From the moment William landed in London, the British press's unfriendliness toward him was abundantly clear.
As an actor, William made it a habit to keep up with all types of entertainment news. He read everything from high-brow film review publications like Empire, The New Yorker, and Film Art, to gossip tabloids like The National Inquirer and The New York Sun.
Upon arriving in London, he picked up several newspapers at Heathrow Airport to browse later at his hotel. However, what he found in those papers made him laugh—so much so that anyone watching him laugh uncontrollably while reading might have assumed he'd been sad to the point of insanity.
From The Daily Mail and The Guardian to The Sun and The News of the World, every outlet covering Sense and Sensibility lavished praise on the cast and crew while finding every opportunity to criticize William, the American newcomer cast in a leading role.
Why?
The answer was simple: the role of Edward Ferrars had originally been tailored for Hugh Grant, the "British public lover."
Emma Thompson herself had privately admitted that when writing the script, she had envisioned Hugh as Edward. But just before filming began, an American actor, William Bradley, unexpectedly came out and snatched the part.
Comparing the fame, age, status, and nationality of the two, it would be hellish if the British media would be satisfied with William.
The Sun: "The producers of Sense and Sensibility must have lost their minds. They cast a newcomer with no major film experience to share the screen with Oscar-winning actress Emma Thompson and the legendary Alan Rickman. It's inevitable that William Brandley's amateurish acting and American accent will clash with the rest of the cast."
The Guardian (a bit subtler): "A British literary classic directed by a Chinese filmmaker and starring an American actor—one can only hope for favorable results, though the box office potential seems uncertain."
Sunday Express hit the hardest: "Adapting a beloved novel demands precision and authenticity. William Bradley's acting aside, the real question is whether an American can convincingly adopt a London accent. The mere thought of Edward Ferrars speaking with a heavy American drawl is enough to evoke laughter."
William wasn't too concerned about the accent criticism.
Americans generally yearn for a British accent. The upper class is proud of the traditional boarding education that children receive from an early age enabled them to speak an authentic London accent.
William also received professional accent training when he was growing up. He would not deliberately show off his multiple accents when he lived in Los Angeles, but when he went to the United Kingdom, he worked hard to strengthen it.
Although he could not speak as authentically as a native Londoner, William could also achieve the standard, so that people could not find fault.
- If it weren't for the accent, Emma Thompson wouldn't have compromised with Amy Pascal so easily during the audition.
Lance observed William closely, trying to gauge whether he truly wasn't bothered by the media's relentless jabs.
After carefully observing William's expression and making sure that he was not telling a lie and take the criticism in the newspaper to heart, Lance shrugged and quipped, "At least they haven't called you 'Scarlett' yet."
The mention of William's long-retired nickname made his hair stand on end. Narrowing his eyes at Lance's smirk, William pounced. Using his index fingers and thumbs, he pinched Lance's cheeks and pulled mercilessly.
"Ow, ow! That hurts!" Lance yelled immediately.
William, who had pinched enough, withdrew his fingers and raised them in the sun to look at them carefully: "No powder, huh? Then why are you getting paler by the day? Are you turning into a vampire? Or is London's cloudy sky that powerful?"
Lance covered his cheeks, feeling that there must have been a finger mark on them, and he glared at William, "Bastard." "
"Idiot," William retorted without missing a beat.
"At least I don't powder my face every day!"
"You'd need it more than I do, you posh little prince."
"..."
"..."
Lance suddenly felt his fingers itch for revenge.
Knowing Lance too well, William saw the shift in his friend's eyes and took off running before Lance could act.
Sure enough, Lance ran after him, his hairstyle and clothes were all crooked, and the image of "cold and noble" was all shattered into slag.
The two ran along the Thames for a long time. The golden afternoon sun shone on the two of them, stretching their shadows long behind them.
…
- Several painters nearby painted this scene and named it "The Boy by the Thames". A few years later the two protagonists were recognized, and the painting was sold for a high price at an auction in New York.
…
After all, Lance's physique was still not as good as William's. Before long, he was doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.
William, standing about five meters away with his hands on his hips, was also catching his breath but managed to flash a triumphant grin. "You can't outrun me, mate. I'm a former intercollegiate long-distance running champion. Admit defeat, huh?"
"Monster," Lance scolded, standing upright as he smiled wryly at his friend.
"Waste," William shot back without missing a beat.
- This is a cycle of scolding that they have experienced for N years.
The two of them: you look at me, I look at you, look at each other for a long time before laughing "hahahaha". The depression that has been accumulated in their heart for a long time is also swept away.
…
After their playful chase, the pair found a random spot for afternoon tea, followed by a casual dinner. It was during their meal that Lance suggested, almost mischievously, "Let's drink tonight."
William pointed at himself with a depressed expression: "It's very unfortunate! My face has been an acquaintance in the eyes of British reporters recently. If I am photographed in and out of the bar, I will probably be expelled from the crew tomorrow." "
Lance had a solution. "Simple. We buy some drinks and head back to my place."
"And how exactly are we buying alcohol? We're both minors." William raised an eyebrow skeptically.
Lance pulled a card out of his pocket and shook it in front of William's eyes.
It was a fake ID, 25 years old, a native of London. The amazing thing was that the man in the photo was five or six points similar to Lance, and he could get away with it if he went to a place where the regulations were not too strict to buy alcohol.
William raised his eyebrows and said, "Mixed up so quickly? Lance Roderick is indeed Lance Roderick. "
"Shhh…" Lance modestly and reservedly (in fact, proudly) emphasized: "I just bought wine, and I didn't use it for anything I shouldn't have done."
"... I'm not implying anything you've done with it. "
The two bought a few beers, returned to Roderick's old house in London, and sat directly on the ground in front of the sofa, drinking beer while looking at the stars through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
William accumulates too many questions: "How is your boarding school life? I've heard that Eton doesn't seem to accept transfer students for a long time.
Have you been ostracized at school? Has anyone shown kindness to you? Have you made any new friends? What about girlfriends? Which university are you going to apply to this year? "
"... You have so many questions, do you want me to answer them in one breath and then die of exhaustion?" Lance took a sip of his beer and sighed, answering as briefly as possible. "Fine. No. No. No. Cambridge or Oxford."
"Why all the no's?" William looked incredulous.
Lance chuckled dryly. "Eton's all boys. Where would I get a girlfriend? The female squirrel in the garden?"
"Fair point. Anyway, with your grandfather Waddington's reputation, I doubt anyone would dare give you trouble."
Lance hummed noncommittally.
Their conversation went on from Los Angeles to London, from Santa Monica to Eton, and from William's untouched Bugatti Veyron gathering dust in his family's garage to Lance's newfound love for Aston Martins.
Whether it was William or Lance, their alcohol tolerance was not high, and before they knew it, the two were drunk.
Lance is more likely to tell the truth when he's drunk.
William was embarrassed at the moment, he felt that he had heard too much that he shouldn't have heard tonight.
For instance, Lance admitted that his father, Taylor Roderick, was the reason he left the United States. When one of Taylor's lovers took the jewelry that had belonged to Lance's late mother to wear, Lance had intimidated her.
Another time, at his mother's funeral, Taylor forbade him from crying, coldly insisting that an heir must show strength. Since then, Lance viewed his father as an enemy.
"I really don't like him, Will. No, I hate him." Lance's eyes were red, like a rabbit smeared with eyeliner too thick.
William sighed deeply. He silently hoped Lance would forget everything he had said once the morning came.
This kid is getting more and more sullen, and he is more and more fond of hiding his thoughts.
Since the death of Jenny Roderick, Lance's growth rate is simply amazing. When he was a child, William was the one who dominate, not Lance.
When he was eight years old, he was able to scare the rich young master with a caterpillar. But the more later, Lance's growth rate became faster. And William, although he was smart when he was a child and grew up with it, he did not have a earth-shaking change like Lance.
When I was a child, I was a crybaby and a squeamish young master, but when I started to grow up, and I actually walked the Hamlet route?
- William had searched through all his memories and added a suitable adjective to the present Lance. In front of him, he was cold and lively. Sometimes making William feel very familiar and sometimes making him feel so strange.
William took another mouthfuls of beer, then reached over to grab Lance's shoulder. "Hey, listen. I've learned so much about your family tonight, I'm practically your diary now. But if you ever turn into a cold-hearted villain, don't hold it against me for knowing too much."
Lance squinted at him for a long time, shook Will's arms off his shoulders and muttered, "Angry at you? Why would I be? What are you even on about, Will?"
Slouching against the couch, Lance muttered to himself, his voice fluctuating as if he were singing an opera. "I want to beat Taylor. I have to…"
William, slightly drunk, suddenly knelt in front of his friend and put his hands in Lance's head, and shook it back and forth: "You'll win against Taylor, no matter what! Even if you do nothing, you'll outlive him—he'll kick the bucket first! Hahaha!"
Lance, still groggy and swaying, pushed William away before he could be shaken senseless. "I don't want to just outlive him!"
He stumbled to his feet, stumbling towards the bathroom as he declared boldly, "I'll defeat him on the battlefield! I'll make more money than him! I'll have a higher status than him!"
If it weren't for Lance's vomiting sound coming from the bathroom, William would have wanted to touch his forehead to check if he was sick. "Hey, man, aren't you being a little... impractical? Your dad owns the entire Roderick fortune—a legacy built over generations. Right now, all you've got is your name, an adult trust fund, and your mom's inheritance."
"I have a few funds under my name, and the money is now available."
Lance's voice came from far away from the bathroom: "I'm going to use it as a start-up fund, and I'm going to become a billionaire no less than Bill Gates!" "
"You're more ambitious than I am, my friend."
William suddenly felt that he quite lacked ambitions, because his dream seemed a little too small compared to Lance? "Maybe I can help you with starting a company... No, maybe we can work together! Lance, which industry do you want to do? "
"Energy, finance, electronic technology—those are the future. For now, though, whatever makes money!" Lance's voice echoed confidently from the bathroom.
William, his beer-fogged brain trying to focus, snapped his fingers. "Money-making business… money-making…"
Suddenly, an idea bubbled up. "What if we speculate in stocks and reinvest the profits into movies? Lance, seriously—some films are insanely profitable. Costs in the millions, box office in the hundreds of millions—it's like printing money!"
From the bathroom came the sound of flushing, followed by Lance's laughter. "Sure, no problem! Let's build a Bradley & Roderick empire!"
"Bradley & Roderick?" William stretched out on the couch, yawning and said groggily. "That's so long… What about William & Lancelot? Too formal… Hmm, William Bradley? No, that's too selfish of me… Bradley & Lancelot, maybe? B&L? That's catchy… BL…"
Somewhere in the night, William jolted awake, sitting upright with a dazed expression. He immediately Lance, who had slumped over on his chest and nearly suffocated him.
Groaning, William shoved Lance into a more breathable position before muttering aloud the thought that had been swirling in his mind: "BL Empire? What the heck is that?"
With that, he flopped back onto the couch, immediately falling asleep again.
////