Exhausted

The entire person leaned back in the chair, gazing up at the cold moonlight and the myriad stars above. Even through the car window, the faint sound of the howling wind in the thick night air reached his ears, rustling and whispering. Renly knew that his condition was utterly wretched, perhaps even worse than when he filmed "Buried".

This scene had been interrupted before completion, implying that it needed to be continued, perhaps even re-shot. The flowing rhythm of his performance had been disrupted, and for the next take, he would have to readjust, reinvest himself in the role. For an actor, this wasn't an easy task; it felt like a form of self-torture, repeating the process from scratch.

Yet, for the current Renly, this was not the issue. He was fully immersed in his performance now. Even with the interruptions, he could effortlessly plunge back into character, the details and framework of his performance vividly etched in his mind, flowing effortlessly.

His understanding and control of the performance were gradually evolving.

The real problem lay in his physical condition and mental state, which were far from optimistic.

Externally, he appeared only mildly fatigued, without any noticeable anomalies. However, in reality, he was enduring excruciating torment.

His entire back was drenched in sweat, having been dried once before, only to be soaked again. His strength had been drained entirely, not a single finger could move; it felt as if every muscle had been flattened by a steamroller. His temples were twitching, and the resilient yet sensitive nerves, when gently tugged, sent waves of pain down his spine, pulling at every nerve in his body, rendering him speechless in the throes of exquisite agony.

When he filmed "Buried" in the past, it was a near-death experience, and he thought he would die once more. That kind of terror, where reality and illusion blurred completely, even though the boundaries between Paul Conroy and Renly Hall had become entirely blurred, was an experience Renly and Chu Jiashu had never truly undergone.

This time, filming "50/50", he was genuinely retracing the path of his own experiences, from the torment of the illness to the fear of death, from the descent into darkness to the suffering of affliction, and finally to the radiant other side, a rebirth. It was akin to the movies "Edge of Tomorrow" and "Source Code", where he had to repeatedly experience his own death, dying again and again, suffering time and time again.

Each time, he watched helplessly as he approached the endpoint of death, powerless and unable to save himself or seek help, only capable of endlessly repeating his death's conclusion.

The mental torment was like water dripping on a stone, each time so real, so vivid, so delicate, ruthlessly breaking down the experience of death into countless details, as if splitting "pain" into countless fragments, savoring each one slowly, until the soul completely dissipated.

What was even more dreadful was that what he experienced was not just the death of Chu Jiashu but also the death of Adam. The torment of paralysis, the onslaught of cancer, was so prolonged and ferocious, as if there were no end in sight, only floating and sinking in an endless sea of suffering.

He couldn't say which of the two works, "Buried" and "50/50", was more challenging to film, but without a doubt, the pain and torment brought by "50/50" were so real, so painfully inescapable. Even after leaving the realm of illusion, even after finishing the filming, in real life, that part of the soul that belonged to Chu Jiashu still endured suffering, subjected to the torture of cruelty.

This is where the cruelest aspects of illness and death truly lie.

After the outpouring of emotion in the previous scene, Renly had completely blurred the contours of his performance. The Chu Jiashu of the previous life, the Adam from the movie, the Will from real life, and even his present self had all merged into one. It was no longer a performance; it was a genuine cry from the soul.

Having experienced the rollercoaster of emotions, from repression to release, from anger to despair, from reluctance to suffering, from sorrow to emptiness, from struggle to helplessness, all the way to the calm after surrender, it was accompanied by a touch of bitterness. Self-deprecation, irony, mockery, it rippled gently like waves, more intense than a rollercoaster or a freefall.

Now, he was almost running on empty.

His eyes burned and throbbed, and he attempted to close them, to rest, but found that the corners of his eyes were dry and cracking, causing sharp pain. The scorching heat persisted in roasting his eye sockets, and the difficulty of the dry nostrils made tears well up, but before they could form, they evaporated, leaving his eye sockets painfully dry.

He couldn't even cry.

He lowered his eyelids, chuckled hoarsely, but discovered that even this subtle movement of his eyes sent a sharp pain through his temples, stimulating his brain, delving from the surface into the depths, as if drilling holes with a sharp instrument. The pain that burst forth in that moment spread to every corner of his limbs. He had to grit his teeth and endure unspeakable agony without making a sound.

He exhaled lightly, and his burning lungs felt like they were being pricked by needles. The air that rushed in carried a hint of blood, filling his mouth. He felt like a paralyzed cancer patient with the scythe of Death pressed against his neck, icy cold. Yet, he held his teeth tightly, refusing to give up.

Was this futile?

The moonlight and starlight in his field of vision were shrouded in a faint halo, and the whole world became hazy. The feverish eye sockets and dry lips felt as if there was a fire burning in his lower abdomen, with his blood, spirit, and soul as the fuel. When the flames extinguished, it would mark the end of his life.

A faint, absurd smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Renly knew this was his imagination running wild; he was just performing, after all. Chu Jiashu had transformed and been reborn as Renly Hall, the Will from real life had successfully undergone surgery, and the Adam from the script had also been given a new lease on life. This wasn't the end of life. But, at this moment, in this scene, his mindset remained in a strange and melancholic place.

Isn't acting a wondrous thing?

Whether it was the Method or experiential acting, at its core, it was about forging a connection between the actor and the character, awakening one's emotions, infusing those emotions into the character, and then letting the power of the plot burst forth.

Though one might say that the Method had its shortcuts, reaching the pinnacle was by no means an easy task.

For instance, in "Brokeback Mountain", even though Heath Ledger portrayed Jake Gyllenhaal as a heterosexual and fell in love, his ability to convince himself and the audience of this was a testament to his skill. Later, when Heath delved into the role of the Joker in "The Dark Knight", he shattered the boundaries of the Method and truly pushed himself to the edge in an experiential way.

As for experiential acting, it was indeed incredibly daring, almost as if one were performing with their very life. If Renly were to immerse himself in the performance of "Buried" for a second time, it might be better, or it might be worse, but one thing was certain: it wouldn't be presented in the final product as it was now. Experiential acting was a momentary burst of brilliance, at a specific juncture, where the deepest memories of the soul were ignited entirely, blurring the boundaries between performance and reality, as well as the distinction between the character and the individual.

This was irreplicable.

This was also why Hollywood leaned more towards the Method. If every actor used experiential acting and reached the pinnacle, they would be unable to act for a long time afterward. They might become too deeply engrossed, unable to extricate themselves, leading to a series of irreparable consequences – a horrifying thought.

Russia still encouraged experiential acting to this day, and it was truly thought-provoking. This was also why Russian films always had a raw, natural quality to them, much like their literary works.

But for Renly, he didn't mind whether it was the Method or experiential acting. Because regardless of the method, it was a completely new experience and exploration for him, opening up a brand new world, allowing him to rediscover acting and relearn it.

He tried to calm down and think, to ponder how the scene he had just performed had been carried out, to consider the subtle differences between the Method and experiential acting, to reflect on how his emotions were infused and expressed in his performance, to contemplate the intricacies of this performance, and to share his insights after the release... But before his thoughts could rise, his brain began to throb in pain.

Waves of throbbing pain came one after another, then started to spread, as if millions of embroidery needles were piercing him simultaneously. The excruciating pain made every muscle in his body tense up, but he was already physically drained. He couldn't even tell if he still had control over his fingers; his muscles were so numb and rigid that he seemed to have lost all sensation. Yet, the pain showed no signs of diminishing, wave after wave, like a relentless tide.

Then his temples began to throb again, and the thickness of the nerves being tugged at reached its extreme. It was as if someone had yanked on the main control strings of a puppet, pulling them up, causing the entire body to stand upright. Every corner of his body could feel the powerful pull, and then he completely lost control over his body, at the mercy of external manipulation.

Cold sweat seeped out once more, even though he was sitting in the car with the windows closed, shielded from the cold wind. However, shivers of coldness still rushed through him, one after another. Renly couldn't even discern whether this was a side effect of chemotherapy, the weakness caused by cancer, a malfunction in his bodily functions after paralysis, or simply... his own hallucination.

He sat quietly in the driver's seat, lowered his eyes slightly, while his body endured the tearing and torment of tumultuous waves. The pain had reached its peak, so much so that he began to relish it. The curve of his lips gently turned upwards. Bitter, yet sweet.