mijobooks Chapter 101 Heartbeat in the Sleeping Bag
Chapter 101 Heartbeat in the Sleeping Bag
Chapter 101 Heartbeat in the Sleeping Bag
This scene was very difficult to film.
Physical discomfort.
In an old-fashioned business hotel in Kichijoji, Tokyo, the bathroom was so small that there was barely enough room to turn around.
Kitahara Shin wanted to squeeze his 1.8-meter-tall frame into that Japanese-style deep bathtub that was only 1.2 meters long.
To avoid being exposed, he had to press his knees against his chin, making him look like a folded shrimp, with his back pressed firmly against the cold tiles.
"My legs are numb." Kitahara Shin adjusted his position in the bathtub, his joints making a slight cracking sound.
"That's right, it's numb."
Mochizuki Tomomi squeezed into the narrow space at the bathroom doorway.
He didn't look through the viewfinder, but stared intently at Kitahara Shin in the bathtub, his gaze somewhat fixed: "If I let you sleep on a Simmons mattress, that awkwardness of Morisaki Taku would disappear. What I want is this kind of state where he looks wronged, but stubbornly pretends to be indifferent."
The filming order of a movie is never based on the script's timeline.
They had just finished filming in the open and bright Kochi Prefecture; the sea breeze, the bicycles, and that unbridled slap were all things of the past.
The film crew moved back to Tokyo and settled directly into this cramped hotel room.
The plot jumps to the second half.
In order to see her father, who actually had a new family, Rikako forcibly dragged Taku Morisaki along to Tokyo.
The result was naturally a mess. Her father had a new lover, and Rikako had nowhere to go but to stay in Taku's hotel room.
A lone man and a lone woman, alone in a room.
According to the usual formula of youth films, there should always be some ambiguous physical contact or some kind of accidental infatuation at this point.
But Ocean Waves is not the kind of cheap, saccharine film.
The script is very clear: Rikako hogs the only bed, and Taku, in order not to cross the line, hides in the bathtub with a pillow.
There were no lines that crossed any lines, not even a single dialogue.
The camera switches between the bedroom and the bathroom.
In the bedroom, Rie Miyazawa lay on the bed. She was covered with a blanket, only her eyes were visible, staring at the ceiling.
The exhaust fan hummed overhead, its monotonous sound irritating.
She wasn't asleep.
In previous scenes, she needed Kitahara Shin to help her get into character, or relied on Mochizuki Tomomi's strange metaphors to stimulate her emotions.
But today, as she lay there, the restlessness she felt, tossing and turning, was as natural as breathing.
She was listening.
Listen to the sounds coming from the bathroom. Listen to the breathing of the boy who was just arguing with her, who was furious with her, but is now curled up in the cold, hard bathtub.
That unspoken urge, that inner conflict of wanting to call him back to sleep on the floor but being too embarrassed to do so, was all conveyed in that gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"Card."
Mochizuki Tomomitsu's voice was very soft.
"Good eye, you sensed it."
Originally, the crew was supposed to wrap up filming today if we had filmed this far.
The script supervisor was already writing the daily report, the lighting technician began dismantling the warm lights that had been specially installed to create atmosphere, and Kitahara Shinya was supporting himself on the edge of the bathtub as he stood up and was stretching his right leg.
"Um—Director."
A voice suddenly broke the rhythm of the workday ending.
Rie sat up in bed.
She clutched the corner of the blanket, her face slightly flushed, but her eyes were direct: "I have an idea."
The scene fell silent for a moment.
The lighting technician, who was winding up the electrical wires, stopped. The assistant director frowned, looking impatient.
What's wrong with young actors these days? They always cause trouble even when they're about to wrap up filming?
In a strictly hierarchical film crew, it's a major taboo for newcomers to interfere with the script. The director's authority, the pressure of the schedule, and the cost of film stock are all more important than a newcomer's "flash of inspiration."
If it were a hot-tempered, old-fashioned director, they would probably have already thrown the script at them by now.
But Mochizuki Tomomichi is different; after all, he is young and not an ordinary person.
"Tell me about it." He pushed up his glasses, and his usually unfocused eyes finally focused on Rie's face.
"The script says that when Taku woke up the next morning, he had an extra blanket on him."
Rie pointed to the spare blanket folded at the foot of the bed, speaking quickly as if afraid she might regret it: "But we didn't film how the blanket was put on. The audience only saw the result, not the process. I think—Rikako will probably wake up in the middle of the night. Although she's stubborn and has a bad temper, she's not heartless."
Seeing Taku sleeping in the bathtub, she'll definitely feel bad. She'll probably cover him with a blanket when she goes to the bathroom.
Just as the assistant director was about to say, "There's no need to add scenes; the audience can fill in the blanks," Mochizuki Tomomi raised his hand to stop him.
The eccentric director stroked his chin, his gaze darting back and forth between the narrow bathroom and Rie, as he mentally rehearsed the scene.
"That's interesting."
Mochizuki Tomomi suddenly smiled, revealing his canine tooth. "Something was definitely missing in the original film. The awkward gentleness really suited Rikako's character, and—"
He looked at the dim bathroom light, and the tuning fork in his hand swayed again.
"That composition would look great. Okay, everyone back to your positions, let's shoot another take."
The assistant director sighed and waved for the lighting technician to put the lights back in.
Kitahara Shin lay back down in the bathtub.
"Are your legs still okay?" Mochizuki Tomomi asked.
"It's fine, I'm just lying down anyway." Kitahara Shin adjusted to a slightly more comfortable position, closed his eyes, and said, "Let's begin."
"Action!"
The main lights in the room went out.
Only a sliver of dim light shone through the crack in the bathroom door, casting a long shadow on the carpet.
Rie walked barefoot on the carpet.
According to her plan, she first went to the toilet, and when she came back, she saw the person in the bathtub.
She picked up the blanket very gently, like a cat afraid of startling its prey.
She stopped at the bathroom door.
In the bathtub, Kitahara Shin curled up on his side.
The white T-shirt clung to his body in a wrinkled mess, and because of his awkward posture, his brow was slightly furrowed, indicating that he was sleeping restlessly.
The dim light shone on his face, outlining the lines of his nose and jaw.
This man.
Rie stood there, looking at that familiar face.
Just a few months ago, she was a "scandalous teenager" who was forced by her mother to work as a hostess and was besieged by the media.
It was this person who pulled her out of that quagmire, taught her how to get angry, taught her how to act, and even made her slap someone to help her get into character.
In the play, he is the somewhat slow-witted and trouble-averse Du Qituo.
Off-screen, he was a senior who could always catch all her emotions and was so strong that she wanted to rely on him.
At this moment, the two images overlapped in this narrow, fictional bathroom.
Rie slowly squatted down.
She gently covered Kitahara Shin with the blanket, her movements incredibly slow, as if afraid of making the slightest noise and waking him.
My fingertips brushed against the back of his hand unintentionally.
It was warm.
The real body temperature traveled through her fingertips like an electric current, striking her heart directly.
My heart clenched suddenly, then began to pound wildly in my chest.
In this cramped space of only a few square meters, in the dead of night when there were no audience, she suddenly had an extremely absurd idea.
It would be better if they didn't yell "Cut".
I wish this movie would never be finished.
If filming doesn't wrap up, she can stay in this room indefinitely.
She could take care of him, watch over him, and like him as a matter of course, as Rikako Muto, without any obligation.
Once filming wraps up, he returns to being the big star Kitahara Shin, while she remains as Miyazawa Rie, still dealing with a mess.
They are separated by fame, status, and the entire complex entertainment industry.
Only here, in the world of Takumi Morisaki and Rikako Muto, are they equals.
Is this an emotion from the play, or her own personal feelings?
She couldn't tell the difference.
Or rather, she no longer wanted to distinguish between them.
She just squatted there, taking the opportunity of tucking the blanket around Tokisaki Taku to greedily stare at Kitahara Shin's eyelashes.
The tender, lingering affection in his eyes was so intense it was almost palpable.
At that moment, she was completely captivated.
Behind the monitor.
The photographer was about to stop filming because the actions in the script had already been performed. Covering himself with a blanket, turning around, and leaving—that was the planned action.
But Mochizuki Tomomi suddenly reached out and pressed down hard on the photographer's shoulder.
"Don't stop."
The director's voice was extremely low, the kind of excitement one feels when seeing a masterpiece, as if he were holding his breath. "Continue recording."
In the lens.
Rie had finished all her actions, but she didn't get up to leave for a long time.
She seemed to realize just then that she had been staring at the person for too long, and a flush of color rushed to her face.
Her pretty little face was flushed red under the dim light, and even her ears were burning.
She hastily withdrew her hand, biting her lip, her eyes darting around, wanting to look at him but not daring to.
That girlish shyness, her fluttering heart, and the guilt she felt after doing something wrong—it was so real it made my heart tremble.
That wasn't acted out.
No acting skills can be as natural as this.
That was Rie Miyazawa, as a seventeen-year-old girl, facing the boy she truly liked—her most primal,
The most naked reaction.
Kitahara Shin lay motionless in the bathtub, his breathing steady.
But he couldn't fall asleep.
He could feel the weight of the blanket covering him, smell the faint scent of shower gel on Rie's body when she approached, and feel that burning gaze fixed on his face.
And there was that slightly rapid breathing sound so close at hand.
He didn't open his eyes.
Waking up at a time like this is the most unpleasant thing to do.
A full half minute passed.
Rie's eyes darted around in a panic. She suddenly stood up, even losing one of her slippers in the process, and stumbled back to her bedroom, shrinking herself completely under the covers.
The scene was completely silent.
Everyone stared at the monitor; no one dared to utter a sound.
"Card!"
Mochizuki Tomomitsu called out very softly, as if afraid of bursting the fragile bubble he had just seen.
"Perfect."
The director took off his headphones, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long sigh. He turned his head and looked at the assistant director next to him, who was completely stunned, his face full of the smug satisfaction of finding a gem.
"Did you see that?"
"I see—I see it," the assistant director stammered, still wiping sweat. "Director, this scene—"
Are you really going to cut this in? That look in her eyes is so real, it's almost overflowing.
"Cut. It has to be cut."
Mochizuki Tomomi pointed to the last frame on the screen. Rie blushed, her eyes sparkling with shyness and panic, a beauty that was breathtaking.
"This is the soul of 'Ocean Waves.' This isn't acting; it's a slice of life. You can't buy that kind of look in the eyes of a seventeen-year-old, a mix of impulsiveness and fear, no amount of money can buy it."
in the bathroom.
When the director yelled "Cut!", Kitahara Shin did not get up immediately.
He opened his eyes and saw the blanket on his body that was still warm from his body.
He sat up and glanced through the crack in the bathroom door toward the bedroom.
Over there, a small bulge appeared on the bed. Rie was wrapped in the blanket, curled up in a ball, not daring to even show her head.
Kitahara Shin touched the back of his hand where her fingertips had just touched him.
There seemed to be a faint chill lingering there, and a tactile sensation that was hard to describe.
This girl is really getting into character.
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