376-380

*Chapter 376: Creating Atmosphere*

"Happy birthday!"

"...To me?"

"Hey, Anson, happy birthday."

"Thanks, but today isn't..."

"Happy birthday! Wow, nineteen years old. God, I envy your youth."

"Come on, how old are you? Twenty? So you already feel old? Does Steven know you're talking like this?"

The conversation was met with laughter, accompanied by whistles and applause. The entire filming set became lively, and the atmosphere instantly warmed up.

*"Catch Me If You Can"* had begun filming.

On February 9, 2002, the filming, originally scheduled to start on January 8, had been delayed due to casting issues, pushing the start date even further. Steven Spielberg realized that the project couldn’t be postponed any longer. Delaying day after day was becoming a burden on the entire crew.

So, with a single command, the entire crew began working overtime, accelerating preparations. Finally, they started shooting before winter left New York—important since key scenes in New York were set in winter, and Steven needed the real wintry, rainy, and snowy weather of the East Coast to assist.

Technically, it had already been ten days since filming started. This experience was unlike anything Anson had encountered before. Steven Spielberg was a director who meticulously planned everything before shooting. From camera angles to lighting to performances, everything was pre-planned and rehearsed. The real goal wasn’t to ensure the shoot went off without a hitch.

*"This is a film, not a play."*

Steven had said.

All the discussions and planning were to ensure that when everyone stepped onto the set, they knew exactly what they were doing—their tasks, goals, and agenda. Then, they could use their professional skills to adapt to the situation on set and complete the filming, finding creative sparks within the planned framework.

The process was meticulous, thorough, and comprehensive. This working method made the entire crew function like a finely-tuned machine, operating at high speed. For Anson, it was a brand-new experience.

From the first day of shooting, the crew hit their stride immediately. They were in sync, progressing rapidly, demonstrating Steven’s prowess as a seasoned director.

Based on his previous experiences with "The Princess Diaries" and "Spider-Man," Anson thought it might take three to five days to complete certain scenes. However, Steven managed to finish them in an afternoon, without cutting corners, ensuring quality. This also placed high demands on the actors—especially Anson.

Not only did he have many scenes, but they were also critical. Anson's performance often dictated whether the entire crew could maintain their efficiency.

The pressure was immense.

So far, Anson had handled the pressure well. Filming had been smooth, and before he knew it, they were facing their last day of shooting in New York. Next, they would move on to Los Angeles, then Quebec, and Montreal, covering the entire North American continent.

However, the last day of shooting didn’t mean it would be easy. Quite the opposite, the previous ten days had covered all the lighter scenes. The most challenging scenes were saved for last, as Steven wanted to ensure the crew had fully bonded and were in peak condition for the difficult shoot.

Everyone could feel the pressure.

Early in the morning, Anson arrived at the set, a residential building in Queens.

It was dilapidated, decaying, and desolate. Though not quite a slum, it wasn’t far off. After Frank Sr.’s last desperate attempt to get a loan from the bank failed, they were declared bankrupt and had to leave their detached home for a 40-square-meter apartment in Queens, struggling to survive.

For the past two days, the crew had been filming in this apartment.

People thought Anson might not adapt to the setting since he looked like a carefree young man. But to their surprise, he fit right in.

If Anson had told them that in a previous life, he and his mother had spent nights huddled in front of apartment doors, under bridges, or on McDonald’s chairs, they wouldn’t have believed him. Compared to those places, this run-down apartment, with its roof and four walls, was a luxury to him—something he was more than satisfied with.

But what was with the crew today?

A birthday?

Anson's birthday was in November, long past. Lucas had thrown him a birthday party in Los Angeles, gathering friends to celebrate his getting closer to the legal drinking age of twenty-one. The theme of the night was... a ban on all alcohol.

Anson could still remember James Franco’s expression of despair as Lucas sternly enforced the no-alcohol rule. How could he forget his own birthday?

So, what was happening now?

Ahead, Anson saw Steven Spielberg. "Steven?"

Before Anson could ask, Steven had already caught on. "Don't ask me, it was Tom's idea. He said it would help you get into character."

With a shrug, Steven raised his hands. "I don't understand acting, but I need today’s shoot to go smoothly, so happy birthday."

Then Steven patted Anson on the shoulder. "Congratulations on becoming an adult."

An adult?

Seeing Steven's mischievous smile, Anson couldn't help but feel a bit exasperated. "Nineteen. Even if it’s a fake birthday, at least get the age..."

Steven shook his head gently. "No, sixteen." Then he nodded, "Sixteen."

With that, Steven turned back to his preparations for the shoot.

Anson couldn’t help but laugh—

This morning’s scene was Frank Jr.'s sixteenth birthday, a conversation between him and his father. Hence, the little charade.

Compared to turning eighteen or twenty, in the United States, a sixteenth birthday, which symbolizes the ability to get a driver's license, and a twenty-first birthday, which marks the legal drinking age, are often considered more significant milestones.

Reflecting on this, Anson speculated that Tom Hanks likely noticed his method acting attempts, even though they hadn’t yet shared a scene together. Tom must have been observing Anson closely and, recognizing his dedication to the craft, decided to create the perfect atmosphere for him.

And it worked.

Even though Anson knew it wasn’t his birthday, the psychological effect of everyone around him reinforcing the same idea made it feel almost real. When a lie is repeated by three people, ten people, or even a hundred, it begins to take on a semblance of truth—at least to some extent.

Anson couldn’t help but slip into Frank Jr.'s mindset, reminiscing about his own 25th birthday in his past life.

“Anson, happy birthday.”

A passing voice broke through his thoughts, and without resisting, Anson instinctively smiled and turned to respond, “Thanks.”

That’s when he saw Frank Sr.

Or rather, it was Christopher Walken, fully dressed in costume, transformed into Frank Sr. on set.

Christopher Walken, who had first graced the Broadway stage back in 1964, was a seasoned character actor with a strong foundation in the craft. Having carved out a remarkable four-decade-long career in Hollywood, Walken was known not as a leading man but as a distinctive presence on the big screen. His unforgettable performance in The Deer Hunter earned him an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, and his work in films like A View to a Kill, Pulp Fiction, and Sleepy Hollow further cemented his legacy.

At that moment, Christopher paused, watching the bustling crew and then glancing at Anson, who still carried a hint of early-morning drowsiness. A fleeting smile touched his lips.

“Hey, Junior, happy birthday.”

### Chapter 377: Subtle Sensations

Typically, devout Catholics often name their children after their own parents or grandparents as a form of tribute, respect, and heritage. Another common tradition is for fathers to name their sons after themselves, signifying a continuation of family lineage and spirit.

This practice is prevalent among families with deep roots and traditions. Over time, many ordinary families adopted this approach, hoping to strengthen their own legacies by passing down the same name.

This is why names like “Senior” for the elder, referring to the father, and “Junior” for the younger, referring to the son, are often seen. Going further, names like the First, the Second, or the Third represent three generations, from grandfather to father to son.

In such contexts, a father might refrain from calling his son by name—since it’s also his own. Instead, he might simply say “Junior.” This kind of address naturally forges a bond, a bridge between father and son.

Christopher Walken, at the age of fifty-nine, is old enough to be Anson's grandfather, making their portrayal of father and son in the movie slightly incongruous. However, Steven's casting decision was deliberate.

Currently, Hollywood's aging makeup technology is not particularly advanced, nor have computer effects evolved enough to convincingly alter ages, often resulting in awkward appearances. Given Old Frank's character, worn down by repeated business failures, casting Christopher as Old Frank became a sensible choice considering the span of time depicted. After all, making someone look a bit younger is far easier and more realistic than aging them up with makeup.

Now, on set, Christopher effortlessly leverages the atmosphere, slipping into character with just a simple line—

“Hey, Junior. Happy birthday.”

True to his classical acting training, the moment resonated so authentically that even Anson felt momentarily disoriented, as though hearing his own father’s voice.

Anson paused briefly, a smile curling at his lips, “Thanks. So, are you ready for breakfast?”

That wasn’t part of the script, but it wasn’t Anson speaking either—it was a spontaneous exchange between the Abanel father and son, transcending the written lines and showcasing a natural father-son dynamic.

This is the essence of method acting.

When an actor fully understands, embodies, and immerses in their role, the character’s nuances and colors come alive within them, allowing them to react instinctively without a script—

Genuine and real.

At this moment, the actor doesn’t need to think, “What expression should I wear?” or “How should I act?” or “What is the emotion here?” or “What if I mess up the lines?” because all traces of acting dissolve. Every movement naturally evolves into the character’s own actions, seamlessly merging performance with authenticity.

Expressions, movements, speech, and demeanor all flow out naturally.

Actor and character become indistinguishable, a seamless blend of reality and fiction.

Anson slipped into such a state—hard to put into words, it felt like he was acting and yet not acting, with each line and gesture becoming more fluid and authentic.

Quite fascinating.

Bang.

A short, sharp sound of a door closing echoed from the hall, then quickly settled, with the sizzling from the kitchen filling the space like a light drizzle, enhancing the quietude of the house.

Stepping forward a couple of steps, Old Frank looked around the house cluttered with boxes. The move was complete, but none of the belongings were unpacked. He stood still, his mind blank.

“Hey, Dad.”

The call came from the kitchen. Old Frank instinctively turned to look but didn’t really focus, glancing briefly before returning his gaze to the unopened boxes.

“Where’s your mother?”

In the kitchen, Junior was making pancakes, spreading batter in the pan. Even upon hearing his father’s question, he didn’t stop, carefully smoothing out the batter.

“I don’t know.”

A pause.

“She said something about finding a job.”

Old Frank finally snapped out of his daze, moving from the hall to the kitchen. Despite his disheveled state, he maintained his gentlemanly demeanor—suit, shirt, tie, hat—immaculately presenting his etiquette.

Old Frank, puzzled, remarked, “What can she do? Sell shoes at a centipede farm?”

Junior couldn’t help but chuckle, then visualized the image in his head and burst into laughter, “Haha.” Unable to hold back, “Hahaha.”

Old Frank also chuckled, “Haha.”

But Junior laughed so heartily that he doubled over, his handsome face flushing with joy, his eyes and mouth full of laughter.

It was then that Old Frank noticed his son’s appearance—

A shirt and a sweater—that’s the uniform, just like the ones from private schools back in the day.

Junior rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pullover sweater to keep them out of the way, but even then, his elegant and handsome demeanor couldn’t be hidden.

Old Frank furrowed his brow slightly. Junior shouldn’t be here. “What are you doing?”

Junior, unaware of the subtle shift in Old Frank's tone, continued to smile brightly. He picked up the ladle again and went back to his task. “Would you like some pancakes?”

Old Frank looked bewildered. “For dinner? On my son’s sixteenth birthday? We’re not having pancakes!”

Junior slowed down as he flipped a pancake, his side profile showing a hint of hesitation. Still, he couldn’t suppress his hopeful gaze as he looked up at his father, his deep blue eyes wide, struggling to contain his joy and excitement, trying hard to stay calm—

But hope remained; after all, he was still just a sixteen-year-old kid. Yet his maturity and experience held him in check. He knew they were going through a rough patch, and perhaps birthdays weren’t that important right now.

His mother hadn’t remembered, had she?

He wasn’t sad or disappointed.

But hearing his father’s words at this moment, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of anticipation, however cautious it was.

In just one fleeting glance, a brief moment, Christopher Walken was momentarily stunned.

Normally, a look is just a look, fleeting and hard to interpret; but somehow, now, he could see the complexity in it.

An indescribable complexity.

For a split second, time seemed to momentarily pause.

Then, Junior lowered his gaze.

He realized that his expression had betrayed his true feelings. But the point was, he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, place pressure on his father, should he?

What if the pressure was too much and his father left? What would they do then?

He couldn’t bear the thought.

With his eyes downcast and a faint smile on his lips, Junior tried to hide his panic and embarrassment. He was about to offer some kind of explanation but realized he had already been found out.

“Why did you look at me like that? Did you think I forgot?”

The question cut straight to the truth, piercing the soft spot in Junior’s heart. He tried to respond, but his voice caught slightly in his throat.

Just a brief pause, a moment’s hesitation, and then he found his voice again.

“No, I didn’t think you forgot.”

Chapter 378: Like an Electric Current

In front of the monitor, Steven Spielberg focused intently on the screen. The soft light gently fell on Anson's eyelashes, fluttering like a butterfly's wings.

A pause, a glance back, a lowered gaze, a moment of silence.

It was in this brief moment that a subtle reaction tugged at the heart, bringing forth a faint bitterness that words could not describe—a complex mix of emotions.

In this moment, Steven saw himself; he saw young Frank and saw himself as well.

In reality, they all understood.

Parents believe their children are still too young to understand anything, but that’s not the case. They may be children, but that doesn’t mean they are completely oblivious.

They know the storm is coming; they know the family is on the verge of collapse. But they don't know what to do. In their short lives, they have never faced such a challenge before. Even if they wanted to resolve it, they wouldn’t know where to start. So, like ostriches, they bury their heads in the sand, cautiously maintaining normalcy, silently praying that as long as they don’t face the truth, the end won’t come.

The bitterness, the struggle, the fear.

Like fragile butterfly wings, they weakly and stubbornly flap in the storm, and then... bit by bit, they shatter into pieces.

Steven was stunned.

His focus had always been on composition, camera movement, lighting, and framing. As for the acting, that was the actor’s domain, and he had no need to interfere in another’s expertise.

But now, in those deep blue eyes, he saw a world on the verge of collapse.

Unconsciously, Steven paused where he stood.

"No, I didn't think you'd forgotten."

Young Frank tried to maintain calm, his panic and unease settling down as he continued to carefully flip the pancake.

Then, Steven noticed a slight pause in Christopher's movement on screen—

Did he miss his cue?

Impossible. An experienced actor like Christopher couldn’t make such a mistake.

Moreover, Christopher is a classic example of representational acting.

The biggest difference between representational acting and method acting is:

Method acting emphasizes "losing control," surrendering oneself to the character, following the character’s unique traits and personality to develop the story. Method actors believe that characters have their own vitality; they breathe, think, and evolve with the plot.

Representational acting, on the other hand, emphasizes "control." The actor needs to control the scene entirely, using their composure to plan and present every aspect, including the nuances of the performance. Unexpected occurrences are not permitted. The more skilled the actor, the more precise the control, to the point where tears may well up in the eyes but never fall.

No matter how Anson performed, Christopher would never lose control. Look at stage actors; even in the face of unexpected situations, they never pause the performance.

Besides, Anson's performance was delicate and restrained; it wasn't so powerful that it would shock Christopher into a daze—

It wasn't that dramatic, really.

So, what happened to Christopher?

The thought flashed through Steven's mind, but Christopher’s pause was so subtle and brief that he quickly resumed.

His shoulders and steps slightly stiffened, and when he spoke again, his voice was slightly louder, the contrast between voice and body subtly creating a sense of awkwardness—

Guilt. Sadness. Bitterness.

Christopher noticed it. He also noticed the nuances in Anson's performance and immediately responded with his own, showing old Frank's similarly complex emotions.

Watching the scene again, the pause created a blank space that echoed Anson's earlier silence—

They both realized the storm was coming, a sense of unease hung over them, but to maintain family harmony, they both chose to cover up the truth.

And just like that, the scene came together.

"I opened a checking account in your name."

Old Frank said loudly.

This caused young Frank to pause, a mix of shyness and embarrassment on his face, but he couldn’t suppress his happiness. He turned off the gas stove, put down the ladle, and turned to face his father, but hesitated to approach, standing on his toes to hide his upturned mouth, mumbling something inaudible.

Then, old Frank pulled a checkbook from his briefcase.

Young Frank took a big step forward, unable to contain his excitement, suddenly appearing in front of old Frank. The move was so sudden that old Frank looked up, and at that moment, he saw the shy yet happy smile on his son’s face, which made his own mouth curl up slightly.

"I deposited twenty-five dollars in the account; you can buy whatever you want."

Young Frank eagerly reached out his hands.

Old Frank was about to hand over the checkbook but pulled it back just before their fingers touched, using a rare light-hearted tone to remind, "Don't tell your mother."

Young Frank obediently nodded, "I won’t."

Only then did old Frank place the checkbook in young Frank’s hands.

Young Frank’s heels bounced off the ground as if on springs, swaying gently up and down as he looked down at the blank checkbook. A smile finally crept onto his face, his eyes and fingertips showing a trace of reluctance and excitement. It took him a full second to react, and he looked up at old Frank again.

"Thank you, Dad."

Young Frank's raised arms were a bit awkward, but he still hugged his father.

And in that moment, the air became completely still.

Steven, Christopher, Anson, and everyone on set could feel a subtle warmth, like an electric current tingling through their fingers—

A connection, both familial and between the Abagnale father and son, was quietly established in an odd yet tender way.

However, the filming wasn't over yet.

Young Frank released the hug, took two steps back, and sat down beside the dining table. "Didn't that bank refuse to give you a loan?"

Old Frank didn't deny it, his expression open and honest. "Yes, they all turned me down."

Young Frank couldn't help but chuckle. He could hear the self-deprecation in his father's words. "Then why open an account there?"

Old Frank patted his son's shoulder and walked over to the gas stove to continue the work Young Frank had been doing. "Because sooner or later, you'll need to use a bank—for a mortgage, a car loan—they control that money."

But there was no response from Young Frank.

Old Frank turned around and saw Young Frank had opened the checkbook, unable to take his eyes off it. He was flipping through the pages, playing with it like it was a new toy, completely absorbed.

Old Frank walked up behind his son, resting his hands on his shoulders. "There are fifty checks here, Junior. That means from today on..."

In the script, the line called for "Frank," not "Junior," but in a rare moment, Christopher, who always valued precision and control, altered the dialogue.

It was a minor detail, but it completed the bond between the Abagnale father and son.

"...you’ve joined their little club."

*Chapter 379: The Details in His Eyes*

Anson froze, staring blankly at the checkbook in his hand.

In his previous life, his father had vanished just like this, disappearing without a trace.

Denial. Anger. Arguments. Despair. Acceptance. He had gone through all those stages, trying to make excuses for his father, trying to hold onto a sliver of hope in the face of adversity, trying not to be completely consumed by darkness, but in the end, he failed.

Because his father never reappeared.

Now, holding the checkbook in his hand—just fifty pages, light as a feather, yet it weighed heavily on his chest—he thought he would feel joy, happiness, and a surge of strength. But reality was filled with bitterness.

He couldn't help but start worrying about his father—

The bank had already rejected his father's loan application, and now his father was applying for a checkbook. Would this get his father into trouble? His father mentioned there were twenty-five dollars in the account, but where did that money come from? Should he trust his father?

His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts.

He stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the checkbook in his hand, inadvertently revealing a trace of confusion.

In front of the monitor, Steven subconsciously held his breath, afraid to disturb the scene before him. Christopher was right in front of him, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off Anson.

It wasn’t sorrow or joy, struggle or disappointment, but a bitterness that was hard to describe, gently pulling at his heart. A faint warmth and happiness swelled in his chest like cotton candy.

So, acting really did have power.

“There are fifty checks here, Little Frank. This means that from today on, you’re part of their little club.”

Old Frank stood behind him. Unable to see Little Frank’s expression, he had no way of knowing what was on his son’s mind. But he could still tell that Little Frank was distracted. Pressing lightly on his son’s shoulders, he gently brought the boy’s attention back to reality.

Little Frank turned to look at his father.

But his expression had already returned to normal. Carefully masking his emotions, the corners of his mouth lifted as he regained the spirit of a sixteen-year-old. A smile slowly spread across his face.

“I’ve joined their little club.”

Old Frank nodded slightly. “With checks, you have everything.”

Little Frank turned back, continuing to flip through the checkbook in his hand. “It even has my name on it.”

One by one, he watched his name appear in black print, feeling a bit strange.

Old Frank smiled. “A meteoric rise.”

Little Frank lowered his voice and murmured, “A meteoric rise.”

Hehe.

A soft laugh escaped his throat, but it dissipated like smoke. He quietly stared at the checkbook, the corners of his mouth slowly settling, his gaze on the checkbook gradually dissolving.

A mix of conflicting and powerless emotions flickered in his deep blue eyes.

He didn’t speak, nor was there any dialogue, but the light in those eyes filled the room with a profound stillness, allowing thoughts to soar freely in the realm of imagination.

They could feel a storm approaching, the world teetering on the brink, yet they clung desperately to this fleeting glimmer of hope, refusing to let go. Over and over, they convinced themselves that this was hope, this was the turning point, everything would get better, and their worries wouldn’t become reality—they should stay positive and optimistic.

But in the brief moment when a smile appeared on his lips, his gaze and soul froze—

He became lost in thought.

As if at that moment, the cold grip of reality slowly took hold of his heart.

In those blue eyes, there was only a void.

What could he, a boy who had just turned sixteen, possibly do to change anything?

Helplessness and fear began to cloud the focus of his gaze.

The entire set fell silent.

Even the faint sound of air moving seemed to disappear.

“Cut!”

It wasn’t until Steven spoke that the stillness was broken.

There was the sound of long breaths being let out, the flow of air stirring, but it quickly subsided, quietly retreating into the depths of the mind.

Steven was no exception.

He had a brief moment of daze because, in those eyes, he saw his former self. He had gone through all of that, faced those same confusions, those same conflicts and vulnerabilities, thinking no one would ever understand.

But he was wrong.

Steven couldn’t help but look at Anson again, savoring that gaze—

It turns out, a single glance can indeed hide an entire world.

Steven was startled by his own thoughts. He wanted to capture that gaze again, to leave room for Little Frank to reveal his psychological changes.

However, Steven managed to stop himself just in time, quashing that impulse.

It wasn’t that Anson wasn’t good—in fact, Anson’s performance was outstanding. The way he played off Christopher’s emotions managed to convey such depth; but precisely because of this, Steven knew when to stop.

Steven was never good at capturing those brilliant flashes of acting. That wasn’t his strength; he focused more on the audiovisual experience of the film. From that perspective, he shouldn’t let the performance disrupt the narrative flow.

Especially in a commercial film.

Everything needs to be just right. If you don’t understand moderation and balance, it could turn into a disaster.

Anson’s performance just now was excellent, really excellent. The camera had already captured it, so Steven knew not to push further, to let this scene end in that state.

Steven’s experience showed as he managed to restrain himself in time, but he couldn’t help but admire Anson’s performance. It was indeed a revelation.

“The freshness of youth mixed with the maturity of hardship”—is that even possible?

Whew.

Steven let out a soft breath. He knew the entire crew was waiting for his orders. He quickly composed himself. “This angle is good. Let’s move to the next one.”

One take!

In the narrow room, glances were exchanged. Such a challenging scene being completed in one take was rare, even for Steven’s crew. But strangely, no one found it odd. Their gazes were filled with more awe and excitement, an uncontrollable joy.

And Anson?

He was slightly dazed, feeling a faint sense of exhaustion. Even though filming had ended, he still seemed a bit out of it.

It was hard to imagine—he hadn't done any aerobic exercise, yet he felt tired, as if he could sense his energy being drained, though he couldn't quite describe it.

Then, a voice called out from ahead.

"Anson!"

Anson quickly looked up, following the sound, and immediately saw Steven’s calm face. He thought Steven was focused on the next camera setup, so he hurriedly gathered his thoughts and refocused.

Steven paused for a moment.

"Your performance just now was outstanding."

With that, Steven gave a thumbs-up but didn’t linger. He turned and got busy with the crew, and Anson noticed several crew members also smiling at him and giving him a thumbs-up. Though no words were exchanged, he could feel the change in the atmosphere.

A bit of lightheartedness, a bit of excitement.

Anson was momentarily stunned, not quite sure how to react, when Christopher patted him on the shoulder. "Great job, keep it up."

A smile lingered at the corners of his mouth for a moment, and then it finally spread.

So, this is what acting feels like?

*Chapter 380: Going Further*

"...Look, in this sequence, the camera will be positioned behind you at a slight angle, capturing the other people in the room from the back of your head."

"And then."

"It will move in a clockwise arc, starting with your mother and then your father. During this, your grandmother and the lawyer will keep crossing the frame, following a set path, creating interference."

"Pay attention—you need to appear as if you’re searching for your father with your eyes."

"Next, the camera will pause at shoulder height on your left side, completing the clockwise movement, and finally capturing your expression head-on."

"So, do you have any questions about this shot’s path?"

The filming continued.

From morning to afternoon, they were still inside that apartment in Queens. The shooting route had moved from the kitchen to the living room and finally to the bedroom of the Abagnale couple, setting the stage for the climax of the day’s scenes—the most challenging and crucial part.

Because of this, Steven personally explained the entire camera position, track, and composition to Anson, ensuring that Anson understood how the three-dimensional space would be presented on screen. Only by doing so could Anson deliver the right performance at the right moment—Steven, after all, remained meticulous, with every actor’s position and space within the frame being crucial.

Anson was in top form.

The entire day of filming had gone smoothly, and he was still very much in the zone. It didn’t take much effort for him to grasp the image Steven had in mind.

Nodding lightly to show he understood, Anson asked, "And the performance? Do you have any specific direction?"

Steven shrugged slightly. "Surprise me."

With that, he patted Anson on the shoulder and walked away without saying more—there were clearly many details that still needed arranging for this scene.

This was the last scene of the day and also the final scene to be filmed in New York. Everything before this had been building up to it, preparing for this moment.

The divorce scene.

The thing young Frank feared most had finally come to pass: the Abagnale family couldn’t hold together and had sadly fallen apart. For young Frank, it was a crushing blow.

But what was even worse was that, because he was underage, his custody had yet to be decided—would he choose his father or his mother?

Steven was capturing this very dilemma in the scene.

Just moments earlier, young Frank had learned of his parents’ divorce.

Now, he had to choose between them.

Because of this, Steven’s design and direction brought young Frank’s inner turmoil and confusion to life, with auditory and visual disturbances emphasizing how his familiar world was falling apart.

Naturally, the performance was especially crucial—

This scene marked the turning point.

In Frank Abagnale Jr.'s autobiography, it was after this divorce that he couldn’t accept reality and chose to run away from home. While staying in a motel, he saw a flamboyant pilot coming and going, which captivated him. He decided to become a pilot, but he didn’t want to go through the hassle of flight school—it was too much trouble. So, he began to forge his identity.

Thus began an unbelievable criminal journey.

So, what exactly did young Frank experience in this scene?

In the past, Leonardo DiCaprio portrayed this scene with anger and fear, showcasing a teenager’s instinctive reaction.

Accurate, but not nuanced.

More importantly, Anson didn’t want to replicate DiCaprio’s performance—he was Anson, not DiCaprio, and their understanding of the character was naturally different.

That’s why Anson had asked Steven earlier, but it was clear that Steven wasn’t interested and left the decision up to Anson.

Unintentionally, Anson began to recall the time when he was 25 years old and found out that his father’s business had gone under. Overnight, he and his mother were left homeless, with no time even to pack their belongings. They were thrown out like dogs, surrounded by neighbors whispering ugly rumors. What state was he in?

Anger? Fear?

No, it wasn’t like that.

When you go through something like that, you realize that everything happens too suddenly and violently; there’s no time for anger or fear. The first reaction is confusion, and the second is bewilderment, with no room to deny reality.

They were like headless flies, swept along by a powerful current. Any resistance or fight seemed weak and helpless, and before they knew it, they were engulfed by the overwhelming waves.

So, in the script, the scene after the divorce is a running sequence.

It’s not the kind of spirited run you see in Japanese movies, but rather an escape, a release, a helpless dash. As if by distancing himself from the whirlpool, he could pretend none of it had happened, or at least delay the inevitable. He was fleeing from the harsh reality chasing after him—

Steven knew this feeling couldn’t be accurately described in words, nor was he sure what kind of performance would convey it in layers, but he understood how to capture it with the camera’s movement, using instinctual running to portray it.

In other words, the third reaction was denial and escape.

Layer by layer; step by step.

His thoughts swirled in his mind, and before he knew it, Anson had quietly calmed down.

At this moment, looking back on the memories of his past life didn’t bring pain, but rather a sense of disorientation. Those events that had truly happened felt unreal, like a dream playing out before his eyes. He watched this "movie" of his previous life, but the figure of his past self seemed utterly unfamiliar.

Yet, his heart slowly sank, submerged in the bitter sea of those memories.

"Are you okay?"

Suddenly, a voice broke through like a clap of thunder, pulling him out of his thoughts. Anson refocused and saw the face in front of him.

It was Nathalie Baye. The actress, who had won the prestigious César Award in France four times and claimed the Best Actress award at the Venice Film Festival in 1999, was now fifty-three years old. Having been in the industry for many years, like Christopher Walken, she was a seasoned and powerful actor. She was also one of the discoveries Steven and Tom had made during their visit to Paris—

She was playing Paula Abagnale, young Frank's mother.

Her greeting, spoken in French with a soft and gentle tone, brought Anson back to the present.

Anson was slightly taken aback, then offered a smile. "Just getting into the zone, you know, trying to awaken some memories."

Nathalie gently lifted her chin. "Method acting?"

She understood immediately—no wonder she was a seasoned professional.

Nathalie sat down beside Anson. "Relax. You've been performing wonderfully today. There's no need to dig up those old memories. Just go deeper into the emotions you've been building today. Those feelings accumulate gradually."

"You’re just a child—you don't know what’s happening."

A simple statement, yet it hit the core of the matter.

Anson nodded slightly. "Thank you."

Nathalie had been worried she’d overstepped. She’d felt today’s collaboration had gone well and wanted to offer some help, but she had overlooked that American actors often have distinct personalities, each believing their own approach is unique and rejecting outside advice. However, she hadn’t expected Anson to respond so openly and sincerely.

Nathalie was momentarily stunned, feeling a warmth inside. "Just trust yourself. You’ve got this."