“The chair is hard. I feel it pressing into my buttock bones. The room is dark, musty. I feel anxiety. I want this movie to be great. I want it to change my life, both in the watching and in the eventual heralding. If it’s terrible, I have gained nothing. I am where I was. Worse off because time has passed and I am that much closer to my grave. And I’ll have to tell Ingo that I loved it when it will be clear that I did not. I am not a good actor in that I cannot be dishonest. It is my curse that others always know exactly how I feel. I guess in a way that might make me a brilliant actor, but only if I am playing a character who is scripted to feel exactly as I feel at every moment of the filming. Maybe then I would be the best actor who has ever lived. I’m certain I would. I should audition for that role. I’ll look in Backstage later. The projector starts up. It whirs and sputters as a rectangle of light appears before me on the screen, followed by the scratchy black leader, followed by the China Girl. Wait, was that Tsai? Go back!”