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[Afternoon]
The focus was on Peter's room. It was one of the most crucial moments because in this scene, he's experiencing his heightened senses. And Andrew has to look that part and he had to do this scene with only his expression and body language since there was no dialogue. It was the hardest scene he had done so far. So, Alex explained the scene to him and even gave a demonstration. Then he made Andrew do that scene without the camera, to make sure he got it. When he was ready, it was time to shoot.
Everyone took their position.
Alex checked the spider in the corner of the ceiling and the little fly prop piece, hanging with the help of a nearly invisible thread. The sound effects were also ready.Â
Alex lifted his hand.
"Scene F1. Take 1."
He brought it down.
"Action."
...
[Night] [Peter's Room]
Peter sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, breathing shallow. The lamp on his desk cast a warm circle of light, but everything beyond it felt too sharp, loud, and close. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like a hammer. The hum of electricity in the outlet buzzed against his skull. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed three streets away, and Peter flinched as if it had happened right next to him.
Andrew's eyes widened.
He looked around slowly, fear creeping into his expression as the world refused to stay normal.
His vision sharpened until the edges of objects seemed carved instead of blurred. He tilted his head in surprise as his focus increased. He could see dust suspended in the air, tiny particles drifting like stars. On the ceiling, in the far corner, a spider clung to its web. Peter stared at it.
It looked slow.
Painfully slow.
The spider shifted one leg, and Peter tracked the movement with unsettling ease. His breath hitched. His gaze went to the window. Outside, a mosquito hovered near the glass. Its wings vibrated in neat, visible arcs. Peter stood up suddenly and took a step forward, knocking the chair before him.
The sound was deafening.
He clamped his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, but the noise did not stop. He could hear Aunt May moving downstairs, the soft creak of floorboards, the rustle of fabric. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud and fast, like it was trying to escape his chest.
Peter lowered his hands slowly.
He opened his eyes again.
A fly buzzed past his face.
Without thinking, Peter's hand shot out.
Too fast.
His fingers snapped shut, precise and controlled. He froze, staring at his own hand. Slowly, he opened his fingers.
The fly was trapped gently between them, wings pinned but unharmed. Its tiny body trembled.
Peter stared in horror.
He released it. The fly darted away in a blur that now looked almost lazy. Peter stumbled back, bumping into the bed. His breathing grew uneven as the room seemed to tilt around him. Sounds layered over each other. Sight, sound, motion, all crashing together.
Andrew swayed, hands gripping the bedspread, eyes glassy with panic.
He collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blanket over himself like a shield. The fabric muffled the light just enough to help. His breathing slowed in shallow bursts. His eyes fluttered as exhaustion hit him all at once, heavy and unavoidable.
The noise dulled.
The world softened.
Peter's grip loosened on the blanket. His body went still.
He fell asleep.
The camera held on him for a beat longer. A kid wrapped in a blanket, unaware that his life had already split cleanly in two.
...
Alex's voice cut through the quiet.
"And cut."
The crew began to work again.
One of them crossed the room to reset the lamp. Someone carefully adjusted the thread in the corner of the ceiling. The fly prop was reeled back up.Â
Andrew sat up on the bed, blinking like he had just woken from a real sleep. The panic he had summoned for the scene faded from his face, replaced by something looser, almost dazed. He rubbed a hand over his hair and swung his legs off the mattress.
Alex did not speak right away.
He stayed where he was, eyes still on the monitor, replaying the scene in his head. He watched Andrew's face on the screen. The widening of the eyes. The way his breath changed. The subtle tension in his shoulders. And there was no overacting... Just a kid drowning quietly in too much world.
Alex nodded to himself.
"Reset for morning scene," he said calmly. "We will go again once lighting is ready."
Andrew stepped off the set and followed Alex outside, where the editing station had been set up just beyond the soundstage doors. Alex sat down before the computer and replayed the scene. Andrew watched it from behind.Â
"I am going to be honest with you," Alex said without looking up. "I thought this was going to be a nightmare."
Andrew let out a small breath. "Yeah?"
"I was fully prepared for six or seven takes," Alex continued. "At least... There were no dialogues... Just you, reacting to things that are not really there. That is where actors usually start pushing. Or pulling. Or doing too much."
He stopped the playback on a close shot of Andrew's face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, fear and wonder colliding.
"But you did not," Alex said. "You managed to step into Peter's shoes and just live that moment. You let it happen to you instead of performing it."
Andrew looked at the screen, then back at Alex. He looked relieved, but careful, like he did not want to step wrong.
"I just tried to listen," he said quietly. "To the sounds and what you said earlier about it being overwhelming, not heroic. And that demo really helped me."
Alex finally looked at him.
"That came through," he said. "Completely."
He reached out and gave Andrew a light pat on the arm. His mouth curved into a small smile, warm but measured.
"Keep up the good work," Alex said. "But do not let this compliment get to your head."
Andrew smiled, the tension easing out of his shoulders. "I will try."
"Good," Alex replied, already turning back toward the monitors. "Because tomorrow we make you run on walls. And that is where I start being mean." He looked at Andrew once again. "Well, go on. Get ready for your next scene."
...
[A few days later] [Los Angeles]
Alex had left his schedule open to check in on the parts of his empire that usually ran without him. For the next 2 days, he's free from his director's duty.
The morning began at LA Titan Studios.
Alex moved through the building with a tablet in hand, skimming reports as department heads fell into step beside him. He did not need introductions or pleasantries. Everyone knew the rhythm by now. If Alex were here in person, it meant he wanted answers, not applause.Â
Rachel reported everything that took place in the last few months.
The modeling department came first.
He listened as projections were explained and contracts summarized. New faces were doing well in European markets. A few veterans were transitioning cleanly into brand ambassador roles. There were no scandals, leaks, or PR fires to put out. That alone put him in a decent mood.
He signed off on two renewals, flagged one contract for renegotiation, and asked for a quiet audit of an agency partner in Milan.Â
Then he moved on to production.
In his office, he sat down on the couch with Rachel.
Rachel brought up the figures and turned the tablet.
"The Pursuit of Happyness," she said. "Three weeks in."
Alex leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the screen.
The domestic box office stood at just over 68 million dollars. International markets had added another 43.2 million. The combined total landed at approximately 111.2 million worldwide.
Rachel continued calmly. "Production budget was sixty million. Marketing stayed reasonable. We are officially past breakeven and moving into profit."
Alex nodded once. Not surprised, but satisfied.
"Momentum is steady," Rachel added. "Week-to-week drops are softer than expected. Word of mouth is doing a lot of the work now."
She tapped the screen and brought up audience metrics.
"CinemaScore came in strong. A-minus overall. Exit polls show particularly high marks for emotional impact and performances."
Alex's eyes flicked to the next panel.
Critical reception followed.
Reviews were largely positive.
Most critics praised the performances, especially Will Smith's. Many called it restrained, grounded, and emotionally honest. Several reviews highlighted the father-son dynamic as the film's core strength. The writing was described as sincere and focused. Direction was frequently labeled invisible in a complimentary way, allowing the story to carry itself without stylistic distraction.
A few major outlets pointed out the film's accessibility. It was often described as inspirational without being manipulative, dramatic without leaning into sentimentality too heavily.
Rachel scrolled.
"There are some mixed notes," she said.
Alex waited.
"Some critics felt the pacing in the middle act dragged slightly. A few mentioned that the story plays it safe structurally. Predictable beats, familiar arcs. There's also some pushback from reviewers who felt the film simplified systemic issues in favor of personal triumph."
Alex nodded again. He had expected that.
"And the negatives?" he asked.
Rachel did not hesitate. "A small number of reviews called it overly sentimental. A few thought it leaned too hard on emotional cues. One or two felt it was inspirational cinema by the book."
She paused, then added, "Nothing that stuck."
Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression was thoughtful, not defensive.
"That is fine," he said.
She switched to another screen showing demographic spread.
"Strong turnout from families. Repeat viewings are higher than expected. It is doing particularly well in secondary markets."
Alex exhaled quietly, the tension he had not fully noticed easing from his shoulders.
"Good," he said. "That means it will last."
Rachel nodded. "Exactly. Next is Zathura: A Space Adventure. One week in."
Alex's eyes moved as she turned the tablet toward him.
The domestic box office stood at just over 29 million. International numbers were still coming in, but early totals put the worldwide gross at approximately 51.4 million after its first week.
Rachel spoke evenly. "Production budget was ninety million. Marketing was heavier than Pursuit, but expected for a family sci-fi release."
Alex nodded.
She continued, "It's solid. Especially for week one. Weekend turnout was strongest with families and kids."
She pulled up the next panel.
"Critical response is good. About eighty percent positive."
Alex leaned forward slightly.
"Most reviewers are praising the tone," Rachel said. "They loved the next-gen visual effects that our team put through. A lot of comments about it feeling like an old-school adventure film, imagination-driven and character-focused. And your decision to put equal focus on Kristen Stewart was perfect. Thanks to this film, she's getting more limelight."
She scrolled.
"Performances are getting good notices. Critics liked the sibling dynamic and the way the danger feels real without being too dark."
Alex's mouth curved just slightly. That was what he had aimed for.
"And the negatives?" he asked.
Rachel continued. "About twenty percent negative. Some critics think it plays too safe. A few felt the story was predictable. There are complaints that it does not push the genre forward. A couple called it a little too gentle for older audiences."
She glanced at him. "Nothing brutal. Mostly preference."
Alex nodded. "Expected."
Rachel switched screens again.
"Online reception is strong. Parents are recommending it. Kids are rewatching it. Fan forums are already asking about a sequel."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "A lot of 'what game would they play next' discussions. Some people are comparing it to Jumanji in terms of long-term replay value."
Alex already had plans to bring both Jumanji and Zathura together and create a gameverse movie series. "One week is early," he said. "But that kind of question does not come up unless something lands."
Rachel locked the tablet and set it aside. "Overall," she added, "both films are doing what they are supposed to do. And The Devil Wears Prada is set to release next month to avoid box office conflicts. All in all, we are making big money."
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