Hell's Actor

"The beginning will be slow," Director Groux said.

It was a month after the filming for Lady Ethereal began.

"Exquisite," Averie replied, sipping his tea. "I was never fond of making films for dimwits with short attention spans."

He absentmindedly stared at the absolute darkness outside the window of his hotel room.

"A slow start is exactly what this story needs anyway." His eyes focused, zeroing in on his reflection. "Contrast is necessary."

"In an artistic sense, it works out. But…"

Averie turned to him. "The market?"

The director nodded his heavy head with some apprehension. "The market is stagnant, and it does not like to deviate."

"What were you expecting? It's an art film."

"I'm not expecting much, but we need to recover at least half of our budget. And with the slow beginning, I'm not sure whether that's possible. When we release it, it won't do well."

He said it almost as if he were mourning the death of someone dear.

Averie couldn't entirely discredit the man's apprehension, but he thought the director's views were skewed.

"I don't believe the market has reached such a decline. People have become harder to please, but the moviegoers haven't become complete idiots yet. An art film certainly isn't attracting the young people whose brains have been rotted because of the constant stimulus the internet provides."

'And I am doing my part,' he thought. 'Cyberbullying them is my way of showing love.'

"What do you mean?"

"What can the audience do if they don't like the first twenty minutes of the film? Will they cancel their plans and walk out? No, they will give it some more time. Our situation isn't that bad."

"Do you really think so?" The director put down his teacup and crossed his tired legs. "Why?"

Averie broke into a sudden fit of laughter, almost as if he were drunk.

"You sound like someone who hasn't tasted the life of a salaryman. Director, working people don't like to waste money until a situation becomes truly irredeemable. And couples can't walk out on their partners, can they?"

Like the villain of some 90s film, he narrowed his eyes and caressed his chin.

"It may not compare to the latter half of the film, but I promise you, my good director: my performance won't be shabby. I will bring your world to life in the early minutes. I will keep them intrigued."

***

'It's beautiful.'

That's what Director Thomas Corsini thought as he found himself lost in the movie.

'He was always talented, that Jean-Louis Groux.'

The legendary director was decades older than Director Groux. He had seen his previous films and knew that there was a great director in the making. Perhaps that's why he felt almost like he was watching a drawing made by his grandchild.

As he got older, he found himself becoming more and more sentimental over the littlest of things. There were emotions involved, but he never lost sight of his rationality.

'Are you saying the world is bigger than the character?'

It was something to think about. For generations, since the time of the Greek Empire and perhaps even before, plays portrayed larger-than-life personalities. They portrayed heroes.

Hence, the word protagonist came to be.

'You are not helping your protagonist shine. You are letting him dissolve into the world.'

Directors preferred certain angles to accentuate the main subject of a scene. But that wasn't the case for Lady Ethereal.

Even in the eyes of the decorated director, it was an impressive display of filmmaking. The wide shots seemed to paint his subject as something small and insignificant.

'A director who prioritizes theme and storytelling over his characters…'

Director Corsini had mixed feelings about it. But he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more to it.

'That actor… Where have I seen him?'

He couldn't figure it out.

'He is good. Very good.'

Considering the scene and the shot, that was high praise.

There were plenty of actors who were great with their expressions. Close-ups were practically made for this sort of artist.

But there were very few who could constantly attract the audience's attention, despite having to act in wide shots.

The lack of emotion and dialogue didn't seem to affect him.

'He acts through finer details.'

The slight shrinking of his back, the unfocused gaze—those were his tools. And although no one in the audience understood him, they were intrigued.

Director Corsini felt like a wry laugh would escape him if he couldn't compose himself.

'Who is he?'

On the screen, The Photographer walked out of the pub.

Head turned to the side, he stood by the door for a moment, holding it open.

'What a beautiful shot.'

It was nothing special—just a wide shot of a man in front of a building.

'Look at the colors.'

The old brown, the lifeless grey, and the white shirt seemed to tell a story of their own.

'Colors create atmosphere.'

Director Corsini remembered those words, his own words. He had said to an assembly of bright-eyed French college kids a couple of decades ago.

One of the heads, the one that looked the most intrigued by the idea, was none other than a young Jean-Louis Groux.

The Photographer's hand dropped to his side. As he took a step to his left, the door closed and the sound of the gramophone with it.

The amber-eyed man continued his journey towards the centre of the first floor.

As he passed by a neon-lit café, a unique sound—difficult to attribute to any of the traditional instruments—began playing.

It was electronic music, and it began with percussion.

It was heavy and melancholic. As The Photographer continued further in, his surroundings turned dour, as if resonating with the music.

Slowly, the surroundings turned silent, and the keyboard crept in.

In that melancholic world, he saw a butterfly. It was pink, purple, and blue—like the neon signs aloft.

It was breathtaking, glowing brightly in the dark.

The Photographer followed it, as if he was being led by the hand.