Scarlett Johansson, feeling utterly dejected, buried her face in her hands, unable to believe what had just happened. She felt like she had embarrassed herself all the way across the Atlantic.
Someone who always prided herself on enjoying and delving deep into art films had actually fallen asleep while watching one?
This... this was just amateurish and absurd.
She felt deeply ashamed.
What surprised her a little was the silence beside her, which made Scarlett even more nervous. A muffled voice emerged from between her hands.
"You can laugh. I'm mentally prepared."
Looking at Scarlett, Anson's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Why laugh? Did you forget? I just fell asleep too. We're in the same boat."
Scarlett was stunned for a moment, then she lifted her head to look at Anson, feeling slightly relieved. But then she had a thought. "You must have watched more than one movie today, right?"
Anson: …
Scarlett spread her hands. "See, I knew it. I'm just a clueless vase full of nothing but pop culture fluff."
Anson couldn't hold back anymore. "Haha."
Scarlett gave Anson a look of mock despair.
Anson, however, didn't hide his amusement and shrugged lightly. "You've got to admit, what you just said was hilarious. And please, don't compare yourself to a cow. What's this about eating grass and producing milk?"
Scarlett couldn't help herself: Pfft.
A smile crept back onto her face.
Anson brought the conversation back to the main point. "There's no need, really, there's no need for any of that. Art doesn't have levels. No one is superior, and no one is vulgar. Sure, some people try to rank art, but think about it — we already have enough hierarchy in real life. Why put shackles on art?"
"Shakespeare's plays were originally performed on market streets. Did they suddenly become noble just because they moved to a formal theater?"
"Genre films have their brilliance too. Imagine the thrill of seeing Jaws for the first time, or the emotion from The Sixth Sense — those are unique experiences that so-called high-brow art films can't provide. And art films have their own exploration, like the provocation of Dogville or the experimentation in Elephant, which offer another way to delve into social realities and artistic inquiry."
"Hey, some art films just can't be understood."
"I won't deny it. To this day, I still don't get Wild Strawberries or The Seventh Seal. Bergman's not my cup of tea."
His tone was calm and sincere.
Scarlett didn't hide her surprise. Clearly, the wisdom and composure Anson displayed were far beyond his years.
No wonder!
No wonder the media often labeled Anson a "pretty face," taking every chance to mock and attack him. But Anson never defended himself, let alone retaliated.
In fact, Anson often embraced the mockery, even joking about the "pretty face" label himself, causing the media to repeatedly lose ground.
People always speculated that this was the brilliance of Anson's PR team. Who knew? Maybe behind the scenes, he cursed every day, trying to shake off these labels, acting in films like Elephant and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind as part of his struggle as an actor.
After all, who would want to be called a "pretty face"?
But now, it seemed Anson didn't mind.
Scarlett couldn't help but admire him, but as she looked at Anson's relaxed demeanor, any praise or admiration felt unnecessary. The words that had been on the tip of her tongue faded away as a smile tugged at her lips. "Jaws? The Sixth Sense? Those are the first movies that came to your mind?"
There are countless genre films, yet Anson chose those two?
Anson spread his hands. "Alright, so which ones would you choose?"
Scarlett thought for a moment. "Titanic…"
Anson responded, "Hey, James Cameron might not want to classify that as a genre film."
Scarlett chuckled. "And When Harry Met Sally."
Anson widened his eyes. "Honestly, I don't really consider that a genre film."
"If it's not, then what is it? An art film?"
"No, it's more of a film for intellectual romantics."
"Ha! What does that even mean?"
"My point is that the division between genre films and art films is just a concept. It's a label Hollywood puts on movies. Look at Titanic and When Harry Met Sally. Both could be considered genre films because of their box office success, but they're not typical genre films, since Hollywood has never really been able to replicate their success."
"No, I think there's been some success. Isn't Sleepless in Seattle a continuation of When Harry Met Sally?"
They chatted back and forth, thoughts flowing freely as Anson and Scarlett left the screening room and began walking down the boardwalk by the sea.
Night had fallen. The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the small town of Cannes wasn't brightly lit as if it were daytime. Soft, amber streetlights supported the night sky, casting a dim, romantic glow over the town. The air carried a lazy and relaxed vibe.
It was the kind of night perfect for sipping wine and chatting over cigarettes at an outdoor café, with the shimmering night flowing through your fingers.
As soon as they stepped outside, a wave of heat mixed with the salty smell of the sea hit them, opening up their pores as if they had walked into a ball of hot air.
At the same time, a soft murmur of noise enveloped them. Looking around, they could see small groups of people standing in the cinema lobby and on the street outside, chatting. Even though they were all reporters, critics, and other industry professionals, here at the film festival, they were simply movie lovers.
When people look at actors and directors, the spotlight often places them on a pedestal, but in reality, they're just ordinary people.
Journalists, critics, distributors, and the like are no different, especially at a film festival.
"... Anson?"
A surprised voice came from the side, filled with disbelief.
The thing was, Anson's striking presence, his tall and slender frame, made him hard to miss. Plus, since night had fallen, Anson had taken off his sunglasses, dropping his disguise, making him even more recognizable.
After the voice called out, it couldn't help but repeat itself.
"Anson Wood?"
Whoosh.
Eyes began to turn in their direction.
Before Anson could respond, murmurs started spreading around them.
"Who's that?"
"Seems like an actor."
"I think she looks familiar too."
Anson helplessly looked at Scarlett. "Sorry, I've become a burden now."
If not for him, they probably wouldn't have been recognized.
Scarlett nodded. "I was prepared for this, but the speed was faster than I expected. So, you're buying dinner later?"
Anson laughed, "No problem."
Then, Anson turned to the curious stares with a playful expression. "You're not the first to say I look like him. So, do I really resemble him that much?"