666-670

*Chapter 666: Unique Charm*

Noise, clamor, commotion.

The Royal Theatre screening hall couldn’t quiet down.

This was Anson’s first project after “Spider-Man” skyrocketed him to fame. It was the last hope after a rollercoaster holiday season, and the shock and excitement of the red-carpet premiere tonight still hadn’t subsided.

Excitement surged.

You could clearly feel the thrill in the air, as the media prepared for tomorrow’s storm. But mostly, it was the fashion journalists who were buzzing; the film reporters, meanwhile, were trying to capture the premiere’s vividness in writing, seeking to offer something fresh amid the endless reports, minds racing, emotions soaring.

Even as the audience settled into their seats, the silent rush of excitement and tension refused to fade. No one was making noise, yet the restless energy was palpable.

Then, as Anson entered, the room reached a new peak.

Anson tried to stay low-key—no security, no entourage, just quietly slipping into the screening hall alone, without making a fuss.

But the audience recognized him instantly.

Laughter.

The fervor of the fans, Anson’s appearance, and the buzz outside the film itself transformed the premiere into a party, momentarily setting aside the usual clichés to savor the experience and let loose.

But tonight was different.

Suddenly, the audience erupted into heart-wrenching screams.

Before tonight—

It seemed like a Christmas miracle was happening.

“Trust me, you won’t want to miss the chance to brag to your friends about what you experience tonight. But first, let’s enjoy it.”

“Anson, you look amazing.”

The crowd simply wouldn’t settle down.

Media reporters were once again boringly emphasizing how grand the premiere was, how confident the creators were, and how the audience must see this film in theaters.

Anson, who was about to take his seat, stood up again, spread his arms, and gave a slight shrug.

Another movie, another premiere—Anson’s 101st of 2002. People generally thought such events were lacking in novelty and spectacle, full of predictable screaming and fawning. Regardless of the film’s quality, premieres always seemed the same: actors and directors tirelessly repeating how much effort they put into making the film and how much they hope the audience will enjoy it.

Until the critics’ reviews dropped, tearing away the hidden mask.

In response, Anson called out with a smile, “Careful, by the time the film ends, you might fall in love.”

A sense of camaraderie filled the room.

A ripple of laughter and commotion quickly spread through the screening hall. Anson, unable to resist smiling, greeted the audience along the aisles and ended with a big hug for Tom, who had just arrived.

Amid the laughter and commotion, someone even whistled—

And then, things got interesting.

With a wave of lighthearted teasing, Anson and Tom smoothly took their seats.

The hall erupted in laughter.

“How’s that?”

Teasing, joking, all with a bit of self-praise thrown in.

Laughter echoed throughout the room.

Melvin stared at Anson in astonishment as the screening hall grew more and more lively and noisy, unable to settle down. Was this the right approach?

But then—

Anson didn’t take his seat. He turned to the audience, lifted both hands, and signaled for applause.

That gesture immediately sent the audience into a frenzy. Even the celebrity guests attending the premiere exchanged puzzled glances but followed along with the clapping. No one really knew what Anson was up to.

But even Steven and Tom joined in with applause, so why not?

Everyone joined the fun.

Anson started waving his hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra, the applause growing louder, joined by whistles and cheers.

Until—

A pause.

Anson lowered his hands.

The audience was momentarily caught off guard and instinctively followed Anson’s lead, falling completely silent.

Then, with a snap of his fingers toward the projection room, Anson turned and took his seat.

In one seamless motion.

The lights dimmed, and a beam from the projector illuminated the big screen.

The movie finally began.

Yet—

In the darkness, the audience and guests finally realized what had happened. They exchanged wide-eyed glances, both amused and impressed, but couldn’t find the words to describe it. One by one, they looked at each other like fools, wide-eyed and speechless.

Quietly, smiles crept onto their faces.

But strangely enough, this time, no one spoke. The restlessness had completely disappeared.

The only certainty was that the storm in their minds hadn’t calmed.

According to The Washington Post, Anson Wood seems to possess a unique charm: light-hearted yet clever, humorous yet playful. He constantly teases, but instead of feeling offended, people join in the fun. At tonight’s premiere, Anson once again showcased this magic, sparking curiosity and anticipation even before the movie started—something you don’t usually find in a Steven Spielberg or Tom Hanks film.

They hit the nail on the head.

This is Anson’s charm—captivating the audience and making them look forward to what’s next.

A premiere is still just a premiere, but also so much more.

Whatever the case, Catch Me If You Can had officially begun, and on Christmas Eve—

Steven Spielberg always claimed to be a commercial director, admiring the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford. He never thought he’d win an Oscar and never wanted to confine himself to art films.

Entertainment. Imagination.

These were always Steven’s key elements in filmmaking.

His summer hit Minority Report was too serious, too heavy. But with Catch Me If You Can, Steven returned to his familiar style.

The opening sequence immediately showed off some playful humor.

It started with a comic-style opening, full of retro flair, instantly grabbing the audience’s attention. The opening then transitioned into the story with a witty twist.

“Thank you, and welcome to Real or Fake.”

A retro-style TV game show.

The screening hall was full of questions, as all kinds of speculation began to emerge. But overall, it wasn’t too shocking or unexpected.

Opening a movie with a TV show and zooming out to reveal a character watching the screen isn’t all that uncommon.

However, the real surprise came soon after.

“Our first guest is someone who made a living as the most shameless conman, someone we’ve never invited to the show before. You’ll soon see why.”

As the game show host introduced the guest, three men in pilot uniforms appeared on screen.

The man in the center… wait, wasn’t that the tall, handsome Anson?

Chapter 667: Cat and Mouse Game

Wait, is this really—

"Catch Me If You Can" kicks off with a delightful little surprise.

Steven Spielberg actually created a retro TV show, unfolding the story with a mischievous and satirical touch, like a caricature.

It’s quite the eye-catcher.

"Contestant number one, what’s your name?"

"My name is Frank William Abagnale."

"And contestant number two?"

"My name is Frank William Abagnale."

"Contestant number three!"

"My name is Frank William Abagnale."

"My name is Frank William Abagnale."

The second contestant, Anson Wood, is actually the true protagonist of the film.

"In twenty-six countries outside the United States and fifty states within, I forged checks and cashed in about four million dollars, all before my nineteenth birthday."

So, isn’t this a spoiler?

In an era where everyone shuns spoilers, treating them like a cardinal sin, film companies go to great lengths to protect the plot. However, "Catch Me If You Can" does the opposite, spoiling itself upfront.

This might be the clearest and most memorable introduction to a film protagonist ever, and the movie has barely begun, less than three minutes in.

The camera sweeps over the three contestants like a TV show, focusing on Anson’s angelic, innocent face. It’s hard to fathom how Anson could have committed those crimes, the thoughts racing through your mind.

The imagery is a bit comical.

So, how will the movie unfold from here?

Yet, the film proceeds to earnestly create a retro show seeking the truth, the unintended humor naturally leaking out, making you chuckle.

The TV host's voice continues.

Curiosity is piqued.

More importantly, you’re intrigued.

"From 1964 to 1967, I successfully impersonated a Pan Am pilot, flying for free over two million miles. During that time, I also served as a pediatric intern supervisor at a hospital in Georgia and an assistant attorney general in Louisiana."

Shocking, jarring—

Unexpectedly, the spoiler seems to be intentional because the host goes further to reveal more of the story. It’s absolutely surprising.

A bit of a spoiler, yet it displays this character’s legendary journey, not disappointing but creating a clickbait effect, grabbing your attention instantly and making you look forward to it.

Oh, forgot—it's not Anson, but Frank William Abagnale.

Clearly, every viewer in the cinema knows:

TV Host: "So, for the first time ever, he’s going to tell the truth. First question by Katie."

"When I was arrested, I was considered the youngest and boldest conman in American history."

Katie, a middle-aged female guest in a floral dress, asks, "Thank you. Contestant number one, with your smarts—you must be a clever guy—why didn’t you pursue a legitimate career?"

Contestant One, Frank, responds calmly, "It’s a matter of dollars and cents. When I was young, I needed money and thought this was the easiest way to earn it."

Katie's voice comes from off-screen as the camera quietly pans to Anson, "I see. Contestant number two, I find this fascinating. So, who eventually caught you?"

Contestant Two, Frank, looks at the camera and smiles slightly, "His name was Carl Hanratty."

One second, transition.

"Han. Rat. Ty."

Pouring rain.

Close-up, Tom Hanks’ familiar face appears seamlessly, shifting from fiction to reality, pulling the audience into the story like a roller coaster.

Indeed, Steven is Steven; he always knows how to make an impact.

From Anson to Tom, from Frank to Carl, the camera transition brings a shift in protagonist, from fiction to reality, from the criminal to the pursuer, presenting the story from a completely different perspective.

And another spoiler.

Just as it spoiled Frank’s criminal history, it now spoils the hero who cracked the case and caught the criminal. The tension between the criminal and the law enforcer instantly fills the screen.

The reporters instantly get it—

"Catch Me If You Can," the movie title itself is a spoiler. Apart from the original biography, the film focuses on Frank and Carl, a brilliant conman and a relentless detective.

See, that’s narrative efficiency.

In less than three minutes, Steven has already dangled the bait, capturing the audience’s focus. Before realizing it, everyone is engrossed.

Impressive!

"Han! Rat! Ty!"

In the rain, Carl has to repeat his surname amid a language barrier.

"Rat, Ty?"

From the accent, it’s clear these people standing in front of Carl are French.

Wait, how did the story shift from America to France?

One suspense, one switch—although seemingly confusing, Steven skillfully handles the pacing. Before plunging into chaos, he gradually reveals the answers.

"Carl Hanratty?"

"Yes!"

"Huh?"

"I am. Carl. Hanratty. I represent the FBI. I have official permission to see that American prisoner, Abagnale."

France, Marseille, 1969, Christmas Eve.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

A commotion in the theater.

Because the film didn’t let the confusion and suspense linger too long, before further descending into disorder, everything is laid out plainly.

And the film breaks the fourth wall, connecting 1969’s Christmas Eve to 2022’s Christmas Eve. Now it’s clear why DreamWorks chose to premiere in Los Angeles tonight.

The movie blends into reality.

Moreover, the fictional TV show was just an introduction, not only spoiling Frank and Carl’s relationship but also cutting open a gateway into the story.

So, it wasn’t Carl who caught Frank but the Marseille police?

Now, Carl is here in Marseille to extradite Frank back to the U.S.?

Despite some effort, Carl finally sees Frank—

Layer upon layer, Frank is confined in the deepest part of a heavily guarded prison.

Meanwhile, the Marseille police remain on full alert, pointing at the iron door of the cell and setting a stool in front of it.

"You sit here. Do not open this door, and do not hand him anything through this slit."

They open a small window on the right side of the iron door, a rectangular slot similar to a mail slot, covered tightly with wire mesh.

Carl puts down his briefcase and umbrella, takes a seat, and peers through the small window into the cell. Despite being mentally prepared, he can’t help but exclaim.

"Jesus Christ."

Cough, cough.  

Cough, cough!  

Inside, a frail figure covers themselves with a filthy gray blanket, coughing violently as if they might cough out their lungs. Clutching the blanket tightly, they toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, failing miserably, curling up in the corner, shivering uncontrollably.

A tangled mess of dirty, sandy-brown hair barely reveals that pale, lifeless face, trembling all over.

It’s hard to imagine that… is Anson.

Chapter 668: Narrative Efficiency

There was a slight commotion in the Royal theater screening room.

Just moments ago, they were animatedly discussing Anson's retro 1960s look. With his smooth, short golden hair and neat bangs, and a slightly shy, reserved smile, it was as if he had traveled back from the 21st century to a distant past.

In a flash, they witnessed Anson's most disheveled, terrible appearance since his debut in "Friends."

Usually dashing and elegant, Anson now had a scruffy beard, sores at the corners of his mouth, and not even a glimmer of light in his eyes. He was a shadow of his former self, huddled in a corner, trying in vain to warm himself. His faintly rising chest and lifeless eyes seemed to radiate a chill that seeped into his bones.

Was this really Anson?

Clearly, he wasn't here for a vacation.

But.

Carl wasn't having any of it, remaining calm and businesslike.

Carl pulled out a stack of documents, methodically reading the extradition rules, completely ignoring Frank's feeble plea for help.

"Help me."

In a fit of rage, Carl furiously demanded a doctor. They dragged the unconscious Frank to the infirmary. However, when the doctor finally arrived, he was in no hurry, infuriating Carl even more. He roared at the doctor, insisting that he hadn't come all the way to Marseille to bring back a corpse.

But at this moment, the audience still felt torn, finding themselves instinctively siding with Frank.

Finally, Carl paused, looking through the wire mesh directly into Frank's eyes with a calm expression. "You don't think you can fool me, do you?"

Fragile and struggling.

Desperate and pained.

Frank, barely breathing, couldn't make a sound. His coughs weakened, and with all his might, he weakly squeezed out a plea for help.

Carl continued.

Eventually, Frank couldn't hold on anymore and fainted on the spot.

Those eyes, even in their disheveled, weakened, and dull state, quietly emitted a faint glimmer amidst the filth and chaos, like the deep blue ocean subtly reflecting the world's turmoil.

In that instant, the entire screening room held its breath.

It seemed like the slightest touch would shatter everything.

Despite Anson being a prisoner and Tom being an agent; despite Tom having the classic Hollywood good-guy face, playing countless American hero roles.

And things were only going to get worse.

Looking up, Carl calmly appeared above him, and Frank exhaled a long breath.

The audience in the screening room couldn't believe their ears. Seeing this version of Frank, and then the cold-hearted Carl, they easily changed sides—

The camera cuts, showing Frank staggering and stumbling while trying to escape, inciting cheers, curses, and jeers from the other inmates.

"Help me."

Frank didn't say more; he just quietly, barely alive, curled up, his whole body so small that it seemed he might disappear at any moment. He sent a distress signal with his eyes.

The doctor finally took notice. Turning around, he found the hospital bed empty.

Frank, in the end, couldn't escape, collapsing to the ground with his knees buckling.

Carl, coldly, added another jab, "Sixteen pages to go."

"Alright. Carl. Let's go home. Back to America."

Audience: ???

It wasn't until now that they realized they had been deceived.

No wonder the prison was heavily guarded, no wonder Carl was so ruthless; it all made sense.

A beat slower, the information from the fake TV show at the beginning of the movie came back to them—

A conman. A super conman. A top conman who had made countless achievements.

This was Frank William Abagnale.

But!

The most amazing part was that even in such a miserable, defeated, and pathetic state, without any boost from his looks, he still managed to fool the audience.

He even tricked FBI agent Carl. Who knows how many times now?

In the screening room, amidst laughter and tears, curiosity once again reared its head.

It must be said, Steven Spielberg truly has a knack for it. In less than ten minutes, with a single introduction, he firmly captured the audience's attention.

That's skill.

At this point, the movie's narrative finally begins to unfold.

1963, New York, New Rochelle, Christmas Eve.

Frank Abagnale Sr. had a successful career and a happy family. Due to his personal contributions, he made it to the honor wall of an old private club.

Young Frank Abagnale Jr. and his mother sat in the front row, witnessing this moment, their eyes shining with respect and admiration.

After the party, young Frank and his mother danced by the Christmas tree in their living room. The father sat by, recounting the story of how he and the mother met and fell in love in Paris. It was so romantic it made people swoon, with laughter lingering in the air.

When the mother accidentally spilled wine on the white carpet, young Frank rushed into the kitchen in a panic, bringing out a glass of milk to clean up the stain. But then he saw his parents continuing to dance lovingly—

The wine stain didn't matter at all.

Young Frank watched quietly, a child's innocent, radiant smile on his face.

……

Still young, still innocent, still the kind who'd oversleep on school days, young Frank was woken up early in the morning by his father. He rubbed his eyes, worried about being late for school, but his father told him they weren't going to school today; they were going to a meeting.

But, for the meeting, he needed a black suit.

It was still early, and the suit shop wasn't open. Though Frank Sr. called out to Darcy, the shop clerk who was preparing to open, Darcy repeatedly said they wouldn't open for another thirty minutes.

Frank Sr. refused to give up.

"I'm in a bind right now. I need to rent a suit for my child. This is my son, Frank. He needs a black suit."

"Someone in my family has died. My father..."

Young Frank glanced at his father: Funeral? What funeral?

But Frank Sr. didn't pause, continuing his speech.

"...Eighty-five years old, a war hero. There will be a funeral this afternoon, a military funeral, with planes flying overhead, a twenty-one-gun salute."

"Frank just needs to rent the suit for a few hours."

Darcy was almost convinced, but she still showed a troubled expression. "Sorry, we don't rent suits, and we're not open yet."

Saying this, Darcy was ready to close the door.

Frank Sr. called out sincerely.

"Darcy."

"Darcy, please, come back."

Darcy stopped, looking back through the glass door, her face full of reluctance.

Frank Sr. was not deterred. Instead, he offered a gentlemanly smile.

"Darcy, is this yours?"

Frank Sr. reached through the iron door, opened his palm, and let a golden necklace drop, surprising Darcy, who walked back out.

"I found it in the parking lot just now. It must have slipped off your neck."

A smile gently bloomed.

Then, the camera cuts—

A luxury car wobbled as it pulled over to the side of the road. From the back seat came Frank Sr.'s voice, "Don't hit the curb," but the car still stumbled and bumped into it before finally straightening out.

Under Frank Sr.'s guidance, "Now get out, walk around the back, and open the door for me."

Appearing in front of us, young Frank was wearing a crisp black suit.

*Chapter 669: In a Dilemma*

Open the door, close the door.

Little Frank was excited and restless, like a rookie agent on his first mission, eager and impatient.

Old Frank stood beside him, calm and composed, "Don't smile too much."

Little Frank quickly hid his grin and stood obediently.

Old Frank continued, "Once I go in, you go back to the driver's seat and wait for me. Even if the police come to give a ticket, don't move the car. Do you understand?"

Little Frank nodded lightly, but couldn't hold back his curiosity, "Dad, what's all this for?"

Old Frank looked at his son, "Do you know why the Yankees always win?"

Little Frank blinked, "Because they have Mickey Mantle?"

Old Frank stared into his son's eyes, "No, because the other teams are always distracted by their pinstripes."

Pfft.

"Are you selling encyclopedias?"

The series of actions was all just for show, hoping to create an image through such surface work to gain some confidence for the negotiation.

So, he sold the car and took Little Frank to return the suits; then he sold the house, and the three of them moved into a small apartment.

However, it didn't last long.

Father said.

A checkbook, from Chase Bank.

Turns out, under the seemingly glamorous exterior, there were lice crawling everywhere—

As long as the bank was willing to lend him money to help him get by, he was confident he could make a comeback. He hoped a bank as big as Chase would be willing to take more risks and be adventurous. He just needed a bit of working capital.

Just as he finished speaking, a well-dressed gentleman pushed open the bank door, smiling as he personally welcomed Old Frank.

Despite the struggles and difficulties, the smile returned to his face.

Unfortunately, he was still rejected.

On the first day, out of habit, wearing his school uniform, Little Frank faced a rude awakening. First, a chubby kid knocked into him for no reason. After finally finding the French class, he was met with chaos in the classroom, and the same chubby kid reappeared, hurling insults and mockery.

"… So from today on, you're joining their little club."

After his failure, Old Frank also lost the initiative.

Old Frank said, "Look, the manager of Chase Bank is about to open the door for your father."

On Little Frank's sixteenth birthday, despite being overwhelmed with problems, his father didn't forget. Not only that, but he also gave him a special gift—

Thus, he set his sights on Chase Bank, currently the largest bank in the world.

Life hit rock bottom, but even in tough times, one can still find joy and keep going.

Little Frank laughed outright.

Transferring from a private school to a public school, Little Frank still hadn't changed his usual habits and knew nothing about the environment he was about to face.

Old Frank was under investigation for tax evasion, with all his assets frozen, causing his business to grind to a halt. He needed funds.

"Hehe, he looks like a substitute teacher."

This wasn't the school atmosphere Little Frank was used to.

Deep breath, another deep breath.

Little Frank controlled himself, standing at the classroom door, body slightly leaning forward, ready to take a seat. But after a slight hesitation, he turned around, walked past the podium, and headed to the blackboard.

Facing the blackboard, Little Frank hesitated slightly, his lips pursed. Despite his best efforts to suppress it, the surging emotions were still evident.

Finally, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard—

"Mr. Abagnale."

And in the midst of all the noise and chaos, he raised his voice.

"Quiet, everyone."

"My name is Mr. Abagnale, not Abagno, not Abanelle…"

The chubby kid who had bumped into Little Frank earlier froze, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"But Abagnale."

Little Frank turned around and calmly entered the classroom.

"Now, who can tell me where we left off last time?"

The classroom was silent, but still chaotic.

In the screening room, it was the same.

One by one, they exchanged glances. No one knew what was happening, but watching this scene before them, there was a sense of anticipation and excitement. Is this normal?

In the classroom, there was no sound, but the students still maintained their postures, either sitting or standing, their eyes all on Little Frank, seemingly not understanding what was going on, as if their reactions were on the fritz.

Little Frank found his voice in the quiet, "Sorry, everyone, if I need to repeat myself, I will report the entire class."

"Sit down!"

Anger erupted instantly.

The classroom finally started moving again, with students quickly bowing their heads and hurriedly returning to their seats.

After a brief commotion, everyone finally took their seats, and someone reminded, "

Little Frank quickly flipped through his book, "Please turn to

Finally, Little Frank couldn't hold back any longer, striding over to the chubby kid, bending down to his ear and loudly releasing energy without warning.

"Excuse me, what's your name?"

The chubby kid was stunned, "Brad."

Little Frank grabbed Brad's arm and yanked him up, "Brad, why don't you stand in front of the class and read the fifth conversation?"

Brad stood in front of the class, uneasy, constantly shifting his weight from one leg to the other, looking like he was about to wet himself, his neck stiff, not daring to turn his head.

Then, Brad stuttered and stumbled through the reading, his pronunciation and tone particularly odd, causing the students in the classroom to giggle and laugh.

At this moment, an elderly lady with her hair in a bun entered the classroom, looking at the scene with confusion and turned to Little Frank, her voice trembling slightly.

"They sent me. They said they needed a substitute for Roberta, and I came all the way from Dixon."

Little Frank stepped forward, looking at the elderly lady, lowering his voice, "Sorry, I've been substituting for Roberta."

Without a pause, Little Frank turned to Brad, "Sorry, why did you stop?"

The elderly lady's pupils shook violently, filled with confusion and panic, almost about to cry, "I'm never coming back to Bellamy-Jefferson Middle School to substitute! You tell them not to call me again! Do you think it's easy for a lady my age to travel all the way here? They won't even reimburse me for travel expenses!"

Muttering to herself, the elderly lady turned around and left, looking heartbroken, and the classroom erupted in laughter again.

In the screening room, there was a moment of bewilderment—

To be precise, a bit of surprise, a bit of curiosity, a bit of humor; it was hard to describe what kind of feeling this was. There was even a little bit of admiration.

However, this was just the beginning.

The scene shifts, and the principal, looking troubled, sits in his office.

"Mr. Abagnale, Mrs. Abagnale, this is not about your son's attendance. I'm very sorry to tell you that over the past week, Frank has been substituting for Mrs. Glasser in teaching French."

Paula Abagnale: "What?"

The entire screening room, "What?"

Principal, "Your son pretended to be a substitute teacher, teaching the students, assigning homework. Mrs. Glasser was ill, and the substitute teacher got caught up in some misunderstanding. Yesterday, your son even held a parent-teacher conference, planning an internship at a French bakery in Trenton. Do you understand the problem here?"

Everyone's jaws dropped, from inside the screen to outside the screen.

*Chapter 670: Imitating What You See*

The situation was quite amusing, a bit absurd, but interestingly, it maintained a lighthearted atmosphere throughout.

Over here, the principal was explaining the gravity of the situation to the Abanel couple.

Meanwhile, Paula Abanel couldn’t believe her ears and glanced outside the office—

Little Frank was sitting on a chair, biting his nails, completely absorbed as if this was the most important thing in the world.

Unintentionally, little Frank looked up and met Paula's gaze, flashing a mischievous grin.

However, Paula remained expressionless.

Realizing the tension, little Frank quickly suppressed his smile, avoided her gaze, and nervously peeked up only to catch his mother’s eyes again. He immediately dropped his gaze, sitting like a well-behaved child, focusing on an ant on the ground, his slightly turned face showing an innocent expression.

This scene elicited soft laughter from the audience in the screening room.

Melvin was a bit surprised: this wasn’t supposed to be a funny scene, right?

But after a brief pause, Melvin realized that even he was smiling slightly. It might not have been a humorous scene, but who could resist Anson?

The girl hesitated briefly, discreetly looking around before turning her back to Miss Davenport. She casually folded her excuse note once and then again, pressing down hard on the crease.

The audience had never seen Anson's mischievous side before; this must be the first time.

Moments later, a girl arrived at the administration office, standing right beside little Frank, intending to request leave.

After calling her twice, he finally caught the girl's attention.

The girl, confused, asked, "What?"

“When your mom gives you a leave note, the first thing you should do is fold it and put it in your pocket.”

Inside the office, the Abanel couple was getting scolded; outside, little Frank had no idea he was in big trouble.

“If this is real, then where’s the crease?”

Little Frank quickly glanced at the principal's office, then back at Miss Davenport, lowering his voice to say quickly, “This leave note is a fake, right? You should fold it.”

Anson, standing before him, was entirely different from his roles in “The Princess Diaries” and “Spider-Man.” There was a touch of childish mischief and a hint of mature sadness and sophistication. Despite his family's sudden changes and the upheavals in school and life, he silently endured those storms without showing any vulnerability, counterattacking in his own way.

Then, little Frank looked up again.

“You should fold it,” little Frank repeated.

“Hey.”

Even in this brief moment, little Frank couldn’t stay calm.

He raised his brow slightly, “Heh. But the paper has no crease.”

The girl turned to look at little Frank, appearing a bit shy, showing a bashful smile, "This is a leave note from my mom. I have a doctor's appointment."

Little Frank glanced up at the girl, speaking with apparent nonchalance, but afterward, he seemed slightly embarrassed and quickly lowered his head, avoiding her gaze.

Just then, the phone kept ringing. Miss Davenport gestured for them to wait a moment as she needed to take the call.

In a daze, the images of little Frank and Anson overlapped—

“Miss Davenport, I have a leave note. I can't attend the fifth and sixth periods; I have a doctor's appointment.”

“Hey!”

The boy and the girl exchanged a look, sharing a knowing smile.

Slam.

The principal's office door swung open, and Paula Abanel entered while adjusting her gloves. She paused briefly at the entrance, casting her son a meaningful glance, only to find him lounging lazily in the chair. She frowned and glared at him sternly.

“Frank.”

Paula called out.

Little Frank lowered his head and quickly sat up straight, nervously wringing his fingers, not daring to look up, though he could feel the gaze of his father, Old Frank, following closely behind.

He timidly clutched his backpack, shoulders hunched and head drooping, like a sad Labrador, sneaking a glance at his father from the corner of his eye.

Expressionless.

Little Frank was surprised; there was no anger, no sternness, no indifference, just calmness, with no particular expression. This made him steal a second glance at his father.

Unexpectedly, their eyes met.

Little Frank froze.

Old Frank smiled, and little Frank followed suit.

Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

Unfortunately.

It was only temporary.

Just when little Frank thought his life was slowly getting back on track, the harsh reality struck like a storm, leaving no room to breathe.

Little Frank started to feel uneasy—

He noticed some men "visiting his father smoothly," all of whom were his father's friends. But his father was never home, and his mother was entertaining guests in the bedroom. He could even see their coats on the living room sofa, and they always looked at him meaningfully, giving him gifts or pocket money.

He didn't like it.

Things soon spiraled into the abyss.

Lawyers appeared, his grandmother, whom he had never met, showed up, his father sat silently in the corner, and his mother eagerly asked him to sign a document and fill in either his father’s or mother’s name at a crucial spot.

He didn’t understand what was happening.

It wasn't until "divorce" came up in the conversation that he was stunned. He turned to his father for an explanation or a response, but his father's silence pushed him into an abyss.

At that moment, in those clear and deep blue eyes, you could clearly see a world falling apart. Though he didn’t want to cry, tears blurred his vision, silently, without making a sound, unable to feel sadness or pain—just confusion and helplessness, falling from a great height.

Run.

He ran with all his might.

Running away from here, from life, from reality.

Little Frank ran away from home, no destination in mind, anywhere but here would do.

The entire screening room fell silent, not a sound, not even a breath—

Because they saw in those eyes the collapse of a child's world.

And because they didn’t expect the story to take such a sharp turn, a storm tearing apart little Frank’s world and pushing the story in another direction.

However.

Steven Spielberg once again demonstrated his mastery of pacing. The scene shifted.

1969, France, Paris.

Time returned to the present, with Carl escorting little Frank back to North America.

Little Frank tried to persuade Carl to get a better room, but Carl said the budget was limited, so he couldn’t do anything. Little Frank lowered his gaze, feeling dejected again.

"It's fine, I've stayed in worse places."

At this point, the audience suddenly remembered, oh right, they had forgotten this was a crime movie based on a true story.

So, does this mean—

The moment little Frank ran away from home was also the turning point when he embarked on a criminal path?

Involuntarily, Melvin recalled the answer given by Contestant No. 1 in the fake TV show at the beginning of the movie:

Dollars and cents, that was the starting point for everything.