Life isn't a math problem where you can find the right formula to get the correct answer.
The only thing they could truly believe in and rely on was themselves.
Anson turned his head and looked over, gazing into Brad's eyes with sincerity and openness, showing a smile. "I'm serious."
Anson continued speaking.
"You know John Travolta, right?"
"In 1978, with the movies *Saturday Night Fever* and *Grease*, he became incredibly popular. Not only did he get nominated for the Oscar for Best Actor, but the box office results were also fantastic. At that time, everyone knew who he was."
"But this is Hollywood; nothing stays popular forever. After some ups and downs, in 1983, he hit the lowest point of his career."
"That year, he starred in *Staying Alive*, directed by Sylvester Stallone. The movie was a disaster and got slammed by critics."
"From that point on, he basically disappeared from mainstream Hollywood films. No one remembered John Travolta, and no one cared."
"To make ends meet, he had to take roles in movies that nobody knew or cared about, but eventually, even those films stopped remembering him."
"By 1989, John could hardly find work, and at that time, he was only thirty-five years old. That should have been the golden age for male actors in Hollywood, but he was considering retiring and switching careers, looking for other professional opportunities."
"He even considered becoming a real estate agent. Seriously."
Anson looked at Brad, showing a wry smile—
These stories, do they sound familiar? No one understands better than Brad, who is living through it.
Brad was silent, frozen in place, because he knew how the story would develop. Still, he looked at Anson, expecting the rest of the story.
"In 1993, a director reached out to John, who was almost considered a missing person in Hollywood, hoping he would act in his film."
"It was a small, independent production, a very, very small crew. Due to a limited budget, they couldn't even pay John his usual salary. In the end, the director fought hard to offer John $140,000, plus a share of the box office earnings."
"But the problem was, for an independent film, just getting a release was challenging enough, let alone earning money at the box office. The director was practically making empty promises."
"However, John agreed." The rightful source is novel·fire.net
"That director was Quentin Tarantino, and the movie was *Pulp Fiction*."
"The rest of the story, everyone knows."
This is a true story, not made up.
In 1994, *Pulp Fiction* was released, taking the U.S. by storm. It first won the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, then grossed $60 million at the U.S. box office, and finally, it received seven Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor.
More importantly, *Pulp Fiction* became a landmark film, truly paving the way for independent films to enter the mainstream.
John Travolta made a spectacular comeback, and his career was reignited.
This is not an isolated case.
"Brad, do you know why everyone yearns for Hollywood?"
Anson didn't spout any grand theories. No amount of motivational speech could heal the wounds in one's heart. In the end, life still needs to be faced step by step.
By relying on one's own strength.
Brad's mind was a bit foggy, half-asleep and half-awake. He smiled faintly. "Because here, anything can happen."
"Heh, if it weren't for Hollywood, how could a director pick an unruly kid from juvenile detention to star in a movie?"
This was Brad's own story.
When Brad was five, his parents divorced. No one wanted to take him in, and he ended up being raised by his grandmother, who worked odd jobs at a church but could no longer control him.
He started smoking at nine, drinking at ten, and often wandered the streets. He was frequently in and out of juvenile detention and the police station. If things continued , he might one day end up dead in the streets or become a gang member, and his life would end without drawing any attention—no one would even care enough to collect his body.
But unexpectedly, director Joel Schumacher spotted Brad in a juvenile detention center and brought him into Hollywood.
At the premiere of *The Client*, all the reporters' eyes were on Brad. Hollywood loves stories with such dramatic twists.
At the time, a reporter asked, "How will this movie change your life?"
The prematurely mature Brad replied, "My name is Brad Renfro. I was born on July 25, 1982. The movie won't change my life. My life won't be different because of it."
Perhaps even then, Brad had already foreseen his destiny.
Brad didn't continue speaking. Instead, he stared at the projection screen in front of him. Neither of them spoke as Anson rewound the film.
The same scene played again.
Brad quietly watched the screen. Even though he had seen the movie before, it wasn't until today that he felt the power of the images—
Maybe there's an invisible hand guiding everyone toward an unknown and mysterious tomorrow. Life's confusion and fate's inevitability become the most wondrous and challenging puzzles, and that passionate, vivid red seems to flow like destiny pulsing through one's veins.
Brad thought for a moment, "So, here, can anything really happen?"
Anson chuckled softly, "Trust me, it's happening right now."
There was a knock at the door.
Anson glanced at Brad, "Did you bring a tail back with you?"
Brad's eyes were already half-closed, but because of Anson's words, he opened them, thought for a moment, and said, "No… I don't think so?"
At that moment, the knocking came again. Even without seeing what was happening outside, the urgency and anxiety were palpable.
Seeing Brad's eyes lose focus and him nearly passing out, Anson shook his head helplessly. He got up from the floor and jumped off the couch.
The knocking came for the third time.
But Anson maintained his calm demeanor, moving at his own pace to the door. Just as he opened it, he saw the hand raised for the fourth knock.
At the same time, the person held a phone in their left hand, in the middle of a call, with an expression mixed with excitement and anxiety, like a jittery flea.
Anson was very surprised, not expecting the visitor to be looking for him, "Captain Cook?"
Edgar let out a long breath and gestured toward his phone, "I've been calling you, but you weren't answering. I thought something had happened."
Anson pursed his lips, "I was watching a movie, had my phone on silent."
For a moment, Edgar didn't know how to respond. But upon reflection, it made sense that Anson wouldn't know what was happening outside—that was normal.
Taking a deep breath, Edgar explained his purpose in the simplest, most direct way possible, skipping all background and preliminaries.
"I need you to catch the next flight with me to New York to audition for *Spider-Man*. So, what do you think?"
Anson blinked, also not wasting any time, "Give me a minute. I'll grab my wallet and keys."