Chapter 10: The Passion for Films

"You really like watching old movies?" asked Old John, wiping a glass behind the bar.

Though they'd only known each other a short time, he'd come to know Henry, this big boy, fairly well. Maybe Henry had secrets too, or maybe he was also 'unordinary'—but so what?

Old John had a typical Western mindset: he was happy to pave the way for the next generation, but how they walked that path was their own business.

Of course, the basic prerequisite was that the person suited his taste, listened to advice, didn't have the habit of overestimating themselves, and understood how to live a steady, grounded life. This was what his generation called diligence and integrity.

In their eyes, Henry was exactly that kind of person. So their interactions, and even those across the whole town, became simple—free of so much opportunism.

Thus, when Old John saw something or wanted to ask something, he simply spoke up.

Lately, Henry preferred watching old movies over CNN, that semi-official free news channel.

And not just once—he'd watch them a second time, a third time, even on replay, always staring intently.

At Old John's sudden question, Henry first shifted one eye over, then the second, then turned his whole face, and finally snapped back to awareness as if suddenly realizing, emerging from his immersion in the film.

Henry replied: "They're all so beautiful."

For a man who'd endured the anime aesthetics of the twenty-first century and been baptized by countless D-cup goddesses, black-and-white films—ancient relics no less than dinosaur fossils—Henry had assumed would be utterly alien to him.

After all, he'd seen snippets online—Chaplin's classic silent black-and-white films—whose exaggerated physical gestures had filled him with unbearable awkwardness.

At first, he watched them only because he'd endured nearly twenty years with zero entertainment, especially the latter half filled only with pain, with no other choice but to compromise.

But once he truly watched, he understood why classics were called classics.

Cinematography, lighting, and other film techniques need no elaboration—every era has its own admirable aspects. To study them deeply would fill a film studies PhD with endless essays. Henry wasn't that professional.

What truly captivated Henry were the women, still breathtakingly beautiful beneath the black-and-white imagery.

Having endured nearly twenty years of entertainment deprivation, Henry was irreversibly addicted to black-and-white films.

Of course, objectively speaking, there was nothing else for him to become addicted to. He couldn't possibly become obsessed with pool or darts.

With Henry's current physical condition, for any athletic or competitive activity, his only consideration was how much he should hold back—not how to win.

Kryptonian abilities weren't simply about being stronger or faster. They involved fine control over every single muscle, even a degree of transformation.

It was like the difference between a normal person's relaxed arm and the bulging biceps when they flex it—but Kryptonians' adjustments were far more precise.

On his face, this meant he could effortlessly produce what's called 'expressive acting'—any exaggerated expression came naturally. He could even subtly adjust his features to make his entire face look like someone else's.

In sports, it meant perfect control over force and timing. Combined with his reaction speed and cognitive ability, every world record in athletics was as fragile as tissue paper before Henry.

Take darts: hitting exactly where he wanted was basic. Pool too—he could sink multiple balls in one shot, clear the entire table as if routine.

After playing a few times, Henry stopped. One reason was boredom; the other, he didn't want to expose his abilities.

Old John could understand Henry's view, and agreed: "Women of the Golden Age truly can't be compared to today's actresses. Not every woman who flirts can become Monroe."

"Monroe?" Though he offered no direct criticism, Henry's tone carried unmistakable skepticism. He pointed at the woman on screen: "This is the true dream of a real man, isn't it?"

The TV was replaying Audrey Hepburn's Roman Holiday—the runaway Princess riding a tiny motorbike with a scheming reporter through the streets of Rome.

Put kindly, it was a charming blend of elegance and innocence, captivating with every smile and frown. Put harshly, it was a foolish nobility that made you want to protect such a smile—or destroy it…

In this scene, all the director's and cinematographer's efforts seemed meaningless. The male lead and background extras were mere set pieces.

Every eye fixed on Audrey Hepburn's face, marveling at every expression she made.

Unfortunately, Henry's opinion didn't win approval from most in the bar; a group of old men let out the sound of popping soda cans in derision.

"Youth is youth—they only care about faces. Don't you know how bony, stick-thin bodies feel to hold? They'll just bruise you. Monroe is the real gem."

But others disagreed. "You don't understand—Greta Garbo was Venus descended to earth. Just seeing her makes me feel reverence."

"Cold faces? What kind of goddess is that? Hedy Lamarr is the symbol of lust. Looking at her, my thoughts surge uncontrollably, bursting forth."

Listening to everyone name their goddesses, Henry sighed: "Do people really have such different tastes?"

"It's not that our tastes differ—it's that Hollywood's Golden Age produced true beauties. What's in today's films? Misshapen junk. It's as if anyone with two eyes and a nose can get on screen."

"Yeah, too many choices—no matter who you pick, it feels wrong."

"I think you're just arguing for the sake of arguing—someone says one thing, you immediately say the opposite."

"We only get to see them in movies—can't we just talk about them?"

"Of course you can. Do whatever you want. Just go home early to sleep—everything you dream of will come true."

"Hey, you guys think—given Hollywood's decline, will there come a day when a black-skinned woman, or one with a square face, thick eyebrows, and a mouth so wide her eyes stare harder than your wife's, becomes the leading lady? And we'll still have to pay to see her?"

Inside his mind, Henry screamed: Old man, don't you dare say it. If you just hold on a little longer, you'll see that future—not just in film, but in TV, in games, in every visual medium. Isn't that thrilling?

Henry groaned, clutching his head: "Ah, don't say it. I really don't want to see that future."

Everyone, including Old William, burst into laughter.

Suddenly someone said: "Henry, you're so into movies—why don't you go to Hollywood?"

The laughter stopped. The bar fell silent.

New book seeking follows, collections, and recommendations, thank you~~

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(End of Chapter)