926-930

*Chapter 926: Blood Boiling*

Bang.

A loud sound exploded in his mind, and Karl froze on the spot.

His brain shut down, stopped functioning, and at this moment, there were no thoughts or concepts. He just instinctively stood there, blankly watching the scene unfold—

The night was just right.

The bright moonlight gently cascaded down, filtering through the orange streetlights, draping the cinema with a thin veil. The soft waves hummed quietly, and the bustling noise of the street seemed to take on a touch of laziness. Cannes, after a busy day, slowly began to quiet down. The hurried pace of the crowd finally slowed.

Only the most passionate fans still lingered, chatting away. A cup of coffee, a bottle of beer, or even a cigarette in hand. It didn’t matter if there was no seat; standing in the street, they were completely lost in the moment.

Freely indulging in youth, making wasting time feel like a unique pleasure.

This was truly rare.

Everyone who came to Cannes was from the media—people who had been in the industry for years, unknowingly smoothing out their rough edges. Movies had become a job for them, and the passion they once had seemed to have cooled in their veins.

However, the film festival had its own charm.

Everything was about movies. It awakened the love and passion buried in the dusty corners of the soul. A good film could keep you up all night, and a bad one could make you curse out loud. Emotions were so alive, so intense—daring to love, daring to hate, with wild ups and downs. Life felt burning hot again, as if you were using all your energy just to get through each day.

Silently, Karl quietly watched the scene.

Then, almost involuntarily, he started walking toward them.

Despite his entire body aching, with his body protesting. Despite being utterly exhausted, his brain completely shut down. Despite having already decided to return to the hotel to rest.

Still, as if entranced, he unknowingly moved closer.

—It was indeed Anson.

At this moment, Anson was no longer the center of attention. The few people in front of him were passionately debating, rolling up their sleeves as if ready for a real fight, spitting as they spoke. But Anson remained focused, occasionally interjecting with concise but sharp comments.

Anson might not be the focal point, but he was always at the center, the core.

Karl couldn’t help but take a closer look at Anson, recalling their encounter this morning at the cinema. Now, he could be 100% sure—

That morning, it was definitely Anson. Otherwise, how could he have talked so eloquently about Dogville?

Things were a bit peculiar.

Anson didn’t seem like Anson Wood at all; he was just an ordinary film festival attendee, just like them—passionately defending the films he liked, and boldly criticizing the ones he didn’t, wearing his emotions on his sleeve.

Yet, Anson was still Anson. His every move drew attention. At this moment, no one cared about appearances. It was purely about the collision of ideas. No one cared who proposed the opinion. The discussion was about the matter itself. But Anson’s viewpoints were just as captivating.

So, what kind of charm was that—hormones? Or intellect?

Everything felt magical.

Less than 24 hours ago, reporters were lining up outside hotel rooms, hoping to catch a chance to interview Anson. But not everyone succeeded. And now, Anson was right there among them, engaging in a heated debate.

Is this Cannes?

The conversation shifted from Dogville to Elephant to Fathers and Sons, even extending beyond the Cannes Film Festival itself into broader territory. The real theme was simply movies, and nothing but movies.

Karl thought he was completely drained, that his brain cells had all shut down. But when they debated whether A Clockwork Orange was an offense to audiences or if 2001: A Space Odyssey was, he felt a surge of adrenaline. He couldn’t hold back anymore and naturally joined the conversation without missing a beat.

The fatigue disappeared; the drowsiness was gone.

Karl felt like he could go for another ten days.

The atmosphere was electric.

Without anyone noticing, some people left while others joined. The crowd shrank and grew, with participants coming and going. Only the movies remained. It seemed like they could talk endlessly until dawn.

At Cannes, the movie was the true star, the only star.

No one noticed when Anson slipped away.

"…Are you sure? Leaving like this—is it really okay? Won't it be rude?" Scarlett asked uncertainly, looking at Anson in surprise.

She followed Anson as they left, but couldn’t help glancing back repeatedly, worried that their departure would be noticed.

Anson waved his hand. "Don't worry. Their attention is all on the movies."

"But if you keep hesitating, we might get caught. Run!"

Without warning, Anson shouted.

Scarlett: ???

"What?" Scarlett looked confused and panicked but reflexively started running. "Wait, you can’t just run off without me!"

She yelled, watching as Anson slowed down and turned around, walking backward. Scarlett bit her lip and sped up, overtaking him.

She didn’t expect that within two seconds, Anson, with his long legs, would catch up. Scarlett let out a cry, adopting a full sprint to escape.

The two of them ran side by side, laughing freely and brightly as their laughter filled the seaside avenue. Several passersby turned to watch, and the flickering lights played across their youthful faces. They exchanged a glance, then, out of breath, started running again—

Careful not to get caught.

After running six or seven hundred meters, they finally stopped, panting and sweating.

Scarlett looked at Anson, and Anson looked at Scarlett. Neither could hold back their laughter.

Scarlett: “Which way are we heading now?”

Anson looked back. “When you’re running away, there’s no direction. Careful!”

Scarlett jumped and looked back but saw no one. Realizing she’d been tricked, she said, “Even if someone’s chasing, it’s you they’re after, not me!”

Anson spread his hands. “But now you’re my accomplice, like Clyde and Bonnie. So, you can’t back out now.”

Scarlett giggled. “So, I’m Clyde and you’re Bonnie?”

Anson tilted his head. “I thought I was the mastermind?”

Scarlett hadn’t expected her teasing to be taken so seriously and burst into laughter again, her mouth dry and her chest heaving. Looking at Anson under the moonlight, his bright smile was gentle yet dazzling.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Quickly turning her gaze to the right, she looked at the coastline. The deep blue sea shimmered and stretched out to the horizon, with countless stars scattered across the sky. The breathtaking sight stole her breath away.

It was stunning.

*Chapter 927: Cultural Depth*

"So, the 3S that Cannes always emphasizes—two of them need to disappear before you can see the third S. I get it now," Anson remarked.

Scarlett paused for a moment, taking a second to catch on. Anson was poking fun at the fact that the daytime sea views in Cannes weren’t that special—you had to wait until the sun and all the "sexy" scenes faded away to truly appreciate the Mediterranean’s beauty.

What a jab. Really sharp.

A smile fully broke out on Scarlett’s face as she joked along, "But that's exactly why the beach screenings at night are so romantic."

Following Scarlett’s gaze, you could see a large screen set up on the beach not far away. A black-and-white movie was playing, and there was a neat row of beach chairs in front of it. This was a whole other kind of experience.

Anson said, "Look, that's the destination. I planned for us to come here from the very start. No one should miss a beach screening when in Cannes."

Scarlett looked surprised. "Really? The beach screening was your original destination?"

Anson, full of seriousness, replied, "Of course. Why don’t we buy some food, find a spot a bit further back, and have a picnic while watching the movie?"

Watching a film on the beach, because of the open-air setting, had a completely different vibe. It was like a drive-in theater, and enjoying it with a picnic was a whole new level of fun.

Scarlett was about to joke, but her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl—

Grumble, grumble.

It was almost thunderous.

Scarlett looked a bit embarrassed. She glanced up and met Anson’s eyes. Quickly shifting her focus to hide her embarrassment, she mustered the courage to make fun of herself. "Tired and hungry... look what Cannes has done to me."

"Tom Sawyer’s Adventure?" Anson suggested.

Scarlett laughed, "Hahaha, thanks, thanks for not saying Castaway."

Anson looked around, trying to find a place where they could grab some takeaway food.

Ever since arriving in Cannes, Anson had been swamped with work, running around non-stop. It wasn’t until now that he finally had the chance to embrace the film festival mode. So, this was his first time seeing Cannes at nightfall.

The restaurants were mostly closed, the luxury stores along the promenade were dark, and the town was quickly slipping into sleep mode.

You had to wonder, where could you grab food at night?

Was the nightlife here just all about parties?

Scarlett eyed Anson. "Dinner?"

Anson shrugged, "Yep, I’m starting to worry we might starve."

Unlike Anson, Scarlett had been fully enjoying her time in Cannes over the past few days, immersing herself in the festival atmosphere. She’d gotten familiar with the town. "We just need to leave the promenade."

Anson slapped his forehead. "Ah, I forgot! Cannes isn’t just the promenade."

Scarlett laughed, "It’s normal. People come to Cannes, and they just stick around the promenade. All the festival venues and equipment are concentrated here, so it's easy to stay in this area. But the locals? They keep their distance."

Anson nodded, "Kind of like Las Vegas."

Scarlett paused, unable to hold back a smile, "Yeah, exactly, like Las Vegas."

"But we’ll need to retrace our steps and pass by the Riviera Palace again. That’s okay?"

Anson waved his hand, "No worries. Even if we’re spotted, it’s fine. Worst case, I’ll argue with them again. Let’s see who wins this time. I’m not losing."

"Ha!" Scarlett burst out laughing, but couldn’t hold back, "This place feels a bit different though."

Anson looked confused, "What part?"

Scarlett clarified, "I mean the atmosphere for discussing films. In Hollywood, I’ve attended similar gatherings—not premieres or PR events, but fan parties. And there, when people talk about movies, it’s all compliments and flattery."

Anson laughed out loud, "That’s Hollywood for you."

Scarlett asked, "Is that some kind of secret code?"

Anson shook his head, "No, no. I’m talking about real film buff discussions, not the PR stuff. Hollywood—or rather, Los Angeles, and California in general—they believe in praise. They think that by encouraging people, they can help them improve."

"So, even if you didn’t do a great job, they’ll find some silver lining in the trash to boost your confidence and make you believe you’re capable."

"But Cannes—or Europe in general—is different. Here, they believe in constructive criticism. They think that’s the only way to get to the truth and the best way to grow and improve. So, when people talk about movies here, you’ll hear countless opinions, and everyone has their own."

"Are they right?"

"Not necessarily. Art doesn’t have a hundred percent correct answer. Even I might change my opinions. The ideas I stand by now, I might reject in a few years. But the key is putting different views out there, exchanging, debating, and eventually forming your own perspective."

"So, when it comes to discussing art, even ordinary people here in Europe have a much deeper cultural foundation than in North America. They aren’t surrounded by constant praise. They don’t think they’re geniuses waiting to shine. They’re willing to get real about art."

It turns out that behind such a simple phenomenon lies an entire cultural and social value system.

Scarlett lifted her chin slightly in realization. "No wonder Europeans always look down on Americans for having no culture."

Anson spread his hands, "Can’t argue with that."

Scarlett laughed, "Hahaha." After a brief pause, she couldn’t help it, "Hahaha."

Anson smiled as well. "So, what do you think? You’ve been really quiet."

Scarlett waved her hands, "No, no, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little amazed."

After a moment, she decided to be honest.

"Honestly, I can’t keep up."

"I started acting really young, so I didn’t experience much school life. Forget art, even my knowledge of common sense and academics is pretty limited. I’ve always dreamed of being part of discussions like these."

"You know, like those romanticized college days people talk about. I’ve always had unrealistic fantasies about it, hoping to experience the same as regular students."

"But today, when I actually took part, I realized my thinking process and my knowledge base just can’t keep up. I don’t even know how to think about these things."

A touch of bitterness, a hint of sadness.

Growing up as a child star under the spotlight, others always envied them. But the price was they had to sacrifice their childhood—and the time to accumulate knowledge to understand the world.

Anson joked lightly, "Don’t worry, if we were in the U.S., university discussions wouldn’t be this high-level."

"Hahaha," Scarlett laughed out loud, "Thanks for that."

"But."

Scarlett thought for a moment, her smile growing brighter.

"Actually, I love it. Even though it makes me realize how small and ignorant I am, I love this kind of atmosphere."

"It’s simple and pure, with no pretense or ego, just everyone wholeheartedly focused on the movies."

"I really enjoy it."

*Chapter 928: A Beautiful Night*

"A sense of purity, a sense of simplicity."

"You can feel endless passion from everyone here. They genuinely love movies. It’s not just about box office numbers or salaries. Every movie carries someone's memories and emotions. They’re willing to spend time and energy to dig deeper, enriching their inner world while also bringing movies and art closer to life."

"Even those Americans living in Los Angeles, when in Cannes, are no longer just praise machines like puppets; it’s as if they finally have souls."

Hahaha.

Scarlett’s casual joke made Anson burst into laughter.

Anson looked at Scarlett, "So which puppet, Pinocchio or the Mad Hatter?"

This time, it was Scarlett’s turn to laugh, "Pinocchio? I guess. Oh God, imagine a group of Pinocchios with their noses growing longer, flattering each other—that scene?"

Scarlett wasn’t the only one who shuddered; Anson did too. The mental image!

Scarlett looked at Anson’s wide eyes and laughed wildly.

Her bright and carefree laughter echoed under the Cannes night sky. Clearly, the night belonged to the movies and was far from over.

Tonight, the Cannes beach film screening was showing a classic black-and-white movie from Hollywood's golden age, Letter from an Unknown Woman.

This film, released in 1948 and adapted from the novel of the same name, tells a story of unrequited love. For him, it was just a fleeting night of pleasure, but for her, it was a love that marked her whole life.

Such romantic films are often seen in Asian cinema, but in Western movies, love portrayed with such subtlety, depth, and sadness is rare. Perhaps that’s why this film has a unique place in cinematic history.

As the screening ended, the crowd on the beach was visibly melancholic, the French lost in the emotions of romantic love.

However.

"...No, I can’t. When I like something, I just like it. If I don’t, I’ll say it. I hope to be straightforward. I can’t hide my feelings, let alone for a lifetime," Scarlett said firmly, shaking her head, her whole body showing resistance.

Anson chuckled, "Maybe it's not your style, but at least you can appreciate the beauty behind such a story."

Scarlett thought for a moment. "No."

Anson laughed again.

Scarlett said frankly, "What? You told me tonight that we should be bold in expressing ourselves, right?"

Anson raised his hands in surrender, "Of course, you're right. The world looks different at different ages."

Scarlett glanced up at Anson, "Are you teasing me for being too young?"

Anson smiled, "Isn’t that a good thing?"

Scarlett stared at Anson for a moment, then couldn’t help but smile, "Let’s say it's a good thing. Who can refuse youth? Thank you for walking me back tonight."

Her words trailed off, as if she had more to say but didn’t.

The night breeze stirred, the soft, ambiguous glow fell on them, sketching out their silhouettes. Slowly, the night between them faded, and their fingers brushed against each other, sending a subtle spark through the air, their heartbeats growing louder.

Scarlett looked at Anson, hesitant, a bit impulsive. Her gaze unintentionally flitted to his lips, and she quickly looked away, trying to cover up her thoughts.

Thump, thump.

Her heart pounded.

Just as Scarlett hesitated, Anson moved closer, completely enveloping her in his presence, and she felt as if her heart would explode.

Closer, even closer.

They were so near now that she could feel the warmth of his skin, overwhelming her reason, driving her to the brink of madness.

Anson’s deep voice, rich and a bit husky like a cello playing in the night, broke the tension. "Goodnight, teenage girl."

The next second, Anson turned and walked away.

Scarlett’s ears flushed bright red. The cold night air rushed in, surrounding her. Wide-eyed, she watched his back, unable to believe what had just happened. "I’m nineteen! Nineteen!"

Anson's voice echoed down the hallway, "No one can refuse youth, right? Haha, hahaha."

Scarlett: ???

Laughter echoed in the hallway as Scarlett stood there, a breath caught in her throat.

But as she gathered her thoughts, she suddenly realized she hadn't hidden her feelings well, and Anson had already seen through her. Watching his retreating figure, she called out loudly, "So, you're the one who’s afraid, right?"

Her words made Anson turn to face her, but he kept walking backward, "Shh. Let what happens in Cannes stay in Cannes."

Scarlett paused. Is this a "Cannes holiday"? A smile crept onto her lips, and she watched Anson's figure disappear down the hallway before she turned to her room. As the moonlight spilled through the window, she couldn't help but run to the balcony and look out.

Waiting. Waiting.

And then, she spotted Anson walking down the street. The night was a bit chilly, and Anson shrugged his shoulders, walking with a light step.

The street was a bit deserted, but a few fans were still lingering with beers, loudly discussing movies in Italian, their enthusiasm evident in their lively language. The mood was soon interrupted by a grumbling voice in French.

Anson glanced at the quarreling Italians, then continued walking, eventually disappearing into the night.

Scarlett stood there quietly, watching him until he was out of sight. Even then, she didn’t leave, but instead looked up at the moonlight that bathed all of Cannes.

Tonight, Cannes was more beautiful than ever.

The excitement of the film festival continued, from morning to deep into the night, with no end in sight. Everywhere, the passion of the audience could be felt.

Carl Rivet soon heard all kinds of rumors on the streets of Cannes:

Anson was seen at such-and-such screening, watching a particular movie; Anson was spotted waiting in line for another film; Anson was at the market screening, collecting film brochures—on and on it went.

If someone had told Carl these rumors five days ago, he would’ve been skeptical—

Is this just a grand show?

A PR stunt, a performance, a way to market his public image?

Otherwise, why would Anson be so high-profile? The entire Cannes was talking about him, and he was intentionally showing up in all these public places to be seen?

It wasn’t that Carl was overly suspicious, but in the entertainment industry, things are not always what they seem. Actors contacting journalists or paparazzi, staging photoshoots, and deliberately creating gossip or news—that's commonplace in the industry.

But actually being in Cannes, standing on the street and seeing with his own eyes, Carl knew it was real.

All of it was real. That’s just Anson—a free spirit who doesn’t bother defending himself and simply lives as he pleases.

*Chapter 929: The Ordinary Audience*

When Anson met Cannes, it was like falling in love.

Anson seemed to truly fall in love with Cannes, not as an actor, but as a regular audience member, completely immersed in the atmosphere of the film festival.

So, rather than saying Anson fell in love with Cannes, it's more accurate to say he fell in love with cinema. His behavior mirrored that of a die-hard movie fan, indistinguishable from the countless other spectators at Cannes.

Moreover, most of the audience at Cannes are "working folks," attending screenings not just for fun but also with the burden of writing articles. But not Anson—he was free to fully dive in and enjoy himself.

Karl still remembers that day when they left the Debussy Theatre on the first floor of the Palais. He spotted Anson and instinctively called out, ready to chat about the film they had just watched in the Un Certain Regard section.

Unexpectedly, Anson apologized, explaining he was in a rush because there was a masterclass happening in the Buñuel Theatre on the fifth floor, and he didn’t want to miss it. He said this while dashing off, not even waiting for the elevator, bursting through the fire exit and running up the stairs.

Karl was left standing there, dumbfounded.

A few hours later, Karl heard the follow-up: Anson, drenched in sweat, had made it to the masterclass in time. However, halfway through, he left early because he had to catch a screening of Mystic River in Studio 13.

Busy, fast-paced, nonstop, and full of passion.

In this sense, Anson was just like everyone else, rushing from one venue to the next, snacking on sandwiches, discussing films while barely finding time for a drink of water. He’d wake up early to head to the Lumière Theatre to catch the main competition screenings or plan his other viewing schedules.

Fully packed! Hectic!

Anson admits that this was his first film festival, and he was a bit greedy—wanting to see everything. Ultimately, he sacrificed sleep.

"After all, it’s only a few days."

One sentence resonated with everyone—

They couldn’t help but recall their own first film festival experience. Exactly the same!

Sighs of nostalgia naturally flowed, "Ah, youth... youth is wonderful."

It wasn’t just Karl who heard the stories; Emmanuel also caught wind of the rumors on the streets, making her realize that maybe she could continue her original project idea.

So, Emmanuel gave up on most of the red carpet premieres. After all, the red carpet photographers were everywhere, capturing those classic moments from all angles. Her presence wouldn’t make much difference. Instead, she focused on her own project idea:

*Anson-Wood.*

Unlike the red carpet or the endless flashes of paparazzi, what is Anson like in his everyday life, stripped of the Hollywood superstar aura?

What are his fashion choices, his outfits, his casual looks?

It was just like the stunning moment Emmanuel had captured on the train to Cannes. She wanted to see the Anson behind the spotlight.

Of course, Emmanuel knew she was taking a risk by skipping the red carpet and focusing on one person—it was a gamble.

But it didn’t take long for Emmanuel to be confident that she had made the right decision—

Shirts, short sleeves, polo shirts, jackets, windbreakers, cardigans, hoodies, casual blazers—simple styles that he combined in different ways to create a unique charm. No flashy or overly complicated pieces, just a youthful energy in a clean, elegant look that turned heads.

Under the spotlight, Anson always commanded attention, effortlessly drawing all eyes to him, making people want to worship him.

But in everyday life, words like casual, simple, sporty, and stylish came to mind. He exuded a youthful, sunny charm that made people want to be his friend.

Last year, the American edition of Vogue launched a column titled "How to Dress Like Anson," focusing on his style choices, sparking widespread discussion.

Now, Emmanuel thought they could launch a "casual edition," focusing on affordable, accessible clothing that anyone could buy, yet when paired like Anson does, they exuded personal flair without chasing trends.

Especially that effortless French charm Anson seemed to embody, glowing under the sun of the French Riviera.

Whether they admitted it or not, Anson was the biggest highlight of this year’s Cannes Film Festival.

Emmanuel was satisfied with her work. Even if the theme failed in the end, she felt she had gained plenty.

In fact, it didn’t fail—

Her concept was successfully featured in the Italian edition of Vogue, expanding on the red carpet fashion to create a whole new theme:

*"Anson-Wood: Day and Night."*

The Italian Vogue issue was inspired by the classic film La Dolce Vita, showing not only day and night, black and white versus color, but also the contrast between the spotlight and behind the scenes, revealing two distinct sides of Anson.

It was a reminder of Anson’s versatility, his ability to project different styles and personas, uncovering new possibilities in his acting career, much like what he had showcased in Catch Me If You Can.

This issue of the magazine became a huge hit in Europe.

In Italy, it sold out, prompting the magazine to reprint three times to meet demand. It also flew off the shelves in France, Spain, the UK, Germany, and elsewhere, becoming the highest-selling issue of Vogue Italy in Europe since the millennium.

The sparks between Anson and Cannes were undeniable, and thanks to the buzz generated by August 31st Band, Anson had become a dominant force in Europe, even more so than during the frenzy of Spider-Man or Catch Me If You Can.

And this wasn’t the end.

Two months later, the Italian Vogue wave crossed the Atlantic, stirring up another wave of excitement in North America, triggering a new buying frenzy.

However!

The Italian edition was no longer being reprinted, leaving North American demand unmet. Prices on the black market skyrocketed to $600 per copy, yet it was still hard to find one.

Because of this, Emmanuel’s fame soared.

But none of this was something Emmanuel could have predicted.

As she reflected on her time in Cannes, it felt like an indescribable dream, especially the last few days.

Day after day, time passed in a blur of busyness and running around. Before she could even collect her thoughts, ten days had flown by, and the Cannes Film Festival reached its final day, with the closing ceremony and award announcements.

Tonight, the jury would reveal the Palme d'Or and the other awards.

The Cannes Film Festival was about to reach its climax and bring another year of cinematic celebration to a close.

Chapter 930: The Last Day

"Hey, Anson, you're still here?"

Carl couldn't believe his eyes. It was the final day of Cannes, and with no new films premiering—only the closing ceremony and awards show remaining—he was shocked to see Anson still around.

Over the past few days, Cannes had grown accustomed to Anson's presence, but the key detail was that everyone assumed Anson had already left. After all—

Not just anyone could attend the awards ceremony.

As mentioned before, the three major European film festivals are often extremely busy, with a film crew usually staying for no more than two or three days. After their promotional duties, they leave—this applies to both Berlin and Venice as well.

If a crew chooses to stay longer for personal enjoyment, can they?

Of course. Aside from the frigid February of Berlin, May in Cannes and September in Venice are great times to vacation. The crew can certainly linger.

But staying is a personal decision and has no official connection to the festival, much like in Anson's case.

When the festival ends and the closing ceremony and awards show are about to begin, the juries gather at the festival’s official accommodations, like a hotel or villa, to deliberate and decide on the awards. The film crews whose films are on the award list are summoned back to the festival to attend the ceremony and receive their prizes.

Because of this, the last day of the festival sees the airport bustling with activity. Reporters swarm the airport, eagerly watching to see who has been called back—

If a crew is called back, it usually means they've won an award. This happens 90% of the time, though occasionally, a crew might be summoned only to leave empty-handed, which can be a bit awkward.

Generally speaking, the major competition sections at the three big European festivals hand out seven awards in total:

The top three prizes: Palme d'Or (Cannes), Golden Bear (Berlin), and Golden Lion (Venice), followed by the Grand Jury Prize and Jury Prize.

Then come the awards for Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director, and Best Screenplay.

The specific details may vary slightly from year to year, but the overall structure remains the same.

At the same time, these festivals try to avoid a "double winner" situation (where one award is shared by two people) or one film sweeping multiple awards. Though it does happen from time to time, it's generally rare, and each year, only seven film crews are typically called back, with each one receiving a distinct award.

So, on the last day of any of these festivals, once the seven crews are recalled, the media begins a flurry of speculation and discussion about which film will win which award.

Among these, one film will claim the top prize, basking in all the glory and accolades.

This debate lasts the entire day.

Now, imagine if you were called back, endured an entire day of speculation and hope, only to leave without a prize?

Or worse, if you weren't called back at all, staying in town while listening to all the discussions about awards that no longer concern you?

What kind of feeling would that be?

As a result, most crews, if not called back, leave on the final day rather than endure the agony of hanging around. Whether it's a crew that premiered their film the day before last or someone like Anson, who’s just been enjoying the festival as a "freelancer," they all tend to leave.

But not Anson.

No wonder people reacted as if they’d seen a ghost when they saw him.

Not only had Anson stayed, but he was also casually walking down the street. Carl wasn’t the only one filled with questions; everyone was just about ready to pop their eyes out of their heads.

Carl's mind raced. "Wait, did you get called back?"

Aha.

That one question was enough to draw all eyes toward them.

By now, everyone had gotten used to Anson’s status as a film enthusiast, forgetting that Anson was also in the cast of Elephant, one of the films in the main competition.

Anson chuckled. "If we had been called back, we wouldn’t be hanging out in a café right now; we’d be getting dressed and ready in some secret location, right?"

His response was candid, sincere, and logical.

The group gave a collective "aha" and nodded in agreement.

But someone couldn't help but express their regret. "I actually wish you were called back. I think Elephant deserves recognition."

Boom.

That comment set off a wave of discussion.

In an instant, the group erupted in chatter, first debating whether Elephant deserved an award, and then shifting to who might win the Palme d’Or.

It was a classic Cannes moment, with everyone holding strong opinions and fiercely defending them.

"Anson, what do you think?"

Shh.

That one simple question instantly silenced the noisy café, leaving only the hum of the coffee machine, which now seemed unusually loud.

Everyone's gaze locked onto Anson, each person staring at him like they were about to devour him whole, the air thick with tension.

Anson raised his right hand slightly. "Relax. I’m not the jury president. I don’t get to decide this, so you don’t have to look at me like I’m your next meal."

Unfortunately, no one laughed, but the tension did ease a bit.

Someone quickly followed up, "Okay, but what’s your opinion? Which film do you think deserves the Palme d’Or?"

This time, Anson didn’t avoid the question. "Including Elephant or not?"

"No way, Anson! I didn’t think you’d pick your own film! Are you really going to choose the movie you were in?"

Anson replied confidently, "Why not?"

Uh... well...

His frankness stunned the group into silence.

Anson didn’t feel embarrassed or hesitant at all. Just because he acted in one of the competing films didn’t mean he had to avoid showing favoritism. As he’d just said:

He wasn’t part of the jury, so his choice wouldn’t sway the final outcome, meaning he could freely express his own preference.

As an actor, you don’t always love the films you’re in. Sometimes, actors even hate their own projects. But other times, regardless of involvement, liking something is simply about taste.

In the case of Elephant, Anson genuinely liked it. It wasn’t about promotion or PR—he just truly appreciated Gus Van Sant's work.

So, he had no reason to feel guilty.

Looking back at the expectant crowd, Anson continued, "Personally, I’d give the Palme d’Or to Elephant. But if we’re excluding it, I’d choose Distant."

He didn’t hold back any longer, giving his honest opinion.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

The group snapped out of their daze and began whispering and debating among themselves, the noise of their chatter filling the café like a swarm of bees.

Someone immediately asked Anson, "Distant, the one by Ceylan? But why?"

"Literary merit," Anson answered directly. "It’s not just about the script’s literary quality; it’s also about the way the camera frames shots and how the long takes convey a literary sensibility. I think Ceylan’s exploring the effect of life’s environment on intellectuals. This film is still a bit raw—you can see he’s still finding his voice—but I believe he already shows the qualities of a master filmmaker."

"So, you just don’t like Dogville, right?"

Anson nodded. "Right."

His answer was so blunt that everyone burst into laughter.