Anson was serious.
"Walk the Line" might be an opportunity—a chance to break through, a risky challenge, a chance to reinterpret Joaquin Phoenix's performance.
It was a bit exciting.
However, Anson wasn't in a rush.
Most of his memories of watching the movie in his previous life had faded, and there's a significant difference between a viewer's perspective and an actor's perspective. He knew he needed to read the script first.
Also, if Anson decided to take on the role, his first task would be to erase the imprint of Joaquin Phoenix's performance and rebuild the character from his own understanding, creating a new interpretation and performance framework unique to himself.
Reading the script was essential.
From this perspective, Anson's lack of familiarity with Johnny Cash and June Carter, and not having preconceived notions about their music, was an advantage.
It meant Anson could start from scratch and shape the character purely from the script.
Eventually, the script found its way into Anson's hands.
Edgar was still worried.
On one hand, he understood why the project had been stalled for over ten years: disorganized, bloated, and self-indulgent, with little difference from what was expected. Plus, the insistence from the likes of [James] Mangold and [Cameron] Crowe that the actors must sing their own parts wasn't a popular stance in Hollywood.
Sony Columbia finally green-lighted it, and Edgar thought June Carter's death played a bigger role in that decision than Mangold's personal appeal.
On the other hand, he couldn't deny that this was a breakthrough opportunity, specifically for Anson. Both Anson's musical ability and the space the role offered for interpretation clearly opened a door for him.
Though "Catch Me If You Can," "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," and "Elephant" weren't typical genre films, they also weren't standard awards-season fare.
But a biopic was different. It was a classic awards-season film. If Anson took the role, it would signal that he was serious about entering the Academy's world, showing his dedication to shedding the "pretty face" label and taking a solid first step toward proving himself.
As for whether he would succeed or how the results would turn out, only time would tell.
At this moment, some might ask: if Anson was ready to take on a biopic, an awards-season film, wasn't there a better choice?
Of course Edgar had considered that, but it wasn't that simple.
In the past couple of years, Hollywood has seen an explosion of biopics.
Films like The Hours, The Pianist, Frida, Seabiscuit, Catch Me If You Can, A Beautiful Mind, Ali, and The Road to Perdition, among others.
And countless others were either in development or already being filmed: The Aviator, Capote, Good Night, and Good Luck, Munich, Cinderella Man, North Country, Finding Neverland, Being Julia, Hotel Rwanda, The Motorcycle Diaries, and more.
The options were overwhelming.
But the key issue was, first, suitability.
For example, Ray, which focuses on the legendary Ray Charles, was clearly not suitable for Anson as Ray Charles was Black.
Additionally, Anson was still young—under twenty-one—which made him too young for most biopic roles, especially given that most active Hollywood actors are between thirty and forty-five.
Second, there's the matter of negotiation.
Although Anson was hot property right now, especially after his Palme d'Or win for Elephant, the "pretty face" label stuck to him stubbornly, and most of the offers Edgar had been fielding were still commercial blockbusters.
Pretty face, pretty face, still a pretty face.
Edgar was filtering through these scripts while also actively trying to break into new opportunities.
What Edgar hadn't told Anson was that he had been negotiating with a producer in an attempt to connect with Martin Scorsese.
It was well-known in Hollywood that Leonardo DiCaprio had gone through five different agents just to work with Scorsese, so why was it so difficult for an agent to even get a word with him? Was it really that hard to say a single sentence to the man?
It wasn't about saying something—it was about convincing Scorsese.
Scorsese, often mentioned alongside Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Francis Ford Coppola as one of the "Four Great American Directors," had been working in the industry for almost forty years. He was known for demanding excellence from his actors and loved working with familiar faces—Robert De Niro being his go-to actor.
Scorsese preferred his own trusted ensemble, so introducing a new actor into that mix was incredibly difficult.
Also, Scorsese wasn't interested in "pretty face" actors, consistently working with those he considered serious and dedicated.
So when DiCaprio expressed his desire to work with Scorsese, he was initially ignored. It took several agent changes before Leo could even get a chance.
The same thing was happening with Anson, or more precisely, with Edgar, as he struggled to break through.
Scorsese was preparing a biopic of the legendary tycoon Howard Hughes, and Edgar believed Anson was the perfect choice for the role. He saw it as a career-defining opportunity and tried to get Scorsese to give Anson a chance, or at least have a conversation.
Unfortunately, all efforts failed.
According to the latest news, Scorsese had already decided to cast DiCaprio, reuniting after their work on Gangs of New York.
That was Scorsese for you—he initially had no interest in DiCaprio, but after working together once, Leo became part of his regular ensemble.
Even though Anson was highly sought after and had successfully worked with Spielberg, Scorsese already had his favorite, and he wasn't open to other suggestions, not even giving Edgar a chance to argue the case.
In this challenging situation, Edgar started to see Walk the Line as a genuine opportunity.
One key factor was Mangold's desire to showcase the actor's musical talent and give them room to express their personal understanding of music and art.
Setting aside all other factors, Edgar believed this element alone made the role worth considering.
Mangold's insistence was seen as "pretentious" in Hollywood. If an actor wasn't good at singing, there was no need to force it—using a "ghost singer" to perform the songs in the studio was an easy solution. But now, that insistence had become Anson's opportunity, a chance to break through the industry's bias.
Even Edgar himself hadn't expected that what he once considered a "side project" with the August 31st Band might turn out to be the pivotal moment in Anson's career.