Clap clap—Laila patted her hands twice. "How's everyone's preparation going?"
"All good!" "Ready whenever!" "No problems on our end!" Responses came from all directions.
This was the team she had personally trained—no matter the circumstances, they always maintained their best condition. Satisfied, Laila nodded. "We'll continue from where we left off yesterday in ten minutes."
After saying this, she walked over to the tree and stopped beside Leonardo. "Feeling confident today?"
Leonardo looked up at her. Meeting her piercing ice-blue eyes, he inexplicably felt a pang of guilt. "I'll do my best."
Laila narrowed her eyes, about to say something, when he suddenly cut her off with a loud exclamation: "Ah! I know what you're going to say—that this is exactly why I haven't won that award yet! I get it! I'm sorry, okay? I promise I'll give it my all to meet your expectations!"
The corner of Laila's mouth twitched. Was she scaring this young man too much?
"I was just going to say that if you haven't found the right feel yet, we can shoot other scenes first."
"..." Leonardo gazed blankly at the distant sky, his face the very picture of despair (despair.jpg).
Perhaps sending his girlfriend away had jolted him into action, because the subsequent filming went surprisingly smoothly. After finishing a scene, Laila called him over, first replaying the newly shot segment, then the one from the previous day.
"Do you see the difference?"
Leonardo frowned as he watched, replaying both segments several times before inhaling sharply in disbelief. He nearly blurted out "What the hell?" but held back to maintain his composure.
It was truly unbelievable—same lines, same actions, yet the difference between the two was palpable! Was this not just in his head?
Noticing his shock, Laila snorted coldly. "And this is just on a small screen. The contrast will be even more obvious on the big screen. Don't underestimate the audience. They can tell at a glance whether an actor is sincerely embodying their role. Even if they can't articulate it, they can feel it. Otherwise, why do you think so many big-budget films end up flopping?"
"The reason is simple. If the audience doesn't sense sincerity in a film, why would they waste their money on garbage? A genuinely good movie—from its script to its performances, costumes to sets, even seemingly minor elements like lighting—allows the audience to intuitively judge its quality."
"Don't forget how much the big screen magnifies your face. Every subtle expression, every flicker of emotion, will be crystal clear to them. Do you think you can fool them?"
Laila's words struck Leonardo like a sledgehammer. This was the first time anyone had ever spoken to him like this. Throughout his training, he'd always been taught how to act, but never what the audience truly needed from a performance. He'd always assumed his acting was more than adequate, never considering how the audience might perceive it.
Though this perspective differed from what he'd learned before, he sensed she was right. Just look at her achievements—weren't they the best proof of her insight?
"Thank you. I think I understand what I need to do from now on!"
She could only hope he truly did. Laila wasn't overly confident—or rather, whatever confidence she'd once had had been worn down by their previous arguments. She wanted to make this film great, not just because the story itself was meaningful, but also to see how far she could push this underrated gem in Hollywood.
Since becoming Laila, her years of experience in Hollywood have steadily bolstered her self-assurance. Adapting The Lord of the Rings herself and crafting a trilogy distinct from the original films, which then swept the Oscars, had been a particularly significant milestone.
That success had given her the confidence to believe she could help Leonardo—who wouldn't win an Oscar until a decade later—claim that honor ahead of time.
But the reality proved there was a reason Leonardo hadn't won yet. He lacked depth; his craft wasn't yet fully matured. Strictly speaking, he had the desire for the award but not the acting chops to match.
Truthfully, his current skill level was sufficient for most films. In a less competitive year, he might even get lucky. But that depended on chance. What he truly lacked was the depth that only time and experience could bring.
Laila worried whether this newfound focus of his would last or if he'd revert in a few days. She didn't want to work with an unstable actor, especially one with such lofty ambitions.
However, as filming progressed, her concerns gradually faded. Against all expectations, Leonardo managed to sustain his improved performance.
Naturally, Laila was pleased to see this, and their production soon fell into a smooth rhythm. But as the weather grew hotter, an all-important period arrived for Hollywood and the film industry—the annual battleground for major studios, the summer blockbuster season, had once again descended upon America.
Ever since Laila began dominating the summer box office, her company had consistently released one or two films each season that bulldozed through the competition, leaving other movies battered and bruised while reaping impressive results. Some were her works, others were films by directors under her banner—like Michael Bay's Transformers series, or the various sequels that continued to bring massive profits to Dragon Soul Entertainment and Laila herself.
The biggest golden goose, however, remained Marvel's superheroes. Since Laila proposed bringing the Marvel Universe to the big screen, their momentum had never slowed. Starting with Iron Man, one superhero after another leaped from the comics onto the silver screen, captivating audiences and delivering box office numbers that left rival studios green with envy.
Unfortunately for them, Marvel was now Laila's private asset. The days of cheaply acquiring superhero rights were long gone. The happiest party in all this was DC. With its roster of superheroes, it seized the wave of enthusiasm Laila had ignited and began pursuing its ambitious plans.