Harmony of the Seven Spirits was a play about seven characters or spirits from Japanese folklore set in the feudal kingdoms of Japan.
The music was festive; the acting was deliberately exaggerated; and the atmosphere in the audience seats gave off the coziness of the countryside.
"It is a story about spirits, isn’t it?" Averie casually said. "It deserves some dark mystique."
"That may not be what they want," Mr. Groux whispered. "The theme, the vision, the art direction, or whatever you would want to call it, could be something lighter."
Averie hummed. "Does it look like that to you?"
"You are the spectator. You have every right to judge."
"But I am not the creator."
The man slightly frowned.
That was the biggest change Averie had noticed on his face since they met.
"Only the production’s creator has the right to decide the theme. It is not my vision; how could I comment on something I do not understand?"
Averie liked this conversation.
It’s not that he particularly cared about discussing such things with others. It is just that the more they talked, the more curious Director Groux looked.
"When has an actor cared about such things?" Mr. Groux said. "They say what they want and do what they want."
On the stage, an oni was having a grand battle with a heron, played by a hideous actor and a beautiful actress, respectively.
"Those that would keep quiet are not worth calling actors. They have lost their purpose."
The oni swung his large spiked club, but the heron dodged beautifully.
"Don’t they exist simply to fulfill the director’s vision?"
Director Groux was silent for a moment. "That is a difficult question to answer."
Averie tapped his right foot.
"Look at the girl. The rouge or the makeup she is wearing does not shine much. It would have been fine if they were filming with proper lights. But for a play with lights in front of them and not above them, it should have been shinier."
"If the fantastic do not look fantastic, what story are we even telling?"
The man scratched his chin. "Is that why you would have liked more shadows?"
"Yes. Either make them look like fantastic beings or dark beings. While the stage is beautiful, I cannot fathom the art direction."
He eyed the man. "Whoever directed it could not make up their mind on what they wanted."
The battle on the stage was coming to an end. The heron was injured, and the oni was about to swing his club.
Lost in thought, the director asked, "What vision would you have gone for?"
The heron’s head fell.
"Shadows. They need shadows."
For a moment, a picture painted itself in the creative mind of the good director. The spirits of the play appeared darker, and their actions held more weight and severity.
Director Groux breathed a shaky breath.
"You have good sense," he muttered.
He could vividly imagine the contrast between light and shadows.
"Who are you?" His head turned to Averie. "A painter? A photographer?"
Averie snickered. He took it as a compliment.
"An actor, Mr. Groux. I am an actor."
A glint of suspicion shone in the eyes of the good director.
"This doesn’t sound like a coincidence."
"I have heard the name Jean-Louis Groux. A director that puts art ahead of everything else is a welcome surprise."
On the stage, an actor in a Kitsune mask appeared, walking with exaggerated sway.
"Then, is there a particular reason you approached me? I don’t have many fans."
"Ms. Monet mentioned someone quite like me being here. I was curious, so I came to confirm."
The man tried to observe Averie’s demeanor. He could not tell much from his mask, so he had to read his body language.
The mysterious actor was confident, graceful, and charming.
’He must not want to be seen here.’
The two talked about acting, filming, and art while watching the rest of the play.
"So, why do you pursue only art?" Averie asked as the play was coming to an end.
"You know how it is, I was born and raised in Paris—"
"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that."
There was an awkward silence in the air as the two silently stared at each other.
Averie realized he had said his thoughts out loud.
’Internet be damned.’
The poor actor twiddled his thumbs.
"I am part French..."
That was the best excuse he could come up with.
The director cleared his throat. "Do you not like Paris?"
"City of Nice is nice."
"I am asking about Paris."
"Marseille is beautiful."
"Strasbourg is where my heart’s at."
Averie observed the man.
There were many directors in Gene Conti’s world whom he respected.
They were true storytellers. They experimented and tried to present an unfolding story as if it were alive. They did not chase commercialism. They were true artists.
"The storytellers love the idea of change. Character growth is considered artistic. Transience is hailed. But that is not what I desire—I want to show the unchanging, something that lasts for an eternity."
The more he talked with Director Groux, Averie realized that this man was just like those great directors.
He was a true storyteller.
And the director realized that Averie was not like the other actors.
He did not care to feature in a blockbuster film. He did not have any intention of making acquaintances.
He was not looking for opportunities. He was waiting for roles that could fascinate him.
’Why else would he talk to a director like me? That sort of mentality is not present in the younger actors.’
But he could tell that Averie was young.
’The voice, the skin, the body... He is not an older actor.’
Only those who had devoted their entire lives to acting cared so extensively for art.
’Such a surprising attitude.’
"May I know your name?"