Unlike the previous iterations of the festival, where only a single venue displayed all the films, the Serenes Film Festival of 2028 was set to be different.
"It’s going to be massive, Gabriel," added the French woman, her eyes wide in wonder and awe. "They have set up additional screens across the city. Not only can we watch these films at any theatre in the city, but we can also do it while chilling in a garden if we want."
"This is why you have to love movies, Marrie. They are beautiful."
The three—Hikaru, Gabriel, and Marrie—were big cinephiles. They hadn’t missed a single Serenes Film Festival since they began attending it together twelve years ago.
Along with Ingrid, Richard, and Kate, the group of six were great friends. They had met and become best friends while studying at Oxford. Not only were they close, but they were also rather well-off.
"You have booked rooms for us, right?" asked Richard.
Ingrid gave him a thumbs-up. "Of course, I have. All the hotels were booked when I checked a month ago. This is why you have to do it months in advance."
Kate put up her hands. "My bad."
Arms crossed, Ingrid smiled. "I didn’t say anything."
"Oh, you said plenty. I know it was my fault that we couldn’t find a place to stay last time, and I’m sorry about it."
Grinning, Ingrid chewed on her lips, taking pleasure. "That’s right."
"Let it go. It’s been four years."
Marrie looked like someone had pinched her bottom. "They are so dorky."
"We are all staying on the same floor," Ingrid said, turning around. "Let’s go. Berlin is going to be busy for a few days."
Hikaru, lanky and anaemic-looking, dragged his bag behind. "Do you think the large productions will deliver this year? You can tell when a film has a considerable budget and when one doesn’t."
"I don’t know," Gabriel said. "Last time, it was the smaller productions that surprised me. I don’t care about large sets. Acting is what matters."
Richard pressed the button to call the elevator. "With Serenes, quality is always assured, right?"
"Not always," Marrie replied. "There is always some director who tries something too different, thinking he could make it work. It always turns into a disaster."
"I wouldn’t call anything shown at Serenes a disaster," murmured Hikaru.
"Yeah, but it becomes a chore to watch. I like art films, but they can’t be entirely boring."
As the group of six moved into the elevator, a man dressed in a turtleneck and dress pants walked out of the washroom, stretching his back.
’That angle doesn’t work out.’ He looked around, his bright pupils glowing through his sunglasses. ’How do you even pee like a swan?’
’The Greeks knew statues the best. They could’ve figured it out.’
He walked towards the pair of ladies waiting for him nearby.
"Everything alright?" asked one of them. "You never take this long, Averie."
She looked concerned.
"Have you ever wondered if you could get away with peeing in public, having painted yourself like a fountain statue?"
A silent blink was all he received as Hyerin struggled to process the string of words that didn’t even sound like a sentence.
From the door of the crate held by Min-Ha, a pair of glowing eyes looked back at Averie.
"So, what if you can pee in public? Want me to applaud? Damn cat."
"Look at that cheeky bastard, she’s taunting me now."
Miss Meow tilted her head. "Meow?"
"Daring me? Alright, I’ll show you how to pee in public."
If Hyerin hadn’t held his hand, it would’ve opened the door for a sight not so pleasant for the eyes.
"Don’t." Her body was tense as she repeated. "Don’t."
Averie met her with a gaze equally unflinching. "To pee is to be."
Though his words were wise, he had to defer to Hyerin’s judgment.
"Has the director arrived?"
It was the 14th of November, and cold was starting to set in.
"Half a month," Averie murmured, looking out the glass walls of the airport. "That’s how long the film festival will last."
Even now, he could see The Lady in the periphery of his gaze. So mesmerizing she was, he could lose his sense of self in her gentle swaying.
But he never complained, and he never succumbed throughout the filming process.
"Three months I have spent without work."
It sounded as if he was talking to nobody in particular. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI★Fire.net
"Actors need their rest," Hyerin said, holding his arm so as not to lose him, as not to allow his spirit to wander. "You need it."
After that film, she truly believed he needed a good, long rest to fix himself.
From the terminal closest to them, voices emerged, multiple and colorful.
Walking out, surrounded by bodyguards and fans asking for autographs, was a pair of famous actors Averie had only seen in blockbuster movies.
One was a big man, with emerald eyes and dirty-blonde hair. His beard was well-groomed, and his facial features were sharp enough to give him a bit of wildness.
The other was an older man, his eyes sky blue and his clean-shaved face slick and classy.
They signed a few autographs and waved at the fans before continuing on their way.
Hyerin and Min-Ha watched them with awe.
The latter pointed towards the wilder man. "It’s Aron Evra."
"And Oliver Blacksmith," Hyerin gasped.
They were popular Hollywood actors. Anyone with an internet connection and an interest in films knew about them.
In Averie’s opinion, even the crowd gathered around them was small.
’But it won’t be long before they are surrounded outside the airport.’ He looked at the people recording the pair from the side. ’If these film buffs didn’t consider themselves well-educated, they would’ve swarmed them already.’
The reception such people received from the general public, Averie could only imagine.
There was a clear line, he felt, between him and them.
’How long before they will worship me? How long before they will replace their gods with my picture?’
Such a possibility was beyond what a common man could entertain, but for Averie, it was something he wanted to see dearly.
’There is no Gene Conti here, and Averie Quinn Auclair is only an up-and-coming actor in the East. And the part of the commonwealth that does know me sees me as a comedian.’
An actor was to be admired. But a question lingered in Averie’s head.
Even though he waited for a tide of scattered thoughts, no answer flooded his mind.
The internet, the next generation, the young, and the adults—nobody knew why actors were to be adored.
’They are loved, and there is no explanation for it, only flawed rationalization.’
He believed that he could change that, that he could provide them a reason.
And while he was lost in his own whirlpool of thoughts, the gaze of the two actors was stuck to him.
"Who is that?" Aron Evra asked in a hushed voice, trying to make out the face hidden behind the sunglasses.
Oliver Blacksmith scrunched his nose, squinting fruitlessly.
"I feel like his gaze is piercing me."
It was the first time they had felt that way.
And although the pair was intrigued, they weren’t the only ones wondering about the man’s identity.
Trailing the crowd, mixing in with the fans, was a man trying to avoid the public’s eye.
He had his white hair styled to hide the balding spot on his head. His eyes weren’t strong anymore, but through the thick black glasses, he could still distinguish brilliance from the rabble.
He was Thomas Corsini, a director cited by many as a legend of the global film industry. He was a Hollywood hero and a martyr in the eyes of cinephiles.
In an age where films couldn’t achieve the ticket sales of the 21st century, he was the one who sacrificed his family life for the sake of the industry.
He was one of the first to deviate from the pure art of the films in an effort to provide entertainment for his audience.
He made the film arts attractive to the common people. He clutched its artistic bourgeois scruff and dragged it down so that the working class could enjoy the luxury.
The modern industry owed its success to this man. In many people’s eyes, he was the reason commercial films came to be.
He shaped the modern cinema.
For that reason, he had as many fans as he had haters.
Purists were always the latter, yet even they admitted his greatness.
But it all came at a cost.
Failed marriages, estranged children, no memory of dead siblings—he had suffered this and more.
That very director had his gaze pulled by some unknown man.
He didn’t know what it was. But he could sense the attractive quality of the man, the way he pulled a gaze.
’Have I seen him before?’
Again, he didn’t know.
’What is he looking at?’
He didn’t know, but he had an inkling.
’It’s something I can’t see.’
No, it was a bit different.
’It’s something I am not allowed to see.’