He played with it for a while himself and felt it was pretty good, quite reliable.

So, when shooting the next scene, Samuel Reed saw such a sight.

A young man in a drab gray suit, shoulders hunched, fingers always twitching, wandering aimlessly through the small street—glancing at the shoe vendors here, checking out the fruit sellers there. With a quick turn, an apple had already appeared in his hand.

Then, the eyes hidden behind those black-rimmed glasses darted left and right, looking rather pleased with himself.

Samuel Reed was so absorbed that he forgot to call “cut,” only snapping out of it when Richard Morgan shouted, and when he looked at Andrew Clark, his gaze suddenly became intense.

He didn’t give Andrew Clark any acting direction, for two reasons.

First, he had almost no experience coaching actors and didn’t know how to help them perform better.

Second, his purpose in casting non-professional actors was to capture images that were as close to the real world as possible, ideally without any trace of performance.

But in reality, this is just wishful thinking on the part of many directors.

Whether actors or non-actors, as long as they’re exposed to the camera, there will inevitably be a sense of performance. Even the most realistic documentaries are like this.

The camera lens is like a magical field; within it, everyone’s latent acting instincts are awakened. No matter how real a person is, in front of the camera, they unconsciously become different from their usual selves.

If it’s not themselves, then it’s acting.

Just now, Andrew Clark’s half-intentional, half-unintentional performance gave him a new idea. That liveliness seemed to inject a burst of energy into the frame, especially when contrasted with the numb little county town in the background, creating a wonderful sense of contrast.

So this made him feel that continuing to act this way wasn’t bad at all.

To be honest, Andrew Clark’s acting was very raw. He was simply imitating a thief’s behavior, but in every gesture and movement, he unconsciously revealed his own characteristics.

His strongest impression of Samuel Reed was a sense of calm.

Whether speaking, doing things, eating, or even walking, there was always a sense of calm.

And this calmness, combined with his raw performance, somehow blended together, forming a very natural state.

He found a balance between being deliberate and being stiff.

A bit of swagger, but overall numb and bored—it seemed that Little William was supposed to be like this.

This undoubtedly gave Old Reed a pleasant surprise. While raw, unpolished filmmaking is certainly authentic, having this kind of natural performance as support would undoubtedly make the visuals fuller and more three-dimensional.

“Qingzi acted really well!” Samuel Reed praised.

He and Richard Morgan were both rookies, not even knowing what a monitor was. The two of them just pressed their heads together, watching the playback through the camera’s viewfinder.

Richard Morgan was also very satisfied with the previous shot and said, “The visuals are great, and if you look closely, there’s a sense of contrast. Really good!”

You could say Samuel Reed gave him a great deal of creative freedom, and the shots he controlled had their own unique style—simple, calm, unpretentious, able to capture things in their most original state.

This film was the result of Samuel Reed providing the ideas and Richard Morgan filling in the content.

Next came a series of shots: Little William wandering through the county town, passing by indifferent people waiting for the bus at the station, billiard tables by the street, and the pop song “Heart Rain” blaring everywhere from TVs, dance halls, and video parlors...

Long takes, medium shots, wide shots, and street crowd scenes—all under Richard Morgan’s control—presented a yellow-greenish hue. The bustling extras went about their business as if they didn’t even know the camera was there.

This most authentic urban movement wasn’t the result of scheduling or arrangement, but belonged to the county town itself.

Samuel Reed stared at the image in the viewfinder, his whole body trembling.

He knew better than anyone—this was the rarest kind of luck for a director!

Chapter Six: What Is Film

“I told him, when he gets married one day, I’ll give him six jin of money.”

Little William and Little George had once ventured to Beijing together, stealing side by side, their brotherhood deep. Later, Little George made a fortune smuggling cigarettes and became a well-known entrepreneur. Afraid people would find out he used to be a thief, he didn’t even tell Little William about his wedding.

But Little William still went, bringing his wedding gift—a handful of money stolen on the street. Facing Little George’s hesitation, even saying the money was “dirty,” he felt the friendship slipping away.

“You’ve really fucking changed!”

Andrew Clark drank gloomily by himself, with an old-fashioned wine cup and a plate of fried peanuts. On the restaurant TV, the county station was broadcasting an interview with Little George, and his friends from the grain bureau had requested the pop song “Heart Rain” for his wedding.

He lit a cigarette, fiddling with the fancy lighter he’d casually taken from Little George’s house.

“Good! Cut!”

Samuel Reed shouted, clapping his hands twice.

Filming went on for three days, extremely smoothly. The actors, locations, cinematography, scheduling—everything went unexpectedly well.

Setting the story in his own home base was definitely a wise decision. People from Fenyang call making movies “playing” movies; to them, film is a fun game.

The locals were happy to help the crew “play” movies. Andrew Clark could clearly feel the incredible enthusiasm of the people, and Samuel Reed also received a lot of help from his old buddies.