The most notable difference between acting in movies and television versus stage plays is whether or not the actor can look directly at the audience.
In stage plays, actors need to make eye contact with the audience. This eye contact is part of the performance and contributes to the atmosphere of the theater, helping to effectively convey the power of the performance.
However, in movies and television, actors are not allowed to look directly at the camera. For beginners, one of the first rules is to avoid breaking the fourth wall, as this disrupts the audience's immersion and pulls them out of the viewing experience.
Of course, there are exceptions, like in *The Big Short,* where breaking the fourth wall to engage directly with the audience is intentional and part of the director's creative vision, using the fourth wall to achieve a different effect.
Just now, Anson made eye contact with the camera.
A retake was inevitable.
Steven's voice came through the intercom, "Anson, did you just make eye contact with me?"
Even though it wasn't Anson's fault, he didn't shy away from taking responsibility. "To be honest, I made a deal with the devil for my soul, so did you see anything strange just now?"
Laughter erupted on set.
The assistant cameraman let out a long sigh of relief and sneakily turned to Anson with a grateful smile—it was actually his fault for not controlling the cameraman's position, causing a slight deviation. But Anson took the blame without any argument.
Jokes aside, it was just a brief interlude.
Anson quickly refocused, adjusted his breathing, and calmed himself down.
Filming can be like this: the more nervous you get, the more mistakes you make, and the more mistakes you make, the more nervous you become, creating a vicious cycle that traps you in a downward spiral.
Initially, the nervousness had quietly settled in his heart, hidden beneath the surface. But after a series of retakes, whether or not the mistakes were his fault, the smooth flow of filming was disrupted, causing the nervousness to resurface.
So, what should he do?
He could take deep breaths, close his eyes, meditate, and calm his nerves, focusing his attention—this is one approach. But he had another idea:
Would Frank Jr. be nervous when he realized the FBI agents were closing in?
Of course. He's also flesh and blood, an ordinary person—how could he not be nervous? But he controlled himself and displayed a calm demeanor.
Perhaps Anson could use this tension and chaos to perfectly embody Frank Jr.'s state, blurring the lines between the filming set and the movie's fourth wall, freely switching between reality and fiction.
Building on the preparation so far today, he could delve even deeper.
This is what method acting is about, isn't it?
Anson wasn't sure how it would turn out, but instead of playing it safe and following the routine, he preferred to take a risk—
Don't be afraid of making mistakes because making mistakes is better than being boring.
After all, Steven, as the director, hadn't adjusted or directed his performance, leaving Anson and Tom to perform freely—this was a green light, right?
Taking risks in front of Tom Hanks?
Even better. When else would he have the chance to showcase his acting in front of such a big name? Besides, Tom is also an actor, a scene partner, not some deity to be worshiped from afar.
Anson felt a subtle thrill of excitement.
So, instead of calming his breath, Anson allowed himself to sink into the chaos, trying to maintain his balance amidst the disorder.
"Ready?"
"... Fifth take, action."
Anson entered the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, adjusted his tie and hair, and quietly listened to the slate's call to action from beyond the door. He didn't rush; instead, he let himself immerse in this slightly tense, empty-headed state, with his fingertips tingling—
As if ants were crawling on them.
In fact, there was no camera in the bathroom because Steven wanted to create a contrast. The main perspective of this scene was from Carl, placing Frank Jr. in a mysterious position, gradually revealing Frank Jr.'s state through the interaction between the two characters.
So now, Anson was alone in the bathroom.
Even so, Anson still immersed himself in the role, even without the camera.
Focus.
Immerse.
Anson slowly settled down, unknowingly sinking into a brilliant golden light, and then he could feel the gold gradually turning into deep blue as the sunlight transformed into lake water, engulfing him.
His heart tightened.
Bang!
"FBI!"
The sound of the door being slammed open and the announcement of identity exploded simultaneously, like a sudden clap of thunder.
Involuntarily, Frank Jr. held his breath.
Instinctively, he glanced around. The bathroom had no windows or vents, with the only exit being the main door. He was now the fish in the barrel.
What should he do?
What to do, what to do, what to do?
Frank Jr. knew that the motel room was tiny, barely larger than a closet, and there wasn't much space under the bed or in the wardrobe—no way to hide.
He now had two choices:
First, he could hope that the FBI wouldn't bother searching the bathroom, assuming they'd overlook him out of carelessness.
Second, rather than relying on luck, he could take a risk and try to break through directly.
Thoughts raced through his mind.
In just a split second, he made his decision.
Taking a deep breath, he acted decisively and flushed the toilet.
*Whoosh.*
"FBI!"
The sound of the toilet flushing was immediately followed by shouts from outside the door.
But instead of panicking, he remained calm, turning on the faucet and washing his hands thoroughly, not missing a single spot.
"Come out of the bathroom!"
"Come out of the bathroom!"
The shouts grew louder and more urgent, tinged with anxiety and impatience rather than calm control.
Maybe—just maybe—this FBI agent wasn't used to fieldwork. After all, white-collar crimes usually involve sifting through documents in an office rather than active field duty, meaning this agent likely lacked real-world experience.
Frank Jr.'s mind was racing. Then he straightened up, lifted his chin, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He exaggerated a smile, then slowly let it relax into a more comfortable position before turning around.
He grabbed a towel, leisurely dried his hands, and opened the bathroom door.
The soft yellow light spilled out as Frank Jr. peeked outside. First, he saw the camera, then the tense, on-edge figure of a middle-aged man—
Suit. Shirt. Tie.
Those details weren't important. What stood out was that the man wore glasses, giving him a bookish look, and he was also wearing a soft-brimmed, rounded hat.
No field agent would wear a hat. None.
It was too impractical, not suitable for movement or pursuit.
Finally, Frank Jr.'s gaze settled on the man's taut, extended arm, with a gun aimed directly at him, the tension concentrated there.
Frank Jr. thought to himself, *This guy's a rookie.*
The performance had begun even before the camera started rolling. By the time Frank Jr. entered the frame, the details had seamlessly blended into the atmosphere.
"Hands on your head," the FBI agent barked, interrupting Frank Jr.'s thoughts. But this assertiveness only revealed his underlying insecurity.
Frank Jr. didn't react to the command. Instead, he casually lifted his chin and gestured toward the office desk, "That's the latest IBM electric typewriter..."
Even with a gun pointed at him, he remained unflustered.