitor, eyes busily glanced at Sam. Was there going to be another NG? The fourth time?
But surprisingly, Sam hesitated for a moment and didn't say anything. Instead, he carefully watched the monitor screen, revealing a playful expression.
Silence spread through the air. The surrounding noise continued, but no one spoke.
So, what exactly was going on?