He covered his face with both hands, using the warmth of his fingertips to cover his eyes, stopping things from happening before the warmth spilled over, trying his best to control himself.
Heh.
Take a deep, deep breath.
But.
Just freeze like this.
Inhale, but don't exhale.
The fingers covering his eyes were trembling slightly, his shoulders and arms were already tense to the extreme, and he tried his best to control himself.
Because.
Once this breath is exhaled, tears seem to burst with it.
He thought he had it under control, he thought he didn't have any special thoughts at all, he thought he just needed some space to relax.
Unexpectedly...
Those complexities, those surges, broke through the defenses without warning.
Then, he stood there like a wooden man, dumbfounded.
The picture freezes again--
Not only Anson, but Alex and Eric couldn't help holding their breath, even though they tried their best to control it, their eyes were still slightly moist.
Is it sadness? Anger? Pain?
Yes, but not quite.
It's a kind of confusion, a deep powerlessness and unspeakable depression intertwined, at a loss and bewildered. There is no particular sadness, but tears well up in the eyes uncontrollably, and all kinds of thoughts are intertwined.
Holding one's breath is like burying one's head in water, tears silently dissolve in the water, and no one but oneself can see it.
The power of that emotion, silent but surging.
It was only at this moment that I realized that, in fact, performances do not necessarily have to be seen.
When filming "Catch Me If You Can", the close-up shots focused on the face and eyes, those emotions, those pulls, those surges, were all displayed, and even every detail was presented in the camera, announcing to the world.
The explosion and impact of the performance came head-on.
But not now.
It is also a close-up shot, but you can't see the expression or the eyes. Not only are both hands covering the cheeks, but it is also a side face. Everything is hidden, but the focus of the camera is firmly grasped in another way.
This is what Gus has been looking for -
a state. a feeling.
It's hard to imagine that there are no lines or plots, but such a set of long shots can push the power of the lens to a whole new level.
Is this what Dogma 95 advocates?
Movies have always been about lenses.
As the saying goes, TV series are the art of screenwriters, dramas are the art of actors, and movies are the art of directors. In addition to the plot and actors, the audio-visual experience presented by the director through the lens is the greatest charm of movies.
And at this moment, Gus finally found the state he had been searching for.
No performance, no carving, everything is natural and natural, just like a movie breaks the boundary between reality and illusion, the boundary between actor and character has also disappeared, drama and reality are perfectly integrated, a kind of The power enough to make the soul tremble is budding.
In the picture, I took a deep breath, but it seemed like there was no end in sight.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Anson kept inhaling, trying to press the pause button, for a long, long time, but he still couldn't control himself.
Gus seemed to be able to see a glimmer of tears flashing from the corner of Anson's eyes, but before he had time to distinguish carefully, Anson wiped it away with his fingertips.
He let out a long breath, then took a deep breath again, and continued to control himself.
His hands tightly and firmly covered his face, tightly covering all expressions on his palm-sized face, a trace of struggling collapse appeared between his brows, and he abruptly tightened the reins on the edge of the cliff.
How to do.
What should he do?
There are so many question marks in life that he is almost drowned and breathless, but he has no answers, and he can't even think calmly, just like a hamster, running in place all the time.
A blank.
Sometimes, he really wants to leave and leave this mess behind; but sometimes, he can't help but worry about his father, and he can't bear it after all.
Sometimes, he just wants to forget all this and continue to be a child; but sometimes, he realizes that he is no longer a child.
Sometimes, he thinks that if nothing happened, if time could be reversed, if he could ignore those victims heartlessly, if he could selfishly pursue happiness, if life could be simpler...
If only life were like a math problem, every problem has a formula and an answer.
Again, inhale.
pause.
It's like pressing the pause button, as long as you don't exhale, time will not move forward; as long as you persist long enough, your wish will come true; as long as you continue to hide here, you will become invincible.
In the short time of holding your breath, the world becomes quiet, and all the noise and noise disappear.
Then.
He let out a long, long breath, as if spitting out all the boredom and irritability, the tension in his shoulders and arms also relaxed for a long time, his head drooped dullly, and his long hair drooped to cover his face. His expression, an invisible gloom and sadness fell on his shoulders.
Regain steady breathing.
Finally, finally calmed down a little.
He hurriedly raised his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously, as if sand had gotten into his eyes.
"Hey, hello."
Hearing a greeting from behind, he subconsciously rubbed his cheeks quickly with both hands, nervously and flusteredly, turned sideways slightly and looked back cautiously, this time he saw the girl's figure.
An uninvited guest, Alicia.
"Hi." Anson responded.
He immediately turned around, sniffed, lowered his head, and used his drooping hair as a mask to cover up the embarrassment remaining on his cheeks.
Try my best to pretend that nothing happened.
Unexpectedly, Alicia walked over directly.
Anson wiped his eyes and face in a hurry, quickly tidying himself up; but the movement was still half a beat slow, and Alicia had already come over.
Alicia noticed Anson's movements, and even slowed down her steps, tilted her head slightly to look at Anson, and gently lifted his hair, "What's wrong?"
Anson mustered up the courage to meet Alicia's gaze, and concealed it calmly, "It's nothing."
Alicia saw Anson's slightly red eyes, "Did you cry?"
That voice, light and gentle, is like the first ray of warm sun that breaks through the night in the winter morning.
Anson: ...
"Yes."
After a slight pause, Anson shrugged lightly, not denying it.
But lowered his eyes, tried his best to pretend to be calm, and downplayed it as much as possible.
Alicia looked at Anson worriedly, "Did something bad happen?"
Anson was stunned--
How should he explain it? And where should I start explaining?
Looking up at the ceiling, after thinking about it seriously, there is still no answer, "I don't know."
Alicia looked at Anson carefully for a while, an impulse, a primitive impulse, stood on tiptoe and kissed Anson's cheek lightly, without any emotion, just a comfort.
Like a hug.
The lips, like a butterfly landing on the first green bud bathed in sunlight, a faint warmth and vitality quietly bloomed, separated after a short touch, but people couldn't help holding their breath, lest they disturb the butterfly , staring at the colorful butterfly wings with wide eyes.