Chapter 87: The Cheeky Guests

In a dilapidated, old warehouse, the overhead lights gradually dimmed, leaving only the shooting lights arranged by David Robbie flickering. Under the lights was a huge iron cage. Positioned at 45-degree angles on either side of the cage were two 35MM cameras, with Murphy and cinematographer Philippe Roussel standing behind each.

From the camera's perspective, the inside of the cage was filled with sharp barbed wire. These fake items made of rubber by Beck Kleiber looked real no matter how you viewed them.

A chubby guy wearing only briefs came out of the temporary makeup room. James Franco whistled at his jiggling fat. The chubby guy turned and flipped him off, then walked to the cage entrance, looking towards Murphy.

This wasn't a formal shoot but a rehearsal to test props, lighting, and makeup effects. Murphy didn't say a word, simply giving the chubby guy an 'OK' sign.

The chubby guy ducked into the cage, as if being chased by an even fatter woman, desperately squeezing inside.

The barbed wires hooked onto him one by one, causing him to howl as if he were being assaulted by a she-wolf. Blood oozed from the spots where the wires pricked him, looking strikingly realistic.

Then, as planned, the silicone on his body split open, revealing ghastly "wounds."

"Stop!" Murphy turned off the camera and walked over to the other one, exchanging a few thoughts with Philippe Roussel. He then said loudly, "The cage and wires are good, the set is fine..."

The chubby guy had already exited the cage, looking towards Murphy. Murphy nodded at him, "Jonah's performance was also good."

Jonah grinned widely, not even bothering to wipe off the fake blood.

Murphy was never the type to be overly harsh; he preferred encouraging actors rather than scolding them.

After praising the good aspects, he also pointed out the flaws, first addressing the lighting team, "David, we're making a noir film, but your lighting is still too soft. I need harder lighting. Also, during the actual shoot, add backlighting for Jonah. I want him to look paler on camera."

He then turned to Jack Watson, "Jonah's makeup needs to be even paler when his character dies."

Barbed wire couldn't kill directly; Jonah's character would die from blood loss. Thus, the body would appear much paler than other types of death.

Everyone noted Murphy's instructions and began discussing solutions with their assistants.

"That's it for today." Murphy checked the time. "Fix all the issues from this afternoon before the official shoot."

Returning to the camera, Philippe Roussel was still replaying the footage of Jonah. The rubber barbed wire looked fake when hooked on him in some places.

Editor Jody Griffiths stood by and said, "We can use jump cuts here. Keep close-ups of the barbed wire, then show wide shots of the actor crawling, skipping the wire hooking onto the flesh. Directly cut to the horrific wounds on the body."

As long as no one touched the barbed wire, it looked real. Jack Watson's makeup was also reliable, making this a good solution.

Murphy nodded, "That works."

With the day's work done, Murphy packed up the film reels and walked out of the set. Near the security room that also served as the temporary office, three men—two fat and one skinny—were sitting on chairs, laughing loudly.

"You don't know, Seth," Jonah said, animatedly gesturing, "When we rehearsed the father-daughter love scene, that scoundrel Jim's eyes were glued to Lily."

James Franco wanted to shut him up, "Jonah, shut your filthy mouth!"

Since most people had left, Jonah was unrestrained, spitting saliva everywhere, "Jim, don't deny it! Can you say you weren't turned on?"

He exaggeratedly thrust his hips, "If you weren't, I'd cut mine off and shove it in Seth's mouth!"

"Hey! Hey! Jonah..." Seth Rogen jumped up from his chair, "You perv! Don't drag me into this."

Standing at the door, Murphy knocked. The three men saw him, and apart from the unfamiliar Jonah, the other two laughed unabashedly.

"Hi, Director Stanton," Jonah greeted.

"No need for formalities," Murphy smiled, "Just call me Murphy."

James Franco, unreserved with Murphy, walked over and grabbed him, "Alright, guys, someone's treating us tonight. Let's pick a place."

Murphy glanced at James Franco, who pulled him along, "Don't hesitate, workaholic. Relaxation boosts work efficiency."

Jonah followed, "I know a great spot in Venice. The show there is fantastic."

Seth Rogen brought up the rear, loudly joking, "Jonah Hill, you perv, you're not taking us to a gay bar, are you?"

"You fatty!" Jonah Hill turned back, swearing, "You're the perv! You fatty perv!"

Tomorrow being a rest day for the crew, Murphy didn't refuse.

It was clear that these three had a good relationship. Murphy drove his car, with James Franco in the passenger seat and the two fat guys squeezed in the back. As he started the car, Jonah Hill gave directions while taking jabs at Seth Rogen and James Franco.

Listening to their unabashed vulgar banter, Murphy felt his tension ease considerably. Over the past period, he had been too tightly wound. Even when alone resting, his mind remained tense despite physical relaxation.

From the day he left prison, Murphy knew time was precious. To achieve his goal of becoming a top director, whether as a freelance journalist covering social news or transitioning into the film industry, he had stringent demands on himself, adding considerable pressure, which often triggered his headaches.

People can't always stay tense and busy; sometimes, they need to relax.

Driving not far, Murphy could see that the not-yet-twenty Jonah Hill was the most outspoken.

Of course, the others weren't much better.

Among the four, James Franco seemed the most proper but had an eccentric personality behind his refined looks, sometimes acting absurdly. His biggest flaw was his timidity, always hiding behind others in sudden situations.

Seth Rogen, looking honest and straightforward, was incessant with his dirty jokes, earning the title of cheeky guest.

Following Jonah Hill's directions, the black Ford sedan slowly stopped in front of an underground strip club.