"Hey, Mary Jane."
He said, with a bright smile, waving cheerfully, even unusually so, as if he was trying his hardest to showcase his charm.
However, the smile lingered only for a mont before his right hand drooped down, dragging his shoulder and the corners of his mouth down with it, as feelings of lancholy and disappointnt gradually overflowed. At this mont, it beca incredibly clear that the boy in front of her had just revealed a hint of hesitation and doubt, tinged with so internal conflict and indecision.
"Hi, Mary Jane."
He said again, his voice clear and even gentler than the first ti, but the aura he exuded began to soften.
It wasn't sadness or disappointnt, but rather a kind of tender hesitation.
Now, that face and those eyes were fully revealed, no longer hidden behind the glasses. The deep blue of his eyes was completely visible, profound yet clear, like the autumn sea.
Just two lines of dialogue.
Yet, the control and mastery of the atmosphere were perfect, everything falling into place, gradually sketching out the layers of emotion in precise detail.
Moreover, with the rise and fall, the quickness and slowness of the lines, it beca easy for the audience to realize:
Peter Parker wasn't directly confessing to Mary Jane.
Perhaps Peter was just talking to himself; or maybe, Peter was quietly watching Mary Jane from a distance, wanting to approach but cautiously maintaining a distance. That desire to get closer but using all his strength to control his steps, mumbling to himself and revealing the secrets deep within his heart—
The agony and beauty of unrequited love, both displayed at once.
That's the key point.
Now, all the aning behind those footsteps and actions just explained themselves. Silently, the audience began to imrse themselves in the scene.
The imagery beca increasingly vivid.
The boy's mouth lifted slightly; though he didn't dare to step forward, he was lost in sweetness. Precisely because he kept a distance, he could boldly express all his true thoughts.
"I'm not sure if you know, but I've been your neighbor since I was six."
"I was thinking..."
A bit of hesitation, but the smile on his lips silently reappeared, unable to conceal the true emotions in his mind.
"Maybe we could go out soti?"
The words paused, as if you could see Mary Jane's expression— a mix of confusion, hesitation, and uncertainty—possibly giving him a reason to retreat, fearing that if he confessed, he might be rejected and there would be no way back.
"Hang out soti?"
Unconsciously, his voice lowered as he fell into his own world.
Unrequited love is like this, orbiting around the sun but not daring to get too close. In his own world, he experiences emotional tidal waves, feeling both happiness and sorrow, gain and loss, highs and lows.
Then, he lets his imagination run wild. Even though nothing has happened, it feels as if everything has changed.
---
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he was recalling so happy mory, yet instead of becoming braver, he cautiously took a small step back. His gaze was so focused and affectionate as he looked ahead, but his body had already stopped—not just his steps, but even the slight forward tilt of his upper body was pulled back, as if reins had tightened around both his body and mind.
His body may have stopped, but the tsunami in his mind had not.
"Or maybe, I don't know, I think it's ti we got to know each other better."
"Or not, that's fine too."
Before he even finished the first sentence, he imdiately self-negated, the hesitation and regret in his words sharply contrasting with the longing in his eyes. After speaking, he flashed a small smile to cover his embarrassnt, awkwardly turning his head away and lowering it.
When he looked up again, his expression had returned to normal, with a warm, gentle smile. But whether it was just an illusion or not, there seed to be a faint hint of regret and a slight bitterness hidden behind that bright smile, as he quietly and deeply gazed ahead.
One look, one smile.
Yet it was filled with so many mixed emotions.
The entire room was dead silent.
No one spoke, and no one intended to speak. All eyes were on Anson, or perhaps on the distant space behind him. Unconsciously, they found themselves falling into their own mories, awakening the vague and tender monts of their youth, the rush and passion of those carefree days—
Everyone has their own past.
mories that seed distant, long forgotten, were suddenly vividly clear again, as if they had never faded or disappeared. Even the bittersweet taste of youth, with its blend of happiness and sorrow, ca back to life.
Silence. Complete silence.
It was Ian who first snapped out of it, taking a deep breath and pulling his thoughts back from mory to reality, refocusing his gaze on Anson.
At that mont, Ian could see that Anson was still imrsed in the character, not yet having left it. He stood quietly in place, with the emotions in his eyes and expression still lingering. This imrsion and focus were impressive, breaking Ian's expectations in the small details and bringing a pleasant surprise.
Ian admitted that he initially valued Anson for his appearance.
As a director, Sam needed to consider the suitability of the actor for the role and how it would portray the story; as a producer, Ian needed to think about the comrcial appeal and marketability.
In Anson, Ian saw potential. If Anson were to play a superhero, he believed it would be marketable, which is why he called Anson in for an audition. But Ian had a clear view of Anson's role—a handso guy, a pretty face, a symbol. That should have been it.
Yet unexpectedly, once, twice, three tis... so far, Anson had broken Ian's expectations three tis, continuously bringing surprises.
Just thirty seconds, to be precise, this line of dialogue didn't even take thirty seconds—at most, it was only about twenty seconds long. But Anson used his own way to fill this brief monologue with content and emotion, delivering a unique experience within about thirty seconds.
Ian was indeed impressed.
Thinking back, from the mont Anson turned and stepped back into the shadows, he must have already imagined the entire scene, constructing it like a slideshow, fra by fra, in his mind, building a three-dinsional image of the entire scenario, drawing them into the story.
And here they were, these old-tirs, joking about Anson's amateurishness, their preconceived biases blinding them. They had thought Anson lacked acting and audition experience, which led to rookie mistakes. But now, who were the real amateurs?
Ian couldn't help but recall Anson's playful remark before his performance: He really did make sure everyone saw him.
Ian was very satisfied.
However, Ian didn't make a decision imdiately. After all, this was a superhero movie with an investnt of over one hundred million dollars. If they casually chose an actor and the film's box office flopped, who would suffer more—the new actor, or Ian, the seasoned producer?
Fifth update.
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