HPDBC Chapter 90: The Highlight on Set Lies with Someone Else
Chapter 90: The Highlight on Set Lies with Someone Else
Chapter 90: The Highlight on Set Lies with Someone Else
"Cut! This take is done. Take a 15-minute break and prepare for the next round!"
With Juzo Itami's command, the tense atmosphere that had enveloped the entire Studio 8 finally cracked open.
The staff began busily moving reflectors and adjusting camera positions.
Kitahara Shin breathed a sigh of relief, maintaining his upright posture, and retreated into the shadow of the marble pillar.
His back was soaked with sweat, but the uniform seemed welded to his body, with very few wrinkles.
Today's schedule is packed.
If the previous chaotic ensemble scene was a test of staging and movement, then the next scene is an extreme test of "aura".
This is a battleground for the senior figures.
As the central narrator of this film titled "The Lies of the Grand Hotel," the concierge, played by Shin Kitahara, is like a thread that strings together pearls.
He is everywhere, yet he must remain invisible at all times.
He was that calm observer, a human-shaped camera.
Juzo Itami's definition of him was very clear—"container".
He needs to catch all the guests' emotions, and then either bounce them back or swallow them with that calm, professional mask.
"Next event: The President's Last Lunch," get ready!
The assistant director shouted through a megaphone.
The scene shifted to the open-plan rest area on the side of the lobby.
The lighting technician adjusted the angle of the overhead lights, lowering the originally bright light to create a decadent golden hue reminiscent of a sunset.
The company president, played by Rentaro Mikuni, is sitting on that velvet sofa.
He didn't look at anyone.
This veteran actor, known in the Japanese film industry for his "eccentricity" and "profoundness," is currently adjusting his breathing.
It is said that in order to play the role of a president who is about to go bankrupt and whose health is deteriorating, he specially lost weight before filming began, so that his cheeks would look more sunken and his voice would have a weak, lisping quality.
This almost self-destructive approach to experiential learning reminded Kitahara Shin of Marlon Brando in Hollywood, or Robert De Niro, who would break his ribs for a role.
This is a terrifying level of dedication.
"Action!"
The camera slowly zooms in.
There are only two people in the picture.
The company president was seated, and the concierge was standing.
The plot is simple: the president's company officially declared bankruptcy ten minutes ago, and the prosecutor's office is on its way.
He knew this was his last moment at the Hotel Okura.
He ordered the cheapest black coffee, finished it, and prepared to sign the bill and leave.
But he was no longer qualified to sign contracts.
His credit card was frozen, and his name was blacklisted.
Kitahara Shin's task was to walk over and politely tell him, "Your signing authority has been revoked; please pay in cash."
This was supposed to be a scene full of conflict.
But in Itami Juzo's script, this is a silent, slow-motion torture.
Kitahara Shin, carrying a silver bill tray, approached step by step.
The leather shoes clicked on the marble floor, making a sound like the Grim Reaper knocking on a door.
He walked to the table, bowed slightly, and gently placed the bill tray on the table.
"President, here is your bill."
Rentaro Mikuni did not look up.
He was still staring at the empty coffee cup in front of him, his hands, covered with age spots, resting on his knees, his fingers trembling slightly.
It's a feeling of helplessness, like wanting to grasp something but finding only air in your hands.
The old man's Adam's apple bobbed.
He slowly raised his hand and reached into his suit pocket, wanting to take out the Montblanc fountain pen he had used for decades.
The movements were so slow, so slow it was agonizing.
The instant his fingertips touched the pen, Kitahara Shin spoke: "I'm very sorry, President. The finance department just informed us that due to a management reshuffle, your outstanding account is temporarily unavailable."
Kitahara Shin's smile remained perfect, the standard 15-degree smile from the Okura Hotel. "If it's convenient for you, could you please pay in cash this time?"
This is a lie.
This was also the last fig leaf left for this once-important figure.
Rentaro Mikuni's hand froze in mid-air.
For a full five seconds, he remained in that pen-pulling posture, like a weathered sculpture.
Then, he slowly raised his head.
At that moment, Kitahara Shin felt as if he were being stared at by a dying tiger.
Those cloudy eyes were covered with blood vessels as dense as a spider web.
It was churning with anger, despair, and the ferocity of "Even if I die, I can still bite your throat."
The aura was so powerful that Kitahara Shin felt his fake smile was about to crumble.
Even with the system's support and his experience of living two lives, he still felt like a child wielding a wooden sword in front of a giant when faced with this pure, decades-long accumulation of acting skills.
This is a true "big shot".
No lines are needed, no exaggerated gestures are needed; just a glance upwards is enough to freeze the surrounding air.
You could hear a pin drop at that scene.
The photographer's palms were sweaty, but he held the camera tightly, not daring to shake it even slightly.
Rentaro Mikuni looked at Shin Kitahara, or rather, at the hypocritical smile on Shin Kitahara's face.
Suddenly, he smiled.
That smile touched every wrinkle on his face; because he was missing two teeth, his cheeks were sunken in, making him look particularly desolate and ferocious.
"Management adjustments, huh?"
The old man's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a rusty iron plate. "The Okura Hotel is truly—humane."
.
He withdrew his hand from the pen and instead reached for his trouser pocket.
He pulled out a few crumpled banknotes.
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand.
I'm still 500 yen short.
He searched through all his pockets and finally pulled out a few coins from the hidden pocket of his expensive handmade suit.
Clang.
The coins fell onto the silver bill tray with a crisp, jarring sound.
The sound echoed in the quiet lobby, like the sound of some kind of dignity shattering.
"Keep the change, please."
Rentaro Mikuni grabbed the umbrella he was using as a cane and, with all his might, used the sofa armrest to stand up.
His back was slightly hunched, but the moment he stood up straight, he forced his spine to straighten completely.
He straightened his tie, didn't even glance at Kitahara Shin, and walked towards the door with somewhat unsteady but still arrogant steps.
The camera followed his back the entire time.
It was a figure abandoned by the times, lonely, stubborn, and ridiculous.
Until he stepped out of the picture frame.
Kitahara Shin remained standing in the same spot, holding the plate containing the change.
He glanced down at the coins in the plate, and a crack finally appeared in his smile.
"Cut!"
Juzo Itami's voice was somewhat hoarse.
This time, not even a breath could be heard at the scene.
Everyone was breathless from the performance of those two minutes. It wasn't acting; it was witnessing someone's soul being crushed before their eyes.
Kitahara Shin took a deep breath and handed the bill tray to the prop master next to him.
His hands were trembling slightly.
It wasn't because I was tired, but because I was excited.
Just now, he truly felt the pleasure of being "crushed".
He thought that with the system's equipment and his past life's experience, he had already reached the threshold of the peak of acting skills.
But today, Rentaro Mikuni told him with a single look: Kid, you're still outside the door.
That's not skill, that's fate.
It's something that's fused into your entire life and then flows out of your veins.
"Well done."
A deep voice came from the side.
It's Tsutomu Yamazaki.
The actor playing the gangster boss had been sitting in the shadows watching the show, still holding that bottle of beer in his hand.
"To be able to hold your own against that old monster, not be swallowed up by his aura, and still maintain that detached, professional air—you've got something special."
Yamazaki Tsutomu grinned, revealing a mouthful of smoked teeth. "If it had been someone with a weaker mentality, their legs would probably have gone weak."
Kitahara Shin gave a wry smile and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"My legs are a little weak, but I'm just holding on."
"It takes skill to tough it out."
Tsutomu Yamazaki stood up, dusted himself off, and said, "Don't be discouraged. The highlight of this scene was indeed that old guy, but without you acting as a 'wall' to deflect his emotions, his performance wouldn't have come through. That's filmmaking—it's all about mutual support."
The following scenes continued this high-intensity bombardment of acting skills.
Nobuko Miyamoto's portrayal of the room manager is incredibly precise, capturing the tact and restraint with every subtle shift in her gaze when dealing with difficult guests.
The yakuza boss played by Tsutomu Yamazaki, with his relaxed yet murderous aura when encountering the police in the elevator, is chilling.
Kitahara Shin is like a sponge.
He moves among these scenes of gods battling it out, playing a silent supporting role, a backdrop providing services.
But he did not become transparent because of this.
On the contrary, every bow he made, every towel he handed out, and every glance he gave in the background became the threads that connected these scattered pearls.
He was learning, absorbing, and greedily devouring the brilliance emanating from these veteran actors.
8 PM.
Today's filming has finally come to an end.
Rentaro Mikuni had changed back into civilian clothes and resumed his taciturn old man appearance.
He paused briefly as he passed by Kitahara Shin.
He didn't say anything like "the younger generation is to be feared." He just glanced at the bottle of mineral water in Kitahara Shin's hand—it was room temperature water that Kitahara Shin had specially prepared for him because he heard that Kitahara Shin had bad teeth and couldn't drink ice water.
"That umbrella."
The old man suddenly spoke, though his voice was still soft.
"Huh?" Kitahara Shin paused for a moment.
"In the scene just now, when you placed my umbrella next to you, the tip of the umbrella was pointing outwards."
Rentaro Mikuni didn't look at him, but looked ahead. "If it were just an ordinary extra, they would probably just put it down anywhere, but the tip of the umbrella is facing outwards to prevent water droplets from wetting the guests' trouser legs. This is a habit of old-fashioned concierges."
"You did a very thorough job."
After saying that, he leaned on his cane and slowly walked towards the nanny van.
Kitahara Shin stood there, watching the old man's back, and smiled slightly.
"knock off!"
With a shout from the script supervisor, the studio lights went out one by one.
Darkness once again enveloped the fictional grand hotel.
Kitahara Shin unbuttoned his collar and exhaled a long breath.
Although the spotlight doesn't belong to him today, he knows that he is undergoing a transformative baptism.
This is a million times more interesting than being some kind of "national boyfriend".
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