McCusker tiptoed as he retreated from Michael Lynton's office. Carefully closing the door with respect, he finally let out a long-held breath.
That's it?
Apparently, Michael had long since put Walk the Line out of his mind, barely sparing it a second thought. All the while, McCusker had been obsessing over it for no reason.
On second thought, the project wasn't all that special. Hollywood churned out similar biopic projects daily, with less than 1% actually making any waves.
Daydreaming about "biopic-driven awards glory" was a pasti anyone could indulge in. It didn't cost a di or require effort—just a generous imagination.
And Anson taking acting seriously?
Ha.
Just picturing it sent shivers down McCusker's spine, goosebumps erupting wildly. He quickly dismissed the ntal image.
No, he shouldn't let his mind wander like that. Definitely not.
Turning around, McCusker strode away, determined to forget the matter entirely.
It wasn't just Michael and McCusker; Hollywood at large felt the sa way—
Walk the Line caused no ripples whatsoever, disappearing like a stone dropped into the ocean.
Last year, when Anson starred in The Elephant, the dia had initially made a fuss, ridiculing his painfully obvious and overzealous attempt at reinvention. The absurdity of it was almost laughable.
But in the end, they all got slapped in the face.
Of course, so stubborn critics clung to their opinions, insisting that The Elephant winning the Pal d'Or was entirely Gus Van Sant's achievent and had nothing to do with Anson. He was still just a pretty face.
When news broke that Anson had officially been cast in Walk the Line, Hollywood didn't even bat an eye. By now, his attempts to break free from typecasting and reinvent his image were old news.
Why pay attention? Let the pretty boy do his thing.
No mockery, no criticism, no attacks—nothing.
To Hollywood and the dia, the real headline would be Anson returning to comrcial blockbusters. Another biopic role? Not newsworthy.
The inevitable outco: failure, right?
Lately, the buzz across Hollywood wasn't about Walk the Line but the tantalizing rumor that Anson might play Jas Bond in 007. Now that was exciting.
Realistically, Anson had nothing to do with Jas Bond—he wasn't British, was only 21 years old, and was still tied to his Spider-Man persona. He didn't fit the role at all.
Yet, the dia was in a frenzy, and fans couldn't stop talking.
TMZ even compiled photos of Anson's Cannes red carpet looks, proclaiming him potentially the most handso, dashing, and fashionable Bond in history.
Fans eagerly agreed.
On online forums, so die-hard fans created mock Jas Bond movie posters featuring Anson. Seven posters in total caused a sensation, spreading rapidly amid widespread acclaim.
Even the dia took notice.
Eventually, Arican Weekly purchased the posters at a high price, featuring them in their latest issue, further fueling the Bond rumor mill.
Who cared about Anson starring in a biopic? 007 was the real deal!
Amid this whirlwind of hype, Walk the Line faded into obscurity, much like Sandra Bullock's role in Murder by Numbers.
Such was the challenge and growing pains of a pretty face trying to reinvent themselves.
People held rigid, stereotyped perceptions, boxing actors into specific roles. Every new venture or risky challenge faced imnse pressure.
Before the project even began, it was already deed a disaster. The chorus of voices cried out, "Why bother? Stick to being a pretty face."
If The Elephant had it rough, Walk the Line seed to be sinking even further.
It was hard to tell whether The Elephant winning the Pal d'Or was a blessing or a curse.
Yet for Kitcher and Mangold, none of that mattered. The only thing that did was this: Walk the Line was finally moving forward.
With the lead role locked in, they could begin auditions, select filming locations, and set the production schedule in motion.
Finally!
After a decade of twists, turns, and relentless effort, the project had taken its most challenging and crucial step. Kitcher and Mangold were nearly in tears.
In this sea of overlooked news, one small yet significant detail was buried:
"Walk the Line officially signed with Forest Pictures, with the studio taking on production duties."
Forest Pictures? Who?
Nobody cared. This was Hollywood, where new hopefuls entered the scene daily, dreaming of a piece of the fa-and-fortune pie, while countless others closed up shop. Such comings and goings were so routine they went unnoticed—
Unless, of course, soone ca in with a $10 billion bankroll. That might rit so attention.
In short, yet another fledgling studio had quietly taken its first steps in Hollywood.
---
Ding.
The supermarket doors slid open, and a man in a black shirt and dark cowboy hat stepped out. A bulky black guitar was slung over his shoulder, and he carried two plastic bags as he strolled leisurely toward the parking lot.
Three seconds later, the doors opened again.
A woman dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, with a crisp, casual look, stepped out. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low, her chin tucked inward, the shadow of the brim obscured most of her face. Empty-handed, she quickly scanned the area before lowering her head again.
"Sorry…"
An elderly man pushing a cart approached, and she stepped aside, murmuring an apology.
When she looked up again, the man in black was nowhere to be seen in the parking lot.
Panicking, the woman jogged toward his car—
It was still in the lot, but the driver's seat and interior were empty.
She froze, processing the situation. Then it clicked:
A trap.
As she turned to run, she saw the man in black standing by the tailgate of a nearby pickup truck, smiling at her.
Caught red-handed.
Embarrassed, the woman's mind raced, searching for an escape.
But the man spoke first.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Witherspoon. Fancy seeing you here at the supermarket. Shopping for essentials too?"
The polite, gentlemanly tone carried an undeniable hint of teasing, as if he were a cat toying with a mouse.
(To be continued...)
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