Faded yellow leaves drifted from the trees lining the old street. Autumn had quietly arrived in Philadelphia, bringing with it a touch of chill in the air.
David Fincher stood in front of an aging apartment building, directing the crew as they set up the scene and positioned the cameras. This was his first time directing a film, so he was naturally cautious. While he didn't personally handle everything, he demanded meticulous attention to every detail.
"Amy!" David Fincher called over the assistant director. "Where are the actors? Still not here? Am I supposed to shoot an empty street?"
"David, don't worry," the assistant director quickly explained. "I just got off the phone with Mr. Al Pacino. He'll be here soon. But the car we sent to pick up Miss Nicole Kidman and Mr. Ryan Jenkins broke down on the way. They've already hailed a cab and are on their way."
"Damn it!" David Fincher cursed under his breath. Problems before even rolling the camera—what a great start. And he hadn't even met the boy playing the child role yet. Who knew what Harvey Weinstein was doing? Hopefully the kid would be as good as he claimed. No—half as good would be enough.
"They're here! That's them." The assistant director pointed to a taxi that had just pulled up at the curb.
David Fincher looked over quickly. The first thing he noticed was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman. She was stunning. But in the very next moment, his attention was completely captured by the boy she was holding hands with.
A frail, slender frame that looked like it could be blown over by the wind; messy light brown hair covering a slightly pale face; a quiet exterior mixed with strength and an indescribable aura—especially those sky-blue eyes, which occasionally sparkled with a wisdom that seemed to see through everything.
Yes! He was Cole! With just one look, the boy's image perfectly matched the Cole that had lived in David's imagination. He didn't know about the boy's acting skills, but appearance-wise, no one could be more suitable.
Alright, maybe Harvey Weinstein was a shrewd businessman, but at least he didn't disappoint in casting.
"Nicole, is this the old district of Philadelphia? It really looks ancient," Ryan's curious eyes wandered all around. These kinds of rundown buildings would've been demolished and replaced with high-rises in the world he came from.
"Yes, it's said to be one of the oldest neighborhoods in the entire country."
The reply came from Pai Kingsley. Compared to Nicole, she was a born-and-bred American and much more familiar with Philadelphia's history.
Holding Nicole Kidman's hand, Ryan walked through the low shrubbery path toward the apartment. The assistant director, who had already met them, quickly stepped in to make introductions.
"Director Fincher, hello. It's a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Ryan."
Ryan's manners were impeccable. Just like Nicole said, if he wanted to, he could be the perfect little gentleman. His behavior immediately won over the director.
"Alright, Ryan. It's a pleasure to meet you too."
As the director, David naturally knew who wrote the script. Even though he had read it so many times the pages were practically worn out, he was still stunned to finally meet the person behind it. That such an exceptional story had come from a boy not even ten years old was unbelievable. Were all kids from the '80s like this?
After greeting the crew, Ryan was taken to the makeup room. Since it was his first time on a film set, he was curious about everything. Luckily, he knew why he was there and that this wasn't school or home, where he could do as he pleased. He forced himself to sit still and let the female makeup artist work on his face.
"Damn it, I'm a boy. What the hell is with all this makeup?" Ryan thought as he looked at his increasingly pale face in the mirror.
"Mr. Pacino, hello!"
A voice suddenly came from the door of the temporary makeup room.
"Al Pacino?" Ryan had known for a while who he would be acting alongside. This was 1989, after all. Unless Harvey Weinstein had lost his mind, there was no way he would've chosen Bruce Willis.
This wasn't ten years later—right now, Willis was still a facial-expression-challenged actor.
But he never expected the big guy to have chosen Al Pacino as the lead. Well, Pacino was in a bit of a career slump at the time, and this movie needed an Oscar-level actor to boost its box office appeal. It made sense that the two parties would've clicked.
As soon as the makeup artist was done, Ryan jumped out of his chair and, in a flash, pulled a notebook and pen from his backpack and handed them to Al Pacino, who had just sat down.
"Mr. Al Pacino, could you give me an autograph?" Ryan looked up at him with wide eyes full of admiration.
"No problem. And you are…"
"Ryan. Ryan Jenkins. I'm the lonely little boy your character is supposed to help and counsel in this movie."
"Alright, Ryan. You can call me Al." True to his reputation as a veteran actor, Pacino exuded a natural warmth.
"To Ryan, wishing you health and happiness always," he wrote after signing his name.
Ryan beamed with genuine delight, like a real fan meeting his idol. "Thank you, Al. It's amazing to be working with you."
Maybe it was his age or the positive, outgoing personality he projected, but Ryan quickly earned Al Pacino's favor. By the time he stepped out of the makeup room in his American schoolboy uniform, the two were already chatting and laughing. Ryan even took the opportunity to ask a few acting-related questions.
The first scene to be shot was one of Al Pacino's—his character, the psychologist Malcolm, walking down the street. Ryan got to witness what it meant to be an Oscar-caliber actor. After just a few takes, Al was already fully in character.
"Cut! That was great!" David Fincher clapped his hands vigorously, encouraging the whole crew. "Take ten."
That scene had been of Malcolm walking along the street. Though there was already a bit of a chill in the autumn air, Al still broke a sweat in his trench coat and scarf ensemble.
"Nervous, Ryan?" Nicole took his hand, gently massaging his palm with her thumb, trying to soothe him. His first scene was coming up.
"Not nervous." Ryan immediately denied it. But after meeting Nicole's knowing gaze, he sighed deeply. "Okay, I admit it. I'm a little nervous. But that's normal, right? Nicole, were you nervous your first time acting?"
"Of course. I was so nervous I forgot my lines." Nicole laughed. "Here's a good tip: just imagine everyone watching you is a rock. That helps a lot."
"Can I imagine them as potatoes? Or onions and tomatoes?"
Perhaps because the director didn't fully trust him yet, or maybe to ease him in gradually, Ryan's first scene was simple—Cole walking out of his apartment, locking the door, and leaving.
"Cut! Got it."
Only two practice takes and one official shoot—done. Naturally, it wasn't because Ryan's acting blew everyone away. It was a wide shot where he only had to open the door and glance around cautiously.
But the trouble started immediately after. The next scene was a close-up, requiring Ryan to put on a pair of glasses and display a cautious, nervous, slightly timid expression.
"Cut! Ryan, relax. Your expression needs to be natural."
"Cut! Ryan, you're too stiff."
"Cut! Ryan, don't look at the camera lens."
"…."
This time was even worse. Ryan looked down at the glasses that had fallen by his feet and gave a bitter smile. Good thing David Fincher wasn't James Cameron, or else…
David Fincher frowned deeply. With years of experience in commercials and music videos, he knew how hard it was to get a kid into the right state for acting. Before filming, he'd chatted with Ryan and sensed he was a smart, mature boy. That had eased some of his worries, but now, after more than thirty minutes without progress, frustration crept in.
"Nicole, should we go comfort Ryan?" Pai Kingsley asked, worried.
"No need. Ryan is stronger than anyone I know," Nicole Kidman shook her head slowly but firmly. But no one noticed the concern and tenderness on her face. "He chose this path. He has to face it himself."
Ryan clenched his fists tightly, his arms even trembling a little. Only now, in the middle of doing it, did he realize how much harder some things were than expected—like that recent misunderstanding, or today's shoot.
"Cut!" After yet another take and break, David Fincher walked over and said quietly, "Ryan, do you know what your problem is?"
"About a third of it is because I suddenly lost focus, another third is because my body's stiff and shaking, and the last third is because I can't help looking at the camera."
To David Fincher's surprise, Ryan was completely aware of what he was doing wrong. He patted the boy's arm. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Can you give me ten minutes? I need to be alone for a bit." Ryan first gave Nicole a reassuring glance, then looked at the director with hopeful eyes. "Trust me, David. I can fix this."
Something about Ryan's words and expression filled him with confidence. David Fincher nodded. "Alright. Ten-minute break!"
"Clearly, I need a copy of An Actor Prepares." Ryan muttered as he opened the apartment door and walked inside, leaving David Fincher thoroughly baffled.