When Gus Van Sant arrived at the middle school, it was just past noon. The sunlight lazily poured down, but it didn't feel hot at all, retaining a touch of the spring's lingering freshness that hadn't fully dissipated.
It was perfect weather for filming a movie.
Gus decided to take a short walk, allowing him to soak up the sun and clear his mind. He was contemplating the casting for his project "Elephant," and slowing down helped him clarify his thoughts.
In fact, Gus didn't have any special requirements—
No need for anyone particularly beautiful or striking; just ordinary middle school students would do. Of course, the prerequisite was that they shouldn't be camera-shy. They needed to remain natural in front of the camera, ignoring its presence and staying true to themselves.
That was enough.
However, Gus knew that this requirement alone would be difficult for most kids. Pretending not to notice the camera while knowing you're being filmed is no easy task, which is why Gus was considering using professional actors for the main roles.
He planned to shoot in a faux-documentary style, with the authenticity of everyday school life as the core. But at its essence, it was still a narrative film, requiring the cooperation of actors and the invisibility of the camera—
It couldn't be detected.
As he thought more about it, his mind began to drift.
From choosing actors to setting up camera positions, to framing and tracking shots, and so on.
The spatial positioning of the film's shots is part of what gives them their magic. The cleaner and simpler the film, the more it tests the director's skill.
How do you present a character's position in space? Whether they appear small in a vast space or cramped in a narrow one; how do you convey the subjective feel of a shot, whether it's a bird's-eye view or an upward angle; how do you depict the relationships between characters within that space—whether intimate, distant, confrontational, or supportive?
These are all crucial.
A single perspective, a single shot.
These alone often convey the director's intent. Narration is not just completed through dialogue and script.
Last time, when filming "Gerry," Gus used one approach; this time, he intended to try something different using the experience from "Gerry." This meant that the placement and movement of the camera were particularly important.
Gus wanted to use the camera to capture the undercurrents hidden beneath the calm—not just loneliness, but also a repressed emotion.
People often need to see blood, brains, and bodies to realize that something is happening. However, the unseen oppression, exclusion, attacks, and emotional abuse are constantly unfolding. The absence of blood doesn't mean there's no injury, even in everyday life, where undercurrents exist everywhere.
This was the foundation of Gus's concept for the entire film.
Because of this, the relaxed and natural state of the actors became even more crucial. The moment they became aware of the camera's presence, the spatial relationship between the lens and the characters could collapse, causing the film's visuals to lose their credibility.
In the movie "Elephant," the presence of the actors was paradoxically both insignificant and crucial. It was insignificant because the role demanded almost no acting; they just needed to be themselves. But it was crucial because how they presented their authentic selves in front of the camera was the ultimate challenge for any actor.
It was at this moment that Gus noticed a figure on the playground—
A blonde boy, quietly sitting on a swing, his body gently swaying with the breeze. His head tilted, leaning against the rope, his face obscured, yet it seemed as if golden sunlight was dancing lightly around him.
A touch of melancholy. A hint of fragility. A trace of wistfulness.
Rather than sadness or pain, it was more of... a contemplation.
He was lost in his own world, letting his thoughts wander through the depths of the universe, exploring the mysteries of time and space, digging into the meaning of life.
The image for the film suddenly appeared in Gus's mind.
Instinctively, Gus lightened his steps, like a birdwatcher in the forest, carefully concealing his presence, observing the bird's habits, knowing he shouldn't get too close, yet unable to control the pounding of his heart.
However.
Gus clumsily stepped on a stone, his foot slipped slightly, and the tranquil air was disturbed.
Damn!
Gus: ...
He froze on the spot like a statue, staring blankly at the blonde boy—
It's him.
It was really him?
Gus was stunned.
"Hey, Director."
In the moment that Gus was lost in thought, the blonde boy had already greeted him first.
It was none other than Anson Wood.
The face that had swept through all of Hollywood in recent times—if someone didn't recognize him, the only explanation was that they lived in a completely isolated place, cut off entirely from social media.
Otherwise, how could they not know him?
This was Gus's greatest concern.
At this very moment, Anson was at the peak of his success, the toast of the town. All of Hollywood might not even fit in his eyes, and yet he was set to star in such a small, experimental independent film—
Are you sure?
After HBO made the proposal, Gus carefully inquired around.
In the end, it was Gus's old friend and the producer of "Elephant," Diane Keaton, who made the final decision.
"Gus, have you ever thought that while you're speculating and being critical of him, the fact that he agreed to take the role itself says something?"
Those words were a wake-up call.
After much thought, Gus decided to give Anson and himself a chance.
Before coming to Portland, Gus had imagined countless disastrous scenarios—
That's just his nature. He's naturally pessimistic, often seeing the negative side of things, always prepared for the worst.
In Gus's films, you can often see his reflections on life and the world. From "Gerry" to "Elephant," it can be seen as Gus's contemplation of death.
However, nothing Gus imagined actually happened.
No reporters, no fans, no crowds swarming around him.
No agent, not even an assistant.
Anson was sitting alone on the swing, swaying gently like a floating leaf, no different from any other student. It was just another ordinary afternoon.
... That's it?
For once, Gus was at a loss, his mind unable to keep up with his thoughts.
But strangely, at that moment, Gus remembered something:
Anson was probably very photogenic.
There are certain actors who have a unique aura. As soon as they appear in front of the camera, on the big screen, the atmosphere of the entire scene changes subtly, making people want to delve deeper into them.
In Gus's mind, Anson was handsome. For heaven's sake, all the overwhelming news praised Anson's looks and charm. But Gus had never noticed this aura in Anson—
Maybe "The Princess Diaries" and "Spider-Man" didn't capture this side of Anson?
Gus thought, Anson's presence in front of the camera must be very special.
With all these thoughts swirling around, the first thing Gus blurted out was—
"Your hair, your hair!"
Anson had short, golden-brown hair, usually close to brown, but under the sunlight, it revealed a light golden hue. Yet now, Anson had bright, striking blonde hair.
What's going on?
There was too much information for Gus to process.