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*Chapter 1176: The Self-Righteous*

Jack was furious.

His emotions finally spiraled out of control.

He couldn’t understand—nor did he want to—why chasing a role and seizing an opportunity had to make him the villain.

“I thought you always prided yourself on being honest and aboveboard.”

Jack looked at Anson, unable to hide his disappointment.

Anson simply laughed.

The one who stabbed him in the back was now accusing him of lacking integrity?

Had he misheard?

But looking at Jack’s expression, Anson realized he was serious. That realization made Anson’s smile even brighter. He hadn’t planned to respond. Jack had his views, and Anson had his stance. There was no need to convince each other. They could stick to their respective perspectives and move on.

However, now Jack had the nerve to shift blame and accuse him of wrongdoing. Twisting the facts so blatantly, Anson wasn’t about to take the fall for this. He wasn’t that noble.

“Yes. I was worried about you getting the role,” Anson said, his smile unwavering.

He admitted it. Just like that?

“When I was lying in the hospital, uncertain of my condition and unsure of what tomorrow would bring, I had no idea that an on-set accident could cost me this role. So, shouldn’t I be worried?”

“Remember, I have my career to protect too. I know what an outstanding actor you are. I know how perfect you are for this role. And I worried I’d lose my leverage.”

“But you’re my friend. I know you’re also searching for opportunities, seeking a breakthrough in your career. So, I couldn’t and wouldn’t ask you to decline Columbia Sony’s invitation.”

“I don’t mind you competing. Show your charm. I’ll show my skills. Let’s leave the final decision to Columbia Sony.”

“What I mind isn’t your choice, but your secrecy. You didn’t even have the courage to look me in the eye and tell me directly.”

“That’s not how it should’ve been.”

Jack’s eyes still burned with anger and frustration. “I don’t see the difference here.”

“You’re saying that I tell you or don’t tell you—what then?”

“What changes? If you don’t mind me auditioning, what’s the difference?”

“In Hollywood, there are a thousand and one auditions happening every day. Am I supposed to check every time if my friends are competing for the same role?”

“Ridiculous.”

Was this argument meaningful?

Not at all.

Because Jack stubbornly ignored the critical context—Anson’s injury and hospitalization—and cherry-picked facts to twist the narrative.

They were going in circles, like a ghost hitting a wall, endlessly returning to the same point.

This conversation only made them seem foolish.

Communication could solve most problems—but not always.

Anson looked at Jack. “If you truly believe you did nothing wrong, why do you feel guilty?”

Jack: “I don’t.”

Anson: “While I was in the hospital, you never showed up. Not even a phone call. I thought it was because of guilt. I thought deep down, you still considered me a friend. That you realized Columbia Sony’s audition offer wasn’t so innocent. But now, it seems I was just deluding myself.”

Jack froze.

Staring blankly, he looked at Anson. Anson’s smile remained bright and dazzling, but there was a trace of bitterness and resignation beneath it.

Jack hadn’t expected this.

He opened his mouth, trying to argue, but no words came. His thoughts were empty, and his voice lingered in his throat, unable to find an outlet.

Anson shrugged lightly, shifting his gaze to the other three people present. Exhaling, he said, “Now I can confirm with absolute certainty—I really am that egocentric Hollywood star, convinced the world revolves around me and that my thoughts should be everyone’s thoughts.”

“Well then, I’ve made a fool of myself. Time to reflect.”

Sarcasm, wit, and sharp humor—fully unleashed.

Claire, who had remained silent throughout, couldn’t help herself. A soft laugh escaped, her smile blossoming like a flower.

However, not everyone shared her amusement.

Ryan gave Claire a reproachful glare, seemingly scolding her for laughing at the wrong time. But clearly, Claire didn’t care.

Annie, meanwhile, kept her focus on Anson and Jack, unable to conceal her concern.

Anson appeared unusually at ease as he turned back to Jack.

“I think it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve said everything I wanted to say. After stating our positions, we should learn to move on, right?”

“Jack, don’t worry. I’m fine. Didn’t Ryan just say? I kept the role, and my latest release is a success. I have nothing to be concerned about. So, we’re good now.”

“How about it, friend?”

As he spoke, Anson even patted Jack’s shoulder in a friendly, Hollywood-esque gesture, showcasing his maturity and poise like a seasoned player.

But Jack couldn’t smile.

Anson didn’t wait for a response. “Well then, I won’t intrude on your gathering any longer. I have a show to prepare for later. Enjoy yourselves.”

Turning, he walked away.

Anson’s departure was smooth and unhurried, with time to bid farewell to Jim, Rebecca, and others in the bar—

The scene in the corner hadn’t escaped their notice. Jim and Rebecca both approached to check on Anson.

Anson reassured them repeatedly, insisting he was fine and there was no need to worry. He promised to see them at tomorrow’s show before finally pushing open the bar door and leaving.

The snow had stopped.

Outside, the sky had cleared. Even at night, looking up through the steel jungle, thick clouds had dispersed, revealing faintly twinkling stars amid Manhattan’s dazzling lights.

Even the once-relentless wind had softened, becoming gentler.

The temperature seemed to have risen slightly.

Standing by the street, Anson looked left and right. Traffic was busy, cars zipping by, but every yellow cab was occupied. Not a single empty one in sight.

Indeed, when you needed a taxi in Manhattan, you could never find one.

As Anson prepared to walk, the door behind him suddenly swung open.

With a bang, a rush of warm air spilled out, along with a stream of golden light.

Annie rushed out in a hurry, her scarf loosely draped around her neck, dragging on the ground like a tail. She didn’t care, fumbling with her coat as she anxiously glanced around.

Anson turned and immediately saw her frantic state. Following her gaze, he called out, “Can I help you with something?”

Annie: “I’m looking for someone—tall, with a beard, carrying a guitar.”

Anson: …“He just got into a cab.”

Annie froze, her busy movements coming to a halt. She finally turned toward the voice and saw the "helpful stranger." Her expression and body froze as if hit by a Medusa spell.

Anson, looking serious, said, “That’s New York for you, right? When you need a cab, they’re nowhere. When you don’t, they’re everywhere.”

“Such is life.”

(End of chapter)

Chapter 1177: A Stroll Through the Streets

Anne glanced at Anson in front of her and exhaled unconsciously. She slowed her movements and finally managed to put on her coat properly.

Pausing briefly, she walked up to him and looked around.

“No taxis at all?”

Anson sighed softly. “There are probably taxis everywhere, just none for me.”

Anne couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Anson turned his gaze to her. “Why are you out here? Where are your friends?”

Anne shook her head. “We’re not friends….” She paused. “We’re just Hollywood friends. They can survive just fine without me.”

Quick-witted.

Anson’s face lit up with a smile.

Anne noticed and couldn’t help smiling herself before quickly looking away to hide it. “The snow has stopped. If we wait a bit, a taxi should come by.”

Anson said, “No, I plan to take the subway.”

Anne was surprised. “The subway? Aren’t you worried about being recognized?”

Anson shook his head. “Not at all.”

She looked skeptical.

“Imagine this,” he said. “You’re a commuter, exhausted after a full day’s work, your mind blank as you finally get on the subway during rush hour. Lost in the chaos, would you even notice who’s next to you?”

“To be honest, most people don’t even care if the person squished beside them is a man or a woman.”

Anne tried to picture it but struggled. The idea of peak-hour subway crowds was almost incomprehensible to her. “How do you know all this?”

Anson shrugged casually. “I’ve been commuting by subway every day lately to prepare for a role. No way I’m driving my Lamborghini just to experience this.”

Anne burst into laughter.

Anson glanced at the growing traffic on the streets. “We need to move now. This is just the beginning of rush hour. Wait too long, and it’ll turn into hell.”

Anne frowned. “Why?”

“Do you think Manhattan office workers all leave work on time?” He gestured toward the brightly lit skyscrapers for the answer.

“Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, Anson grabbed Anne’s wrist and took off running.

Startled, Anne yelped but was yanked along before she could process what was happening.

The cold wind roared past, battering their ears as they sprinted like carefree children. The world blurred into streaks of vibrant light, hearts pounding, breaths quickening, and blood surging with an inexplicable euphoria.

Before they knew it, laughter spilled out, echoing in their chests.

They dashed into the subway station, weaving through the crowd.

Ahead, Anson didn’t even pause at the turnstiles. Bracing his hands on the barrier, he vaulted over in one fluid motion.

It was only then that Anne realized she didn’t have a ticket.

What now? What now?!

Always the well-behaved one, Anne froze. Logic told her to stop.

But impulse took over. Following Anson’s lead, she supported herself on the turnstile and leaped over gracefully.

She landed to see Anson adjusting his guitar with an exhilarated grin, urging her, “Hurry, hurry!”

Anne, now a ball of energy, grabbed his hand and ran again.

The zombified crowd around them stared in stunned silence, parting instinctively as if witnessing a life-or-death chase.

Except… no one was chasing them.

The only conclusion?

Lunatics.

But Anne and Anson didn’t care.

For Anne, who had never taken risks, adrenaline surged wildly. Even for such a small rebellion, guilt and exhilaration mixed into a heady cocktail.

She couldn’t help but laugh as they ran.

They finally burst into a subway car just as the doors were about to close.

With no time to brake, Anne stumbled forward and crashed straight into Anson’s chest.

A clean, woodsy scent enveloped her, soothing and warming her in a way she couldn’t quite describe.

Her heartbeat vanished into the haze.

Unconsciously, she held her breath.

Fortunately, the embrace quickly loosened.

“Relax. No one’s chasing us. You won’t end up on Fox News,” Anson quipped.

Anne’s cheeks burned as she realized he must have heard her erratic heartbeat. She quickly stepped back to regain composure, only to be pulled back into his arms.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She could clearly hear his heartbeat now.

“Sorry,” Anson said softly.

Anne turned her head and realized someone had been standing behind her—her sudden retreat had almost caused a collision.

Looking around, she finally noticed how packed the subway car was. Though not shoulder-to-shoulder, the crowd felt overwhelming.

Was this not even peak hour?

Startled, Anne realized how foreign this scene was to her. Born and raised in New York, she’d taken the subway many times but never during rush hour. This was an entirely different New York.

Today’s snow had worsened traffic, forcing more people underground. The car was bursting at the seams.

“Oh, I forgot to ask—what line do you live on?” Anson’s question snapped her back to reality.

“What line are we on now?”

“Five.”

“Don’t worry. I can switch to the Seven… or maybe the L or E. I’ll get home fine.”

Finally, they found a spot to stand comfortably.

Anson subtly positioned himself to block onlookers’ gazes, shielding Anne with his body. Unlike him, she wasn’t disguised, and her distinctive features could easily draw attention.

“So,” he asked nonchalantly, “why were you and your Hollywood friends all gathered tonight?”

Anne noticed his subtle protective gesture. At first, she didn’t understand, but realization dawned, and a smile crept across her face.

“An audition. We were all there for the same project. I think I mentioned it earlier, but you probably forgot.”

Oops. She immediately regretted bringing it up.

Chapter 1178: A Breath of Life

“Oops!”

Anne immediately realized her misstep, glancing up to scrutinize Anson's expression. Her features tightened with regret.

“...Sorry?”

Her reaction drew a laugh from Anson. “Relax, I’m not fragile like a porcelain doll. I was just surprised to see the two of you in the same frame.”

Anne tilted her chin slightly, a trace of pride in her voice. “What? Ryan Phillippe and Jake Gyllenhaal appearing together isn’t strange, but Claire Danes and me is?”

Anson chuckled. “No, not really. It’s easy to imagine pretty boys competing for the same role, but you and Claire Danes? That’s a curveball.”

Anne caught the undertone in his words and her eyes widened in mock offense. “Wait, so she’s the ‘talented actress,’ and I’m the ‘pretty face’?”

Unfazed, Anson grinned broadly. “She’s striking, and you’re beautiful—two very different kinds of charm.”

Beautiful?

Anne wasn’t expecting that. Her heartbeat stumbled as she stole another glance at him, hastily changing the subject.

“If you saw how I looked during my first audition, you wouldn’t say that.”

“Last summer, I was filming The Princess Diaries 2. I had only my lunch break to rush over for the audition.”

“Time was tight, so I couldn’t even change out of the ridiculous puffy princess dress or take off the over-the-top wig. I barely had time to check my makeup.”

“Before I walked into the room, I just made sure I didn’t have any spinach or jam stuck in my teeth. Then I went in, praying for the best.”

“You can imagine the scene. The casting director looked at me like I’d just descended from another planet, and one of the crew couldn’t help but burst out laughing.”

“Honestly, I was this close to digging a hole in the ground and hiding.”

Her vivid storytelling painted the scene so well that Anson couldn’t help but smile.

“If I could redo it, I’d schedule another time. But the casting director insisted it was their only available slot.”

“What could I do?”

“I was just grateful I even managed to make it there during lunch.”

“So, I sucked it up, resisted the urge to burst into laughter myself, took the script from them, and dove right into the scene.”

Anson raised an eyebrow. “No warm-up?”

Anne shook her head.

“I think it was intentional. They handed me this ridiculously long monologue, at least five or six lines.”

“God, it was like reading Shakespeare.”

“But that turned out to be a blessing. It forced me to focus on the lines and forget about the absurd wig and dress. I didn’t want to accidentally play a stuttering princess.”

“I don’t even remember how I got through it. By the time I left, my knees were so weak I could barely stand.”

“But I really, really wanted that role. I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t give it my all. So, I left everything on the table and walked out hoping I had no regrets.”

Anne paused and glanced up at Anson cautiously.

“Sorry, I can’t say which project it was…”

Anson laughed. In Hollywood, secrecy during auditions wasn’t uncommon. “Don’t worry. The media will leak the shortlist eventually.”

“All I need to do is check TMZ.”

Just like when Spider-Man 2 was casting.

Anne blinked, catching the self-deprecating humor, and chuckled along.

Anson smiled warmly. “Well, it seems like your first audition left an impression. They must have looked past the wig and dress to see the real you.”

Anne: ?

Anson continued. “That’s probably why you got a callback. Maybe they were drawn to the sincerity and vulnerability beneath the silly exterior. It could even be your edge over Claire.”

Anne’s smile grew brighter. “I hope so.”

After a brief pause, she hesitated before asking, “So… you don’t mind?”

Anson looked puzzled. “Mind what?”

Anne: …

Struggling to find the words, she finally muttered, “Jake…”

Trailing off mid-sentence, she watched Anson's face for a reaction.

Realization dawned on him, and he laughed. “No, no, not at all.”

“Wait—you’re not thinking of dropping the project just because Jake might be involved, are you?”

“Besides, it’s not even certain he’ll get the role. And even if he does, it shouldn’t matter.”

Anne blinked, unsure. “Really?”

“We’re friends. A friend of a friend is a friend. A friend’s enemy is my enemy. Shouldn’t I support my friend unconditionally?”

“I don’t approve of what he did, stabbing you in the back and then accusing you of overreacting. It’s clear he doesn’t see his own fault.”

Anson said this with a calm smile, studying Anne closely.

Anne tilted her head. “What? Is there something on my face?”

His eyes curved into crescents. “So… you left the bar and followed me out, didn’t you?”

Anne stammered incoherently, avoiding his gaze.

Anson’s voice softened. “Thank you.”

Startled, Anne looked up at him, her confusion evident.

Meeting her gaze, his sincerity shone through. “Thank you. I needed a friend’s support—to remind me I’m not a total failure in Hollywood.”

Anne quickly tried to reassure him.

Anson waved her off with a smile. “It’s okay. It was just a fleeting thought.”

“To be fair, I don’t blame Jake. He had every reason to accept the audition invite. He didn’t owe me a heads-up.”

“Telling me would’ve been a sign of friendship; not telling me is just part of how things work here.”

“I just needed clarity—to know I wasn’t misjudging the situation or twisting it with my own insecurities. That’s enough to let me move on and face this circus of fame with clear eyes.”

“I don’t hate Jake.”

Anne was taken aback. “You don’t?”

Anson’s smile widened. “Life’s too short to waste on hate. I’d rather invest my time and energy in the people I care about.”

“Believe it or not, hate is exhausting. It’s such a waste of life.”

“Hollywood might not be the best place to make friends, but you know what? I’ve found a few.”

Anne tilted her head skeptically. “Really? It’s so hard to form genuine connections here. I mean real friends—not just movie colleagues or party acquaintances, but people who call you outside of work and actually hang out.”

Anson nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Anne Hathaway.”

Anne: …

Caught off guard, she stared at him, unsure of how to respond. But slowly, a smile crept across her lips.

Chapter 1179: Reluctant Farewell

*Clang, clang.* The subway swayed rhythmically, and the dense, surging crowd made the enclosed space feel like a ship gently rocking amidst stormy seas.

Annie’s heart swayed along, betraying her unease. Realizing her awkwardness, she took a deep breath, then raised her eyes to meet Anson's gaze directly.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize we were friends.”

A sharp counter.

Anson’s mouth opened slightly, staring at Annie in disbelief.

A hint of triumph flickered in Annie’s eyes. “So, you wouldn’t mind working with Jack, would you?”

Anson refocused. “If the opportunity arises, of course.”

“Hey, in Hollywood—a circle as small as a palm—over 95% of the people you meet might be enemies or rivals. If we refused to work with enemies, we’d have no work at all.”

“That’s true for most jobs.”

“When we’re young, we think, When I have the upper hand, I’ll never work with my enemies again. I’ll sweep them all into the gutter.”

“But now, I think, Instead of erasing my enemies, why not use them to my advantage? It’ll probably make them more miserable than me.”

That’s the reality.

In Hollywood, perhaps only 1% of people have the privilege of choosing who they work with and who they avoid. For example, after Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman divorced, they hadn’t appeared in the same frame for twenty years—not even at award shows, where the media would deliberately avoid capturing them together.

Annie was a little surprised.

Clearly, Hollywood was still a foreign, novel world to her—a mysterious realm of adults. Having stumbled into it naively, she was still learning, exploring, and figuring out its intricacies.

Studying Anson intently, Annie asked curiously, “When you were young?”

Anson: “…”

Annie looked serious. “I thought we started in Hollywood around the same time. Why do you act like you’ve been in the game for a decade?”

Anson spread his hands, exasperated. “Alright, you got me. Actually, I’m Alain Delon. I’ve been in Hollywood for forty years.”

As he spoke, Anson mimicked Ethan Hunt’s iconic move from Mission Impossible, pretending to peel off a mask with a flourish.

Annie burst into giggles.

The little joke lightened the mood, and Anson shrugged. “Maybe it’s because everything hit so fast and hard. In no time at all, Hollywood showed me all its different faces. Like it or not, I had to deal with it.”

“One year here feels like three in real life. So, technically, I’ve been in the business for a decade.”

*Ha-ha-ha.*

Annie had to cover her mouth to keep from disturbing nearby passengers. She leaned against Anson, her head resting on his shoulder, her whole body shaking with laughter.

Anson: “???”

“Hey, I know I’m funny, but not that funny. Thanks for the applause, but if you keep this up, people will think I’m assaulting you.”

*Ha-ha-ha!*

Annie couldn’t stop, laughing until tears streamed down her face.

Sometimes, it’s not the jokes or humor that bring true joy, but the people around you, the atmosphere, and the shared moments. Words aren’t even necessary; a glance can send you into uncontrollable laughter.

Later, reflecting on it, you’d realize how silly you were—laughing endlessly over something inexplicable. But then you’d smile again, fondly recalling that beautiful memory.

Happiness really is that simple.

Annie laughed so hard she trembled, leaning against Anson.

Eventually, other passengers noticed the commotion, curious eyes glancing over.

Sensing this, Anson quickly raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m innocent.”

Even the onlookers couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the scene, the joyful atmosphere rippling outward.

Finally, Annie calmed down, letting out an annoyed groan.

“Mascara.”

Anson was puzzled. “Mascara?”

Annie stood upright, looking at Anson’s jacket with a hint of embarrassment.

Anson glanced down at his shoulder, noticing two crescent-shaped mascara smudges. He blinked and looked back at Annie.

Annie, equally wide-eyed, met his gaze innocently.

And then, neither of them could hold it in—

*Pfft.*

They erupted into laughter.

Realizing they might disturb other passengers, they quickly stifled their giggles, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Finally, they arrived at the transfer station. Stepping off the subway, they no longer had to suppress themselves. They burst into wild, unrestrained laughter, their voices echoing through the narrow underground passage.

They chatted and strolled the rest of the way.

Surprisingly, walking was faster than taking a car. When Annie recognized her street, she realized they were almost home.

But their conversation wasn’t over yet.

Annie was venting about the filming of The Princess Diaries 2—

“Sometimes, I have no idea what I’m doing. They call it comedy, but I’m not sure what separates comedy from plain stupidity.”

“I don’t mind being silly. In fact, it’s fun—it lets me break out of myself and try things I wouldn’t dare otherwise. But I’d really like to understand what Mia’s doing.”

“So, I guess you skipping the sequel was a good thing. The audience doesn’t have to see their ideal Prince Charming ruined.”

Anson laughed. “I don’t see it that way. In the movie, you’re responsible for being goofy and funny. Prince Charming just has to keep dazzling.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

She had barely spoken when she realized her voice had risen, startling the quiet street. Covering her mouth, she quickly corrected herself.

“Ahem. What I mean is, I’m home. That house right there.”

“Sorry to make you walk me back in this freezing weather. How are you getting home? Do you need me to call you a cab?”

If no taxi was nearby, she could call a company to request one.

Anson waved her off. “Don’t worry about me. The subway is my best friend.”

Just then, a voice called down from above.

“Hey!”

Looking up, they saw Thomas Hathaway leaning out a second-floor window, waving.

“So, are you finally coming in this time? This is the third time you’ve passed by.”

“Thomas!”

Annie exclaimed, startling a clump of snow off a nearby branch.

Turning to Anson, she quickly said, “This is fine. I’m home safe. Thanks for tonight. Bye!”

Before Anson could reply, Annie dashed off, shouting at Thomas.

“Thomas Hathaway, you just wait!”

Thomas wasn’t fazed. “Anson, are you sure you’re leaving? Wouldn’t you like to come up? I’m sure Annie would be thrilled.”

“Thomas!” Annie roared.

Finally sensing danger, Thomas backed off. “Alright, next time then. The witch is here—ahhh!” He disappeared in a flash.

*End of Chapter*

*Chapter 1180: Art Screenings*

The streets fell quiet again, though the faint rustling from the halo of light hinted at the scene of Hathaway and her brother chasing each other through the house. A smile involuntarily curved up at the corners of Anson's lips as he turned and took a step forward.

After exiting the subway station, Anson walked with Annie to escort her.

Unfamiliar with the area, Anson found every house around him looking almost identical. Clearly, his sense of direction was not something to rely on. Even so, he realized they seemed to be wandering in circles, rotating a full 360 degrees around the block.

However, Anson didn’t point it out, choosing instead to accompany Annie on a snowy walk.

*Crunch, crunch.*

Their steps alternated in the snow, their focus on their conversation gradually fading as their talk came to an end, allowing the bustling energy to give way to self-awareness. Slowly, sensations returned to their bodies.

The biting cold crept up from their toes, numbing fingers and the soles of their feet. It wasn’t until moments later that they noticed the stiffness in their limbs.

Yet Anson’s heart felt bright, as though floating on clouds of cotton candy.

In just one evening, it felt as though so much had happened, and yet, nothing at all. The invisible weight pressing on his chest had dissipated before it could settle.

---

The next day, Anson arrived at the bar on time.

Jim and Rebecca looked at him in astonishment.

Anson performing here under an alias had already been surprising enough. After the events of the previous night, it was downright shocking.

No matter how they looked at it, they couldn’t understand why Anson still showed up to perform as scheduled.

Surprisingly, Anson seemed the calmest of all. Smiling at their stammering confusion, he said, “I told you everything would carry on as usual today.”

Life resumed its normal rhythm, unaffected by the events of that night.

Perhaps the only difference was that more and more patrons came to support “LeVain Davis.” Good music speaks for itself.

Unintentionally, someone recognized Anson, but he maintained his composure.

“...People have said it before. Personally, I don’t see the resemblance. He’s the handsome one in Hollywood; I’m just here doing my thing,” he joked, a mix of self-deprecation and humor easily defusing any tension and even drawing laughter from the small bar crowd.

Edward, the bar owner, suggested with enthusiasm, “Why not try stand-up comedy here? Didn’t your last comedy show do really well?”

Anson grinned at him, “Stand-up gigs pay a lot. Are you sure you can afford it?”

Edward groaned in mock frustration, “You’re no fun. None at all.”

Time slipped by in the busyness of each day.

This year, Anson stayed in New York for the holidays. Lucas flew in from Los Angeles, and for the first time in a while, the Wood family gathered to spend Christmas together.

After the holiday, there were only a few days left in 2003.

---

Meanwhile, Elephant finally made its North American debut in theaters.

Some claimed that the frenzy of The Butterfly Effect was sweeping the globe, and HBO should seize the momentum and leverage Anson’s influence to boost Elephant. Perhaps it could make a splash in the market.

HBO, however, disagreed.

The Butterfly Effect was The Butterfly Effect. Elephant was Elephant. The two films were entirely different in genre, style, market, and target audience, connected only by Anson’s involvement. There was no need to force a link between them.

More importantly, HBO didn’t see Elephant fitting into the Academy Awards’ framework. How should the film position itself during awards season?

Best Actor? Best Adapted Screenplay? Best Editing? Best Cinematography?

None seemed viable. Given the film’s unique qualities, even if HBO aimed for the awards season, its positioning posed a significant challenge.

Even if HBO focused on Best Picture and Best Director, the film’s tone and style made it difficult to gain traction.

HBO, seasoned in campaigning for the Emmys, knew the mechanics of awards lobbying well. But the substantial investment required might not yield effective returns.

After all, Elephant was never intended as an awards contender.

The Palme d’Or win was both unexpected and delightful. HBO saw no need to get greedy.

Objectively speaking, Elephant’s theatrical release already exceeded expectations. HBO simply wanted film aficionados to experience its artistry.

No ambitions. No extensive strategies. No PR campaigns. HBO chose to focus solely on the film’s essence, maintaining a rare purity in the industry.

Amid the awards season chaos, HBO’s approach was truly a breath of fresh air.

---

As a result, Elephant was screened in just 27 theaters across the U.S.

Los Angeles and New York each had two theaters, while the remaining 23 were distributed across major cities, all within independent arthouse theaters far removed from shopping malls and big cinema chains.

The strategy was clear: this was an indie film for cinephiles.

Naturally, HBO avoided broad promotions, targeting specific audiences instead. The campaign was as understated as could be.

A Palme d’Or winner treated like this?

In fact, this was the norm at the time.

The European “Big Three” film festivals still carried an “artistic” label, with only fledgling connections to the Oscars and a wide gap from the mainstream market. The box office performance of their winners was often negligible.

Such films relied on indie theaters for gradual rollouts, with international box office outcomes determined by each region’s market for arthouse cinema. Globally, breaking $10 million in revenue was rare.

In essence, producing arthouse films required selling international distribution rights to recoup costs.

For instance, Elephant’s distribution rights were sold to a French company for $300,000 to handle its release in France and another $500,000 for the UK.

This was the norm—art and commerce had distinct boundaries.

---

However, Anson’s involvement brought Elephant greater attention.

Leading media outlets like The New York Times and The Hollywood Reporter highlighted the film. With Anson’s debut as a producer, The Butterfly Effect, dominating the scene, his daring venture into indie filmmaking with Elephant drew significant interest.

Coupled with the prestige of the Palme d’Or and Gus Van Sant’s reputation, Elephant’s limited release created an unexpected holiday buzz, attracting immense anticipation for its debut.

(End of Chapter)