After a busy morning, my emotions were a mix of joy and concern. I was delighted because the actors I had seen were remarkably down-to-earth—perhaps because they had not yet been tainted by the glitz and glamour of show business. Unlike future generations of actors who would rely on tricks to gain fame, these performers simply stood in front of me and followed instructions, acting with sincerity. However, my concern lay in the fact that all of them exhibited a distinctly theatrical style of performance. Watching them act felt like watching a stage play rather than a film.

  This was the prevailing acting style across Hollywood at the time.

  It was somewhat exaggerated, somewhat calculated. These actors saw themselves as performers rather than as individuals merging with their characters. They didn’t know how to present life as it truly was on screen.

  As a result, after an entire morning, I had only selected a quarter of the actors I needed. As for the lead actress—none of the candidates had made the cut.

  "Gance, put up another notice at the gate," I said, taking a bite of my bread. "Let people know we're expanding our search. Even those without acting experience are welcome to apply."

  The three men with me instantly widened their eyes in shock.

  "Chairman, I've never heard of ordinary people being cast in films!" James exclaimed, utterly baffled.

  Gance and the stout man shared his confusion.

  I gestured toward the crowd in front of us. "Look at these actors. They all carry the habits of stage performance. But film? Film is nothing more than a direct reflection of life. Yet, what do audiences see in theaters today? Either contrived Westerns or stage plays repackaged as films. The actors' performances are far removed from real life. What I need are actors who, once on screen, make the audience feel like they could step outside the theater and run into them on the street. Only then can their performances truly resonate, making viewers feel like they aren’t just watching a movie but living alongside the characters. That way, the audience can laugh and cry with them. Understand?"

  Although my words didn’t entirely make sense to them, they saw some logic in what I was saying and did their best to cooperate.

  Once Gance posted the new notice, all of Harvey Street was abuzz. People had been in Hollywood for years, yet they had never heard of a director recruiting ordinary people for a film. This unprecedented opportunity drew in a flood of applicants—homeless men, housemaids, traffic wardens—people from all walks of life rushed to DreamWorks' gates. After all, with a director this eccentric, who knew? Maybe they had a chance.

  The line of applicants doubled instantly. Gance shook his head in disbelief and told me he suspected the entire population of Harvey Street had come to audition.

  "Andre, you've made quite the scene. I wouldn't be surprised if we land on the front page of the Hollywood Times tomorrow morning," Gance joked.

  If we did, that would be perfect—free publicity!

  I was beginning to realize just how difficult casting was. One face after another passed before me, so many that they all started to blur together into a single indistinct expression.

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  "James, how many have we selected so far?" I rubbed my eyes and asked.

  "Twelve," James replied after checking his notebook. "Still a long way from the forty we need."

  I looked up at the sky. It was already mid-afternoon—three or four o’clock. Clearly, we weren’t going to finish casting today.

  I stood up and called out to the crowd, "Listen to my instructions! Everyone split into two lines. If you're a trained actor, stand on the right. If you're not, stand on the left."

  The crowd quickly adjusted, forming two distinct lines.

  "Alright, the group on the right—dismissed! The group on the left, stay where you are!" I announced firmly.

  A massive wave of murmurs and exclamations rippled through the crowd.

  What kind of director sends away professional actors and picks common folk instead?

  Even my assistants, including Gance, were utterly dumbfounded.

  Ignoring their stunned expressions, I returned to my seat and resumed selecting candidates.

  I realized I needed a different approach. Instead of trying to mold people into roles, I would match roles to people. If a character in the film was a baker, I would find a real baker. If the role called for a street vendor, I would cast someone who actually sold goods on the street. That way, their performances would be authentic, without any artificiality.

  "Next!" called out Berg, the assistant beside me.

  A frail old man in tattered clothes stepped forward. His hair was streaked with white, his eyes dull and lifeless, his movements sluggish. The crowd jeered at him, mocking the idea that someone like him would dare dream of acting in a film. Some even whistled at him in derision.

  "Boss, should we just pass on this one?" Berg whispered to me.

  I ignored him, instead focusing my gaze on the old man. It was clear that life had worn him down. He had no status, no respect, not even the last shred of dignity a person could cling to.

  "Sir, what’s your name?" I asked with a smile.

  The old man removed his ragged hat and bowed deeply. His disheveled white hair fluttered in the wind, stirring something in me.

  This was Hollywood—the Hollywood that, in the eyes of the world, glittered with fame and fortune. People saw the dazzling stars and the extravagant lifestyles, but how many ever noticed those at the very bottom? How many saw the ones who toiled endlessly for a mere scrap of bread? How many knew of those who wept alone in the dead of night, hidden in some forgotten alley?

  "Hemingway. Gist Hayden," the old man answered, forcing a faint smile.

  "And what do you do?" I asked.

  "Mr. Corleone, I was a cemetery caretaker for nearly thirty years. I'm 68 years old," Hayden said respectfully.

  "Director, he's lying! He's actually 76!" a sharp voice from the crowd shouted, followed by uproarious laughter.

  Hayden's forehead beaded with sweat. Embarrassed, he offered me an awkward smile. "Mr. Corleone, I… I really am 76. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. It's just…" His eyes grew red and moist. "The cemetery let me go because I was too old. If I can’t find work soon, I’ll starve."

  His voice trembled as he clutched his worn-out hat. Bowing once more, he turned to leave.

  To him, society had already discarded him. No one would hire someone too weak to even walk steadily.

  "Mr. Hayden, wait a moment." I stood up and walked toward him.

  He glanced at me, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Mr. Corleone, you…?"

  I patted his shoulder with a smile. "Report to work the day after tomorrow. You’re hired."

  His toothless mouth hung open in shock, unable to utter a word.

  I discreetly pressed a few dozen dollars into his hand. "Get yourself a good meal and a proper night's sleep. You’ve got a movie to star in."

  Tears streamed down Hayden’s face. Moments ago, he had been convinced he wouldn’t survive the winter. Now, this young man had not only given him a job but promised to put him in a film!

  Overwhelmed with gratitude, Hayden tried to return the money. "Mr. Corleone, just having a job is more than enough—I can’t take this. But… if you allow me, I’d like to be your company’s doorman as well. I’ve guarded doors for decades—I won’t let you down."

  "Fine," I agreed with a grin. "But remember, from now on, you’re part of DreamWorks—both as our doorman and as an actor."

  "Yes, sir!" Hayden broke into a smile and went off to settle into his new role.