Harris is retreating—
The cara captures the entire hallway, which appears long and desolate. The light from the entrance of the school building ensures the hallway isn't dim, but with no windows on either side, the light along the length of the corridor makes it look like a tunnel that extends infinitely.
Then, a figure steps out of an office, breaking the tunnel's stillness.
It's Anson.
Leaving the car keys at the front desk of the office, Anson turns and walks away, dragging his backpack and carrying his coat as he moves down the school hallway.
Quietly, without speaking or showing any emotion.
He slightly straightens his back, trying to stand upright, but after just two steps, he can't help but slump again. He then forces himself to stand straight once more, but his backpack and coat continue to hang limply.
A small gesture reveals his inner turmoil.
Although he tries to pull himself together, the frustration remains, like a tangled ss in his chest that he can't shake off; he attempts to release it, but it just falls back down.
A janitor is cleaning the hallway nearby, and other students are wandering around, but Anson keeps his gaze straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.
But only for a mont—his focus quickly sharpens again.
He keeps walking, just slowly walking, as if he's in a tunnel with no visible exit, moving aimlessly, not knowing if he's going forward or backward. In a daze, he's forgotten where he is, walking to the end, until he's exhausted.
Harris tiptoes, lightening his footsteps as he retreats down the hallway. With soone's help, he turns into an empty room on the right side of the corridor, continuing to retreat. He secures a position against the wall, holding his breath, waiting patiently.
Waiting, still waiting.
But Anson doesn't appear.
Anson is still in the hallway.
Even without the cara rolling, Anson continues to stroll.
He's imrsing himself, feeling, experiencing—not acting, but being.
Earlier, during the filming of "Catch If You Can," Anson had experienced a state where he rged with his character, his own experiences transforming into emotional impacts that fueled his performance on cara.
That was Anson's first experience with thod acting.
But this ti, it's different.
It's not an act but an imrsion.
At this mont, he's no one else; he's just Anson, the Anson of his past life.
Returning to his seventeen/twenty-five-year-old self.
Walking aimlessly, with countless thoughts and worries swirling in his mind, unable to think clearly, feeling both restless and lost, he wanders down the corridor in a daze.
Isn't it absurd?
It's just a straight corridor, yet it feels like a dense, dark forest where one can easily lose their way.
The entire world is silent, except for the sound of Anson's youth flowing, sotis quietly, sotis noisily, sotis rapidly, sotis slowly.
Alex watches Anson intently—
It's hard to imagine that such a quiet scene could be so captivating.
If soone had told him that watching a person walk could evoke the power of imagery, he might have laughed out loud. But now, he's truly feeling that overwhelming force.
Like a vortex, pulling all thoughts into it.
But—
This scene isn't being captured on cara; is that really okay?
There's only one cara for the entire crew, and right now, it's with Harris. This is the first ti Alex wonders why they don't use more caras. The audience really shouldn't miss this scene.
Instinctively, Alex glances at Gus—
Gus is calm, his gaze fixed on the monitor, which shows Harris's shot, patiently waiting for Anson to appear in the empty fra.
Then—
Anson realizes he should stop; he needs a mont of stillness.
He hastily rolls up his coat and stuffs it into his backpack. He glances around but doesn't head to the classroom; instead, he turns into the student activity room.
Peeking inside, he sees it's empty.
Harris: He's coming.
Harris holds his breath completely, pressing against the wall, trying his best to hide himself, even though he knows his bulky fra can't really be concealed. He still diligently sucks in his stomach, trying to erase his presence.
The cara remains focused on Anson.
In front of the cara, everything seems normal with Anson—no strong emotions, no explosive acting, and none of the solitude and struggle from the long hallway shot that followed. The concern Alex had feared has co true:
Anson's performance isn't being captured on cara.
Just as Alex begins to feel regret, Gus and Harris show no signs of worry. They remain fully absorbed, perfectly in sync with the image.
Then—
Anson casually drops his backpack at the door and walks straight into the room, heading directly toward the cara, as if he's strolling or maybe even escaping.
Anson raises his head, lifting his chin slightly, his gaze wandering aimlessly as if searching for a focus but appearing sowhat flustered. The side profile captured by the cara doesn't reveal his blue eyes directly, but it does catch the wavering confusion in his gaze, his mind in turmoil.
He settles on a random target, fixes his gaze, and regains focus.
But instead of feeling relieved, he freezes in place.
And in that brief mont—
All the aimlessness and confusion from his wandering, the silent noise and turbulence, are suddenly captured by the cara, as if you can see the force of ti in that fleeting connection.
Even though the cara hasn't focused on it, and it's completely outside the audience's view, the Dog 95 filming style, without editing to smooth transitions, patiently waits for ti to pass, allowing the force to gather bit by bit.
Ultimately, it won't be in vain.
And it will be even more concentrated, more powerful, like a punch to the face.
It turns out movies can be fild this way.
It turns out acting can be presented like this.
In front of the cara—
Anson lifts his chin, initially just needing an excuse to distract himself, trying to quiet the noise in his head. But when he sees the photo on the wall, he stops:
An ocean.
In fact, the photo isn't outstanding; like the one in the office, it's more like a cheaply printed image. But now, his gaze can't help but explore the depth beyond that ocean.
Blue. Vast. Empty.
The entire world seems unusually quiet, as if he can hear the dust settling and the sound of the sea breeze gently brushing by. The chaotic thoughts in his mind suddenly beco clear, transforming into a roar in his ears.
Without warning, his eyes well up with warmth.
Oh, God.
He quickly raises his hands to cover his eyes, using the warmth of his fingers to shield his eyes, firmly closing them. He intercepts the tears before they can fall, and then—
Takes a deep breath.
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