531-535

Chapter 531: Courage to Face It**

People always think that being real means being vulnerable, and looking back means retreating.

All along, he believed the same. So, he refused to look back, focusing on the present, looking toward the future, and moving forward steadily, step by step.

But the key point is that whether you look back or not, the shadows of the past always lie deep within the soul, exerting a profound influence in unseen ways.

Looking back at the past is not an act of cowardice; on the contrary, it is an act of courage. Only by truly facing those vulnerabilities and scars can one truly let go and gain the strength to move forward at full speed.

Little Frank Abagnale in "Catch Me If You Can" is just like this.

He kept running, avoiding, disguising, refusing to acknowledge his parents’ divorce, refusing to admit his father’s incompetence, and avoiding facing the adult world. He layered disguise upon disguise, hiding himself.

However, he was eventually caught, not just by the FBI agent, but also by his own past. His respect and resentment for his father, his longing and attachment to family, eventually caught up with him.

Until that day, he stopped running and was forced to face his past. Only then did his transformation and growth truly begin.

Now, it’s Anson’s turn.

He isn’t sure if he’s ready, but he believes it’s time.

Whoo.

He exhaled a long breath, lifted his chin slightly, and faced the sun.

Portland's sun isn’t glaring or bright. The light that falls isn’t harsh but warm and gentle on the face, almost imperceptible. Time seems to pause briefly, the noisy thoughts disappear, and the world begins to clear up.

The cicadas chirping, the birds singing, the engines roaring as they rush past the road, the sounds of laughter and chasing in the classroom, the days flowing by like a stream.

He knows he’s ready.

So.

He stands up, turns around, and heads back to the school building entrance. He can see the somewhat silent crew at a glance. The students are standing there, not knowing what to do, the crew members hurriedly pulling back their sneaky glances, and Gus, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back, unable to hide his worry.

“Director, let’s try again.”

Anson’s voice breaks the awkwardness.

Gus looks up at Anson abruptly. He’s unsure, and as he scrutinizes Anson, he can’t figure out what’s different, but there’s definitely a different feeling.

Gus says, “Okay.”

The crew starts moving again, but Alex, Eric, and the other students can’t hide the hesitation on their faces. They clearly have no idea about filming a movie and are completely unprepared for what’s happening, their eyes revealing their confusion.

Still half-skeptical, they stand outside the camera's view, exchanging glances, silently communicating, but finding no answers, waiting patiently.

Gus watches Anson without saying a word, wanting to speak but stopping himself.

He’s still a bit worried.

Gus tries to remind Anson that this is a one-take shot, and once they start filming again, they have to start from when the car stops. But before he can say anything, Gus sees Anson walking straight toward the vehicle.

Somewhat reassured.

Anson is nodding to another actor—

Timothy Bottoms.

A seasoned actor active in the 1970s, Timothy played the lead in several works. Unfortunately, his career had a brief moment of bloom before quickly returning to calm. Later, he was active on TV, mostly appearing as a guest in minor roles, or as the killer in detective series. He had some lines but never stayed long.

In "Elephant," he, like Anson, is one of the few actors, playing Anson's father. He doesn’t have a name, just "Anson’s father."

As for the interrupted shoot just now, Timothy, who has been around Hollywood for over thirty years, is used to it. He warmly welcomes Anson back with a hug and, without asking too many questions, goes straight into character.

“Ready?” Timothy asks with his eyes.

Anson exhales deeply. “We’ll see.”

But Timothy can see—

Anson is getting into character.

Usually, when Anson starts a conversation, he always looks the other person in the eye, speaking with honesty and sincerity. But now, he isn’t, which means Anson is quietly blending into the setting of "Elephant."

Not sharp, but subtly prickly, like a young hedgehog.

Timothy says nothing more, nodding slightly.

Everything is set.

The fifteenth take of this scene, “Action!”

Slowly, the vehicle pulls up in front of the school.

But the scene inside the car is different from what you’d expect. The father should be in the driver’s seat and the child in the passenger seat, but their positions have swapped.

The child in the driver’s seat looks slightly frail, with long hair dyed a garish gold, wearing a bright yellow T-shirt. The matching color of his hair and T-shirt makes him look even more odd. The T-shirt doesn’t fit, and although it’s the simplest outfit, it manages to look wrong in every way.

However, it’s clear the child doesn’t care.

Anson opens the car door to get out. The first thing he does is pull out the car key, looking helplessly at the man in the passenger seat.

“Okay, Dad, you stay here. Lucas will come to pick you up in a while.”

After saying that, Anson pushes open the car door and gets out without looking his father in the eye, lowering his head, rubbing his hair forcefully. His slightly curly hair falls messily, his shoulders droop as he opens the trunk, retrieves his coat and backpack, and then notices his father getting out of the car too.

He stops, quickly glances over, and immediately lowers his gaze again.

He sighs softly, “Dad, just stay in the car. Don’t wander around. Please.”

Though he’s not angry, his tone reveals a hint of helplessness and irritation.

Finally, he simply walks up, pushes his father's arm, signaling him to get back into the car.

Seeing his father preparing to return to the passenger seat, he doesn’t pay further attention, turns around, takes heavy steps forward, irritatedly walks quickly, pushes open the door, and goes straight into the school building.

—It’s happening.

The entire crew holds their breath. The first half of the scene went off without a hitch. Although the amateurs couldn’t tell any difference, the filming atmosphere was noticeably smoother, and everyone’s eyes were glued to Anson.

And Gus didn’t stop the shoot.

But the real challenge lies in the next scene, the part that Gus kept having to retake. This is the moment that tests Anson.

No one knows what’s wrong with this scene, but Gus and Anson are stuck here, trapped in a loop that’s preventing any progress.

So, what about this time?

Not only Gus, but the whole crew holds their breath slightly, waiting silently.

Creak.

Anson pushes the door open and enters the school. There’s no special expression or movement as he walks to the payphone on the right side of the entrance, takes out two coins, inserts them, and dials a number.

The phone rings only twice before it is picked up.

---

### Chapter 532: Holding His Breath

Lifting his coat and backpack high, he then slammed them down—

Bang.

A crisp sound echoed.

Anson vented his frustration in this way. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, turned around, picked up the public phone, and fished out two coins to insert. Rapidly, he dialed the number, calming down a bit as he waited.

Waiting, waiting.

“Hey, Luca? It’s Anson.”

“Yes, Dad got drunk again...”

While speaking, he glanced outside. His body instinctively leaned against the transparent panel of the public phone booth as he scrutinized his father, who was sitting in the passenger seat, worried he might do something strange.

But before he could take a closer look, a voice came from behind.

“So, Mr. McFarlane.”

Anson was startled and grimaced, but quickly put on a smile and turned towards the voice. “Hello, Mr. Roose.”

A bald man stood behind him, staring at Anson with a stern expression.

“Uh, sorry I’m late. My dad took me out for lunch—breakfast, I mean.”

In his haste, he tried to come up with an excuse, but unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it, and he already gave himself away with just one sentence.

Mr. Roose's face remained expressionless. “My office.”

With that, Mr. Roose turned and walked away, not giving Anson another glance.

Anson turned to look at Mr. Roose. Although he couldn’t see his facial expression, he could see the slight sag of his shoulders and jawline, hinting that he had sighed lightly.

Then Anson looked back, lowered his head, and leaned against the public phone, muttering softly in frustration.

“Yes, I’m in trouble.”

The person on the other end of the phone continued speaking.

Anson listened obediently.

The whole place was completely silent—

This is the scene Gus had always been concerned about, this phone scene.

Actually, Anson’s understanding of the whole scenario, situation, and feeling was entirely correct: a seventeen-year-old boy tries to skip class but is caught by his father; his father wants to take him back to school, but he realizes his father is possibly drunk, so he worries about his father's condition. After returning to school, he is filled with worry, frustration, impatience, helplessness, and more.

With no other choice, he can only seek help from his brother. Even though he wants to help, he doesn't know where to start.

A troubled and lonely youth, not only does he have to face his situation at school, but he also has to worry about things at home. His head is filled with problems and worries, yet he has no answers.

This state is delicate and fragile.

Anson's understanding was not the problem.

It’s just that Gus always felt that Anson’s performance seemed a bit off.

Not that he was overacting, nor was it too forced, but Gus could still see traces of acting.

Such traces cannot be hidden in a long take, lacking persuasiveness.

But Gus couldn’t pinpoint exactly what needed to be changed or adjusted.

Gus didn’t think it was Anson’s fault; it was just a matter of getting in sync.

Until now.

This time, Gus didn’t detect any traces of expression on Anson. From his eyes to his actions to his reactions, everything appeared natural and smooth, presenting a state—a subtle, restrained state.

At this moment, Gus saw the Anson he first met—

A little fragile, a little helpless, a little annoyed, with a touch of loneliness.

He tried to disguise it, to hide it, but in moments of absent-mindedness, a little leaked out, only to be hidden again when he looked up, albeit not very well.

That’s what youth is like.

This Anson is real and sensitive, holding Gus’s gaze firmly.

More importantly, Gus could sense Anson’s sensitivity and unease.

Anson still wasn’t sure about this state. Revealing such authenticity in front of the camera made him feel insecure, with even a hint of fear deep inside; but this feeling perfectly matched the movie's tone, removing the façade of acting and further breaking down the barrier between film and reality, giving the mockumentary style more power.

A small detail, Gus noticed Harris’s state:

Holding his breath.

As a cameraman, Harris could feel the changes in the atmosphere and mood up close. Anson’s state made Harris hold his breath, not daring to move, as if he were approaching a sandcastle that could collapse at any moment.

This is what Gus had been searching for all along.

This Anson, completely stripped of the aura and noise of Spider-Man, his handsome face hidden behind that tacky blonde hair, cautiously revealing a bit of his true self.

Thin sunlight poured down, but it seemed unable to touch him.

Anson held the receiver, seemingly listening, yet also somewhat distracted, but his focused expression still showed a hint of obedience and quietness.

Then, he finally stood up straight, lifted his head again to look out the door, his casual gaze once again confirming that his father was still sitting in the passenger seat, feeling slightly more at ease.

Only after the person on the other end of the line finished speaking did he continue.

“Could you come pick him up? I’ll leave the car keys in the office.”

Uh.

A pause.

“As soon as possible, okay? I don’t know if he’ll wander off.”

His gaze remained fixed outside, unable to keep staring at his father, so it drifted aside. However, the corner of his eye still couldn’t help but focus on his father.

“Mm. Okay.”

He hung up the phone.

He glanced at his father again, then turned around and walked away in frustration, grabbing his coat and backpack, his head lowered, shoulders slightly slumped. He opened the door to the staff office—

Passing by the front desk, resigned to head to Mr. Roose’s office.

Success!

Finally, this time Gus did not interrupt the filming. The phone scene, which had previously been NG’d fourteen times, finally passed smoothly, and the entire set was completely silent.

But there was no time to daydream.

The students and staff waiting for other scenes immediately got busy, because the long take wasn’t over yet. The camera remained fixed on Anson, while things continued to happen in other parts of the school.

Fortunately for them, this wasn’t unfamiliar; it was just their ordinary daily routine.

Initially, they were somewhat nervous because of the camera’s presence, but after fourteen NGs and a long wait, their nerves and anxiety had all gone numb. Finally, entering the shot, the amateur actors making their first movie appearance actually relaxed, fully immersing themselves in their roles.

Harris, carrying the camera, closely followed Anson’s steps.

Was there anything special about Anson in the camera?

No. Absolutely not.

Natural, relaxed, immersed in his thoughts, with no obvious emotional fluctuations, only his slumped shoulders and dragging footsteps hinted at a bit of heaviness.

Yet.

Harris’s camera couldn’t leave Anson, closely capturing his every move, quietly drawing into this seventeen-year-old’s world, carefully feeling his sensitivity and sadness.

Finally.

Anson sat down on the red sofa against the wall in Mr. Roose’s office.

He gently sat down, but sank heavily. Before he could react, he had already sunk into the red sofa completely, like a small figure swallowed up by a red Venus flytrap, leaving only a small head.

Chapter 533: Without a Word

As soon as he sat down, the red sofa seemed to open its gaping maw and swallowed Anson whole, leaving only his golden head visible, like a mushroom.

But Anson didn't resist. He sat quietly in the sofa, awkwardly and stiffly curled up, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling, his mind completely blank—

Not that he had no thoughts.

Quite the opposite, his mind was flooded with too many thoughts, tangled and jumbled, rushing up all at once, making it impossible to sort them out.

He didn’t know what was going on with his father. He really didn't want to go to school today. Would Lucas arrive on time? What if his father slipped away unnoticed? Would he get a warning for being late to school? What classes were there this morning? Mr. Rous’ office actually had cobwebs. If Mr. Rous asked for his parents, should he call his father in?

It seemed like he didn’t have a choice.

Chaotic thoughts emerged one after another, disappearing before he could unravel them, like a tangled ball of yarn, losing the thread the moment he tried to follow it, leaving him in a state of blankness.

No sadness, no disappointment, no pain, no irritation, no anger.

Nothing, just emptiness.

He stared at the ceiling, patiently waiting for Mr. Rous to scold him.

Time stood still at that moment.

Harris watched the camera lock onto Anson, the shot completely fixed, silently capturing time flowing over Anson’s shoulders.

No movement, no expression, just Anson's profile, yet somehow it felt inexplicably sorrowful, like a butterfly perched delicately on a flower.

Golden sunlight poured over the butterfly’s wings, bright and brilliant, yet fragile, so dazzling but so delicate, as if a mere touch could shatter it, making one hold their breath and keep their distance, not daring to get too close.

Alex turned his head awkwardly, hastily rubbing his eyes.

Eric noticed but did nothing.

Eric focused intently and quietly on the blonde boy not far away—

He understood, he understood it all.

Those trivial worries, those heavy emotions, that faint sorrow, not earth-shattering disasters, nor the pain of life and death, but still so real, even if they seemed insignificant to those truly suffering, even if too ashamed to speak of.

But they were real.

Like a gentle stream, flowing slowly and quietly, passing over ankles, shins, knees, silently wrapping around the body, pulling it underwater, and by the time you realized the water had reached your chest, it was too late, slipping into the deep blue.

The unfathomable deep blue.

He tried to breathe, tried to struggle, tried to shout, but had no strength.

Sometimes, he wondered, would youth ever end?

He was utterly weary of being seventeen. Why did it feel so endless, like he would never escape this gloom?

Slowly, slowly disappearing.

That blonde boy was him, yet not him, just another small soul trapped in youth.

Eric blinked, thinking he might cry.

But he didn’t.

His eyes were dry, no tears, no warmth, nothing.

Just a sense of confusion.

The camera, like time itself, like their seventeen years, remained still, frozen in place.

One second, two seconds...

Thirty seconds, sixty seconds...

Gus stared intently at the monitor, watching Anson sitting on the sofa, breathing quietly, without any words or movements, yet the character and story began to breathe, suddenly coming to life.

This was a cinematic moment—

Breaking through time and space, freeing itself from the plot and dialogue, allowing the camera and actor to collide, letting the audience breathe with the camera, feeling the heartbeat.

Audiences often crave climaxes, whether from the plot, performances, or the energy released by special effects; but what truly tests a director are those moments that slow down, calm down, where the pulse is felt.

A certain atmosphere. A certain state.

Finally, Gus got what he was waiting for.

The entire set was silent, everyone watching Anson’s breathing.

Actually, Anson had just zoned out for a moment, completely unaware of the passage of time, briefly lost in his thoughts, letting his mind wander into nothingness, his body falling into the abyss.

Then.

Without warning, he snapped out of it, returning to reality.

He adjusted his posture, trying to sit up straight, his gaze calm as he looked at Mr. Rous.

Anson expected Mr. Rous to speak.

But he didn’t.

Mr. Rous crossed his arms, leaning against the desk, watching Anson.

Neither spoke.

Mr. Rous noticed the unease and nervousness hidden behind Anson’s calm eyes. The words he was about to say got swallowed back down, a hint of helplessness showing between his brows.

Mr. Rous straightened up, lowered his arms, then turned to move behind his desk, standing behind his chair, his expression a mix of helplessness and frustration.

After a brief struggle, Mr. Rous finally looked at Anson.

"Go to class."

"But don’t be late for detention after school again."

Harris’ camera focused on Mr. Rous.

Off-camera, Anson struggled to his feet, still lost in his thoughts, heavy footsteps passing in front of the camera, eyes fixed on the ground, nodding slightly, not knowing if he’d heard.

Harris’ camera naturally followed Anson’s footsteps out of Mr. Rous’ office.

Once outside, Anson took a deep breath, refocusing, seemingly returning to normal—

The teacher’s office was full of people, both teachers and students.

"Excuse me, ma’am, we need to sign out."

In front of him was a campus couple, the "It" crowd. If Anson remembered correctly, the boy was on the school’s football team, and many girls had crushes on him.

Obviously, Anson didn’t want to attract any attention.

What to do?

Anson looked around, found a lame excuse to cover himself, "Hey, where was that photo taken?"

Anson pointed to a landscape photo on the wall, asking the busy teacher.

"Hawaii. On Maui."

Anson felt a bit awkward, fiddling with his hair and clothes, trying to hide his discomfort, deliberately taking another admiring look at the photo, "Wow, beautiful!"

The teacher noticed Anson’s odd behavior.

She walked over, "Need any help?"

Anson paused, then suddenly remembered, "Oh, right," he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, "My brother will be by to pick these up later."

Teacher, "Okay."

Anson, "He’ll be here around eleven-thirty."

The teacher pulled out a manila envelope, "Put them in the envelope, then write your brother’s name on it."

"Luca, oh, Lucas, his name’s Lucas."

The camera subtly moved forward—

Leaving Anson behind.

Harris panned across, capturing the entire teacher’s office, everyone still talking and busy.

"Cut!"

Gus’ voice broke the silence, but there wasn’t a sound in the room, hearts still stopped.

Wait, was there another take needed?

### Chapter 534: Tracing Back to the Source

“Cut.”

A single word broke the silence, like a gently flowing stream suddenly encountering a rock, transforming from calm to turbulent in an instant, causing hearts to lose rhythm unexpectedly.

In a flurry, people averted their gazes, trying to hide their embarrassment.

It took a moment to realize that the person in the camera was Anson, not themselves as they had been observing. There was no need to hide, no one had even noticed.

But what was this feeling of being exposed?

Looking at Anson in front of the camera felt like gazing into one's own softness and fragility, as if in a daze, they had exposed their own thoughts and were desperate to escape.

Shame mixed with anxiety, panic intertwined with unease, yet they couldn’t look away.

Instinctively, they looked over again, searching for Anson among the crowd.

There he was—

Following Gus's footsteps.

After calling "cut," Gus didn't stay in place like usual. Instead, he left the monitor and walked straight toward Anson.

Wait, could it be that this take wasn’t good either?

Another NG (No Good)?

No… that can’t be right.

The thought gripped their throats, eyes following Gus’s every move.

Then, Gus stopped in front of Anson.

Anson didn’t have a particular reaction.

Even though the filming had been interrupted, from being in character to stepping out of it, Anson remained the same—still the seventeen-year-old teenager, still immersed in his frustration and confusion, carefully hiding his true self.

Gus slightly raised his head, looking up at Anson.

Gus, standing at under six feet (175 cm), hadn’t particularly noticed Anson’s height before; but now, he suddenly realized how tall and upright Anson was.

Although Anson was looking down at him, Gus noticed how Anson slightly lifted his chin, trying to conceal his gaze, the sharp angles of his features forming a flat surface, awkwardly hiding the surge of mixed emotions within.

NG?

No, Gus really liked it.

To be precise, he really, really liked it.

Gus appreciated Anson’s state—calm yet turbulent, simple yet complex, a kind of elusive aura flowing naturally from within.

In Anson’s expression, Gus could see the shadow of River Phoenix.

River, the ever-wandering and lost River, whose handsome and cool exterior concealed deep scars. Those invisible pains and sorrows slowly devoured his soul until he could no longer bear it.

So, like a phoenix, he was reborn.

Gus didn’t know much about Anson.

But at least from what he saw now, with Anson recently gaining momentum through "Spider-Man," he should be riding high; yet Gus saw loneliness, fragility, confusion, and unhealed wounds in him.

Just like River.

Now, Gus finally understood Anson’s defensiveness and unease, his careful attempts to hide his true self behind a mask—there was a reason for it all.

Gus quietly watched Anson, suddenly recalling River’s story and its ending. The many words swirling on his tongue found no way to be expressed. A mix of fear, compassion, and admiration gripped his heart.

Then.

Gus took a step forward and hugged Anson.

He said nothing because words were insignificant at this moment. He didn’t know nor need to know what Anson had been through—that was Anson’s story—but it didn’t stop him from giving Anson a warm embrace.

Anson froze.

He hadn’t expected this. The director was hugging him—what did that mean?

Approval? Or comfort?

Anson’s body stiffened slightly, standing there confused and unsure, but the warmth was something he couldn’t help but long for.

In his past memories, no one had ever hugged him.

Not his father. Not his mother.

Before the incident, no one had. After he turned twenty-five, even less so.

So, when he came to this world, any embrace made him uncomfortable. That kind of intimacy and warmth left him at a loss, unsure how to respond.

And now?

A hug—for the seventeen-year-old, and also for the twenty-five-year-old—left Anson completely bewildered, his eyes full of confusion:

What kind of feeling is this?

Anson was somewhat bewildered.

After thinking for a moment, he gently patted Gus on the back, as if trying to comfort the director instead.

Gus noticed this, released the embrace, and looked up at Anson again, seeing the expression on Anson’s face, and couldn’t help feeling a pang of heartache.

Then Gus spoke.

“Let’s move on to the next scene.”

No extra words were needed; that one sentence was enough.

Alex hadn’t expected to feel an itch in his eyes. He instinctively raised a hand to rub them, only to find a bit of moisture on his fingers, which left him feeling a bit embarrassed.

Alex exaggerated a smile to cover it up, then looked around and realized that no one was paying attention to him. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts, which put him somewhat at ease.

But he still felt a bit uneasy.

Alex nudged Eric’s shoulder. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

Exactly how it was different, these outsiders couldn’t say for sure. To Alex, Anson was still Anson—nothing seemed to have changed. The performance seemed the same, too. But somehow, even though it was the same filming, the feeling was different. Why?

“Huh, it’s like watching magic.”

Eric didn’t turn his head. He seemed a bit melancholic and embarrassed.

He saw too many emotions in Anson. His mind wasn’t particularly focused, but his mood was quietly settling down, calming.

It was just him and his heartbeat.

Just like Anson in the camera moments ago.

Eric muttered to himself, “Maybe that’s what acting is.”

But he wasn’t sure, because everything felt too real, with no trace of acting. If it weren’t for the cameras and the crew, he would have thought he was watching himself—just his everyday life.

Alex looked at Eric, wanting to say something, his lips moving but no sound coming out. In the end, he fell silent.

The atmosphere on set was a bit strange.

Impact?

No, that’s not it.

The filming just now, the acting just now—nothing was particularly special. It was just a regular day in the life of these students. Anson didn’t give a breakout performance, nor was there any dramatic storyline. Everything was as plain as water.

Yet, somehow, thoughts and emotions were drawn in bit by bit.

Finally, everything quieted down, and they found themselves immersed in their own thoughts.

Listening, feeling, experiencing.

Everything was so simple.

One could vaguely sense the thoughts surging beneath, like a silent scream—stillness enveloped with a roaring undercurrent.

Maybe this is why Gus chose to shoot this way, to produce this way—to hide the raging waves and complex layers beneath a calm surface, leaving space for the audience in front of the screen to ponder.

It’s certain that not everyone will like this movie, but from a filmmaking perspective, Gus has taken a significant step forward—

Building on “Gerry,” Gus is further exploring cinema, not just deconstructing and reflecting on how he makes films, but also experimenting with a new way of filming altogether.

It’s impossible not to think of the Dogma 95 movement initiated by the four Danish directors.

Chapter 535: Simple and Pure

In 1994, a series of classic films such as "Pulp Fiction," "Forrest Gump," "The Shawshank Redemption," and "True Lies" exploded onto the scene, marking a new pinnacle for Hollywood movies. These films sparked heated discussions worldwide and began to influence the film industries of other countries.

It’s widely known that Hollywood’s standardized narrative formulas and production methods have turned filmmaking into an assembly line process, with genre films lined up for continuous output. Simultaneously, Hollywood has relied on advanced computer technology to completely change the language and expression of cinematic storytelling.

On the other hand, with the widespread availability of cameras, more and more people began picking up cameras to become directors. However, the experimental filming techniques often ended up being mere formalism, and as movies became increasingly popular, they gradually lost their function as a medium for conveying thought and value, becoming more and more mundane.

For four Danish directors, the dazzling use of new technology was the culprit behind the superficial expression of cinema.

In March 1995, directors Lars von Trier, Kristian Levering, Thomas Vinterberg, and Søren Kragh-Jacobsen initiated the Dogme 95 movement.

They established ten rules for filmmaking, which they called the "Vows of Chastity."

1. Filming must be done on location without props or sets.

2. Sound and image must not be produced separately.

3. The camera must be handheld; the film’s story may take place where the camera is, but the shooting must occur where the story takes place.

4. The film must be in color, with no special lighting allowed.

5. Optical work and filters are forbidden.

6. The film must not contain superficial actions such as murders or violence.

7. Temporal and geographical alienation are forbidden.

8. Genre movies are not acceptable.

9. The film must be in 35mm.

10. The director's name must not appear in the credits.

These Danish directors believed that in a film world increasingly dominated by money, superficial performances and films were becoming mainstream, leading to the disappearance, and even death, of cinematic artistry. Therefore, they believed that film production needed a set of rules.

These ten vows could be seen as the directors’ attempt to define artistry in filmmaking. They sought to strip away superficial, sensational elements and focus solely on storytelling and the language of the camera to express the soul of artistic creation.

When the Dogme 95 manifesto was announced, it was met with ridicule.

Many believed it to be not only naive but also foolish, arguing that their actions would make films crude and awkward, stripping away the allure of light and shadow and risking the creation of substandard works, which would be the real harm to cinema.

In 1998, at the Cannes Film Festival, the first two Dogme films were presented: Thomas Vinterberg's "Festen" and Lars von Trier's "The Idiots."

"Festen" made a stunning impact, earning critical acclaim and winning the Cannes Jury Prize that year.

The handheld camera work, unpolished dark lighting, and the use of conflict as a new method of expression added artistic depth to the films. The simple performances, rough editing, and raw, impactful scenes sparked widespread debate.

The brilliant debut of these films made people aware of new methods of artistic exploration. The collision of natural light and handheld camera work created a distinctly different chemistry, leading more directors to join the movement.

The original intention of Dogme 95 was to break free from the influence of technology and return to the essence of storytelling, character, and directorial work. By stripping away the flashy gimmicks, they sought to return to the core of cinema. However, this also sparked controversy: is the shaky camera work, rough footage, and chaotic editing really "artistic"? Should the audiovisual language of cinema be reduced to mere rhetoric by abandoning technology?

The answer is no.

"If following the vows hinders the development of cinema, then it’s not worth it."

It’s like stopping eating for fear of choking.

In fact, even the four founding directors broke their own vows at different levels, unable to fully adhere to their original commitments.

According to the official Dogme website, the last Dogme film was shot in 2004.

Lars von Trier undoubtedly explored this area the most. In 2000's "Dancer in the Dark," he separated music from the visuals. In 2003's "Dogville," he virtualized the scenes. These works were all inspired by the Dogme vows in different ways.

Later, no one fully followed the ten vows to make Dogme films, but the movement left a lasting impact on the field of filmmaking—

Handheld cameras, natural lighting, and synchronous sound-image production, these non-technical means of expression, never disappeared. They even became techniques used in numerous commercial films. Dogme 95’s thoughts and pursuits of artistry became integrated into contemporary cinema in another form.

"Elephant" clearly didn’t fully adhere to the ten vows and can’t be considered a Dogme film.

However, it’s undeniable that Gus Van Sant drew inspiration from the movement, striving to minimize the influence of technology. He aimed to capture and present events in the simplest, most primitive way, effectively blurring the line between reality and fiction, recreating the scenes of a tragic event.

At this moment, in the most raw and primitive footage, all the expression is handed over to the plot and the actors. There’s no need for visual stimulation or dramatic impact.

The point is, when the plot is stripped of all fiction and collision, the actors must carry the entire weight of the film’s language and artistic expression.

It’s a challenge, almost insurmountable.

This is also why Gus chose real students as actors.

Anson was the only exception.

But now it seems that Gus's gamble has paid off. The Dogme 95-like primitive shooting method has instead distilled the most simple and authentic side of Anson:

Natural and unique.

Just look at the reactions on set. These kids are all students, genuinely seventeen, genuinely in their adolescence, with no acting experience, all the same age as the victims at Columbine High School. What they see in their eyes is exactly what Gus hopes the audience will see.

Maybe Dogme 95 didn’t ultimately change film history like the French New Wave, but there’s no doubt that its ideas became a spark of inspiration, offering a new perspective on filmmaking and evolving into different sparks in the worlds of various directors.

Gus likes the current direction in which the film production is heading.

The thread is smooth.

So, Gus didn’t plan to interrupt. After one long shot ended, another shot followed—

The protagonist remains Anson.

During the filming of the phone scene earlier, Gus was worried because Anson's "acting" seemed overly performed, risking a sense of affectation. If this state appeared on camera, a long shot without polish or editing would inevitably expose that state.

But now it seems that there’s no need to worry. Even under the scrutiny of a long shot, Anson held up, even bringing unexpected power.

Sure enough, the next long shot didn’t disappoint Gus.

"Action!"