"Director…"
A voice snapped Michel Gondry's attention back from the night sky. He hastily pulled the cigarette from his mouth, nearly spilling the long ash that was about to fall. Quickly, he flicked the cigarette out the window and blew out a long stream of smoke, all in one swift motion. Then, he turned toward the voice.
It was Grant.
In his rush, some of the ash had burned his fingers. Michel winced, brushing off his hand, unintentionally revealing his unease. Only then did he lift his head again, noticing the change in the atmosphere inside the room.
It wasn't just Grant. Everyone in the apartment had their eyes on him, like a group of meerkats observing the migration of prey, on high alert at the slightest disturbance. Even though they were trying to appear calm, continuing with their tasks, the quick perk of their ears gave them away.
"Should we go look for them? They've been gone for ten minutes."
Grant didn't hide his concern. With both lead actors missing, leaving the entire crew in limbo, it was hard not to worry.
On the surface, it seemed like nothing unusual.
But upon closer inspection, you could see members of the crew starting to yawn—one yawn spreading to another, and soon, people were discreetly stifling their own yawns, struggling to keep their eyes open.
It was nearing midnight, and their internal clocks were starting to kick in—a natural reaction. But in Hollywood, most people are night owls. Regular sleep schedules are rare, and even though it was late and exhaustion was setting in, it didn't mean they were truly sleepy.
What was worse than fatigue was the uncertainty.
No one knew when tonight's shoot would end.
It was like running a race. In a marathon, at least you know the distance, and you can gradually work toward the finish line. But when you're running without a clear goal, after just a few hundred meters, your energy can plummet.
That's exactly what they were facing now.
They didn't know what they were working on, didn't know when it would end, and weren't sure if all this effort would amount to anything. The constant uncertainty was wearing down their spirits.
Their mindset was quietly shifting.
In big-budget Hollywood productions like Catch Me If You Can or Spider-Man, crews of three to five hundred people operate like a machine. It's just another job, switching from one project to the next. Problems are handled professionally, like an assembly line, keeping things strictly business.
In simpler terms, it's just a job. No need to get emotionally invested.
But independent film crews are a bit different. There's a sense of passion, even though the pay is lower, because they're working on something they love, hoping to create a lasting piece of cinematic history.
Compared to the average worker, these crews put a little more heart into their work.
Naturally, their expectations, attitudes, and the atmosphere were all different.
At first, the crew was excited and hopeful as they joined this project.
Charlie Kaufman as the screenwriter, with Anson Wood and Kate Winslet as the leads, supported by Kirsten Dunst, Mark Ruffalo, and Elijah Wood in the supporting cast.
Just the lineup alone was enough to get everyone buzzing with excitement.
And Kate!
She'd been balancing theater and indie films, constantly honing her craft. Compared to Leonardo, who'd run off to the jungle like a wild man, she seemed like a much more dedicated actor. Whether the Academy appreciated her or not, she was highly respected in the indie film world.
Anson was no exception either. In his past projects, he had received nothing but praise—not only for the success of his films but for his dedication and professionalism. His choice to work on Charlie Kaufman's film further demonstrated his commitment to acting, raising expectations even higher.
On the first day of shooting, Anson left a lasting impression with his down-to-earth and humorous personality, breaking through the aura of stardom and fitting seamlessly into the crew. His and Kate's dedication to their roles had everyone's expectations soaring.
But now?
It felt like there was something stuck in their throats—frustration that wouldn't go away.
Everyone had arrived ready to give it their all, genuinely believing they could produce something great.
Yet, only four days in, and the whole situation had already fallen apart. It was demoralizing. To make things worse, both Anson and Kate had vanished, leaving the crew hanging. So, what were these passionate workers supposed to think?
What could they think?
Disappointment. Anger. Frustration. Pain. Resentment.
A burning fire in their chests, with no outlet to release it.
The atmosphere in the apartment grew heavier and more oppressive.
Grant wasn't immune to it either.
He could feel the subtle shift in the mood, the negativity that was taking over after expectations had been dashed. It was turning into restlessness, anxiety, and exhaustion. People's eyes were barely staying open. Even though the crew wasn't ready to explode just yet, it was hard to say what the situation would turn into if this went on.
Grant thought he should trust Anson.
Despite everything, Grant trusted his instincts. From the first day on set, with no guards up, surrounded by strangers, Anson had shown genuine kindness. It didn't feel like an act.
People often say that at first meetings, everyone puts on a mask, showing their most charming side. To really know someone, you have to take the time to get to know them.
But Grant preferred to believe in the positive first impression.
Maybe he should go out and find Anson and Kate to see what was going on.
Michel couldn't hide his frustration either. "How long have they been gone?"
"Fifteen minutes," Grant said.
To be exact, almost twenty minutes. Grant was downplaying it, subconsciously defending Anson.
As soon as he spoke, there was a click of someone's tongue nearby. Though they didn't say anything, the attitude was clear.
Grant's neck stiffened, and he didn't dare turn around.
Michel wasn't paying attention to him, though. He was lost in thought, wondering whether they should send someone to fetch the two actors.
But then Michel considered that both actors were thoughtful types. They'd surely realized there was an issue with their performances and were likely trying to figure out a solution. If they were dragged back now, without having found an answer, the shoot would still be at a standstill.
One minute he thought this. The next, that.
An angel and a devil were tugging at each other above his head. Michel found himself unconsciously reaching for another cigarette.
His fingers were already fumbling inside the pack when there was a knock at the door.
Knock, knock.
You could feel the entire room tense up. All heads turned toward the door in unison.
Creeeak.
The door opened, and Anson poked his head in, looking around before locking eyes with Michel.
"Director, could I bother you for a moment? I have a few questions to ask."