The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 2095 Amazement
Cotton farmers in a small southern town in the 1940s.

A typical family, an incompetent yet irritable man who, besides venting all his negative emotions on his wife and children in his incompetent rage, only has the skill of getting drunk every day, and donating all the spare change he saves to the only bar in town.

Ray Cash is that kind of man.

Growing up in such an environment, the frail JR clearly received no love, while Jack was the child favored by his father.

JR gazed at his brother with admiration and respect. His brother seemed to be able to do anything, from heaven to earth. His brother could pick five times more cotton than him, he could memorize the entire story of the Bible, his brother was preparing to become a pastor, and his brother could do carpentry work independently. JR was just a little kid following behind his brother.

Perhaps the only thing JR is good at is singing, singing hymns with his mother.

But clearly, this is a useless skill; JR doesn't even consider it a skill.

He just thinks about fishing all day long.

After finishing their cotton-picking work, Jack took JR to do odd jobs, earning a dollar for sawing all the planks off a wood plank.

JR lost patience after only helping for a short while. Jack noticed this and affectionately told JR to go fishing by the river first, while he would finish his work and join him.

JR left excitedly, skipping and hopping towards the river, only to find nothing.

To make matters worse, his father caught him red-handed, grabbed him by the collar, and put him in a pickup truck. JR's thin, frail shoulders hunched over, and he trembled with fear.

Upon arriving at the hospital and seeing Jack lying on the bed covered in blood, JR froze, timidly grabbing Jack's right hand, at a loss for what to do.

He stared blankly at Jack, then blankly at his mother and the doctor.

"Do something," he shouted.

But there was no response. "Do something!"

However, Jack breathed his last.

The saw, the blade, the momentary daze—all the clues connected to find the answer, breaking the connection between time and space and surfacing.

After the funeral, JR sat blankly in front of the radio, lost in thought. His father had vented all his anger on him. The piggy bank used to be filled with coins from his extra jobs, which became his father's money for drinking. But now the piggy bank was empty, with nothing in it.

Lei has gone out of control.

Despite his mother's attempts to stop him, Ray continued to smash furniture, saying, "It was the devil who did it; he took the wrong son."

"He was my best son, but now he's gone."

JR fled back to his and Jack's room, lay on the bed, and buried his head in the pillow in despair, "Jack, don't leave me."

Outside the door, Lei, raging and completely out of control, yelled, "Quiet! Quiet! All of you, quiet!"

The world fell silent; the mother's pleas, the sister's cries, and the father's roars all vanished.

Not only on the big screen, but also in the Lumière Hall outside the screen, all fell silent.

The camera moves away from JR and focuses on the tightly closed room door. Everything seems to calm down briefly, and then a girl pushes open the door.

She forced a smile, but it was tinged with sadness. "You're going to miss the bus." The camera then returned to JR, who had grown up.

That's Anson Wood.

He was still lying on the bed, hugging his pillow, like a child, his chin resting on the back of his hand, gazing out the window, lost in thought.

Calm, gloomy, and reserved, with a faint sadness emanating from between his brows.

The lowered eyelids obscured the eyes, and a sliver of light streamed in from the window, casting a shadow through the thick eyelashes, as thoughts wandered.

Involuntarily, I held my breath—

One after the other, three eras intertwine. Although it is not a cycle of present, past, and present, but rather an interweaving of three images: middle-aged, boy, and young adult, one can still see the distinct charm of middle-aged and young adult in that same face, telling those untold stories.

Anson is still the same Anson.

It's currently the most widely recognized face in the world; everyone knows it. The advantage is that no one will mistake this face; the disadvantage is that everyone has a preconceived notion, leading to a poor sense of immersion in the character and potentially even ruining the film's overall immersive experience.

However, at this moment, everything was completely displayed on the big screen, the second time it had been shown since the opening, occupying two-thirds of the screen. Every detail was exposed to the audience, including pores and wrinkles, and they couldn't help but hold their breath, trying to catch the subtle differences in facial expressions.

From middle age to youth, the same faces, the same expressionless expressions, the same lowered eyelids concealing all emotions.

The feeling conveyed by his brows was delicate and wonderful, without vicissitudes, without heaviness, without fatigue. His cheeks seemed to have lost some of the faint redness from the alcohol, and his breathing was not so heavy. Instead, there was a bit of naivety and a bit of melancholy, a kind of bewilderment and confusion of a young man growing up.

A faint sadness and sigh were hidden in his relaxed brows.

Then, he raised his eyes and looked out the window—

Those clear, bright eyes reflected the sunlight, like glass beads, carefully burying those broken emotions deep in the soul.

Stunning! Absolutely stunning!
To date, Anson has demonstrated his ability to create characters on more than one occasion, with works like "Cat and Mouse," "The Butterfly Effect," and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." To be precise, it's clear throughout Hollywood that Anson has been trying to shed the "pretty face" label and prove himself as an actor, something he's long been accustomed to.

But this work seems to be different from any previous one.

There's no emotion, no plot, no situation; it doesn't give the actors a foothold, it just presents the scene; and this kind of story is commonplace in Hollywood, it's been told countless times, there's nothing new about it—

Father's alcoholism? Brother's death?
Please, it's all the same! If we're talking about who's more miserable, this one probably wouldn't even make the list, especially since it's in a biographical film. I've seen this familiar narrative countless times.

However, director Mangold's brilliance lies in naturally breaking the framework of time and space, focusing the camera entirely on Anson, and using that face to complete the narrative.

There was no trace of acting or artifice; he seamlessly blended into the role.

From middle age to youth, that face connects the sighs and bitterness of memories, achieving emotional resonance with ease. It doesn't spend too much effort on the plot, but firmly focuses the audience's attention on that face.

The entire Lumière Hall remained focused, having been drawn into the narrative vortex before they even realized it. So, how much of the stereotype that "this is just an awards season essay where Anson and Reese are teaming up to tear off the vase label in an Oscar race" still remains?

Or, how much of the prejudice remains that "this is just a piece of work by Thierry Frémaux to generate buzz for Cannes by using Anson to create hype"?
Normally, one should focus on the director and the plot, but now I'm starting to get interested in the acting. Is that normal?

Who predicted this?
(End of this chapter)