"...So, do I really look that much like him?"
Anson asked sincerely, confidently meeting the gazes of the crowd around him.
For a moment, everyone froze, unsure of how to respond.
Or more accurately, they didn't know how to respond.
Scarlett, standing to the side, was dumbfounded. She glanced at Anson in disbelief, struggling to suppress the grin threatening to take over her face. She lowered her head, shoulders trembling as she tried to contain her laughter.
One second, two seconds—
"No, no, no. You're definitely Anson Wood, you can't fool me."
Someone in the crowd finally snapped out of it, unwilling to be tricked. He glanced around, seeking support to back up his claim. But to his surprise, Anson simply spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
"Well, you got me."
Wait... that's it?
"So, do you need an autograph? Just 'Anson Wood' will do, right?"
There was a brief moment of hesitation from the crowd. Anson was so calm and confident that they began to second-guess themselves.
After all, stories of random people being mistaken for celebrities were urban legends. Even superstars like Michael Jackson or Elvis Presley had been misidentified by passersby.
Could the man standing in front of them really be just some random person who happened to resemble Anson?
In the next moment, Anson spread his hands again.
"Oh, how disappointing. I thought you'd keep up the act a bit longer."
Crowd: ???
Pfft.
Scarlett couldn't hold it in any longer. She burst out laughing.
Noticing all eyes on her, Scarlett waved her hands apologetically, trying to explain, but the laughter was uncontrollable. Her shoulders shook, and she was clearly having the time of her life.
Finally, the crowd caught on.
"Oh, it really is Anson."
"Almost fell for it."
"Ha ha, I knew it! It's definitely Anson."
"Wow, he looks even better in person—his face is so small!"
Chatter buzzed through the group, unstoppable.
Usually, this would be the moment when the crowd would swarm him, leaving no room to breathe.
In fact, the crowd did begin to gather around him, but they remained calm, keeping a respectful distance.
"Anson, are you here to watch the movie too?"
"Do you like it?"
"What did you think of the film?"
Suddenly, it turned into an impromptu Q&A, the atmosphere lively.
Anson paused for a moment, then smiled. After all, the unique energy of a film festival was shining through. "Yes, I'm here to watch a movie. A friend recommended I check out this competition entry."
"But unfortunately, I fell asleep... for most of it."
"So, I don't think I'm in a position to give a review."
He was frank, honest.
The crowd was stunned, and the scene fell into an eerie silence.
Generally, actors worry about revealing any ignorance of the arts. They fear being labeled as just another "pretty face," and being seen as lacking in artistic appreciation is even worse.
Actors, much like those self-proclaimed intellectuals, often list off a plethora of artistic directors and classic films to prove their taste and depth.
But true depth doesn't come from how many classics one has seen but from cultivating one's own aesthetic and perspective through these works. Liking or disliking something is personal, and while classics become revered for a reason, they don't have to align with everyone's taste. Having a grounded opinion, even in the face of artistic masterpieces, demonstrates true refinement.
No matter how many classic movies one watches or how many literary masterpieces one reads, a barren mind cannot suddenly flourish with richness.
In fact, those who proudly flaunt their knowledge of "classics" often reveal a lack of personal taste, character, or thought.
The same applies to actors.
That's why many so-called "pretty faces" pretend to understand things they don't, inadvertently exposing their superficiality.
But on the other hand, countless "pretty faces" know nothing about films, even lacking basic knowledge, and that too can come off as foolish.
So what about Anson?
A "pretty face" openly admitting he fell asleep during a movie—was that really okay? Could he be so candid about it?
Scarlett, having forgotten her laughter for a moment, looked at Anson instinctively. To her surprise, she saw only calmness and composure on his face. He didn't look foolish or flustered. Instead, he radiated confidence and conviction, taking the situation in a completely unexpected direction.
It was because of his confidence that he could be so open about it.
It was because of his inner depth that he didn't fear revealing his shortcomings.
Unconsciously, Scarlett thought about her own reaction earlier—
The contrast was clear, and the truth became evident.
And then—
"Actually... I fell asleep too. It wasn't really my cup of tea."
"Ha ha, how honest!"
"So, you didn't like it?"
The conversation grew lighthearted and filled with laughter.
When they looked back at Anson, he didn't shy away. "It's not about liking or disliking. I'm sure the director knew what they were doing, and the atmosphere and texture of the film were indeed unique."
"Unfortunately, I wasn't in the right frame of mind today to appreciate it properly."
"Maybe I'll give it another shot next time. But here in Cannes, I don't think I'll be seeing it again."
The crowd burst into laughter again.
Slowly, Scarlett felt herself relaxing. Admitting she didn't enjoy a film or even dozed off during an art film screening wasn't as difficult or terrible as she'd imagined.
Then, someone in the crowd asked, "So, this wasn't your first movie of the day?"
"No, this morning I saw Dogville..."
"Oh!" came a collective gasp.
"I know, I used a bit of my connections to get into the premiere. Don't be too jealous."
The crowd laughed.
"Then in the afternoon, I saw The Best of Youth."
"Wow!"
"Yes, I know. Rookie mistake. I shouldn't have scheduled it that way, so by the time I watched The Best of Youth, I was practically collapsing in the theater. By the time I was in the Riviera, my soul had dried up, like it had been kissed by a Dementor."
Roars of laughter erupted.
Anson hadn't made excuses for himself earlier, honestly admitting that he dozed off during the movie. Now, everyone understood the context.
It was perfectly understandable.
Moreover, the mistake was relatable—something every first-time festival-goer, in their excitement, was likely to make.
The atmosphere lightened significantly.
Scarlett found it fascinating. She had expected the crowd to immediately ask Anson about The Elephant, the hot topic of the past few days.
But they didn't.
The first question had nothing to do with The Elephant, which made sense since they were standing outside the theater after Fathers and Sons.
But to her surprise, the second question wasn't about The Elephant either.
"Anson, did you like Dogville? That was your first film of the day, right?"
The unspoken subtext: There's no excuse for this one. You were awake and alert, so what's your opinion?