The shadow of the 1980s suddenly disappeared, and the footsteps of the 1990s quietly arrived. Ryan Jenkins turned ten years old. Unfortunately, although he knew he was born in 1980, he had no idea on which exact day, and that, undeniably, was a rather sad thing.
After entering 1990, many major events occurred in the world—such as the Middle East situation suddenly becoming tense, that hanged ghost of a president seemingly ready to ignite the powder keg; or the Red Empire entering its final twilight mode, clearly heading toward collapse; or the unstoppable changes sweeping through Eastern Europe, signaling another massive market about to open its doors to Hollywood films.
But none of that had anything to do with him. The thing that made Ryan happiest about the new year was finally having a long holiday, with no need to return to that damned school.
After wrapping up filming for The Sixth Sense and returning to school, Ryan easily passed his tests. But, as it turned out, Nicole's prediction had come true. Just a week later, she was summoned by the school principal. The old principal listed out a long list of Ryan's offenses—not listening in class, not communicating with others, disrespecting teachers, always doing his own thing without telling anyone what exactly he was doing, and so on.
If the old principal had been fluent in Chinese, he would've described Ryan's misdeeds with a phrase—too numerous to record even with a bamboo scroll!
"Miss Kidman, as his guardian, we hope you can have a serious talk with Ryan Jenkins." Those were the principal's pained and exasperated words at the time.
Nicole knew all too well about Ryan's old habits. After all, she'd been summoned to the principal's office more than once back in London. But what troubled her was that she truly didn't know how to fix it. Ryan's grades were all A's. Aside from his penchant for wild imagination and occasional eccentric behavior, in every other aspect, he was among the best—not just among his age group, but even compared to older children.
Sometimes, she even wondered if she should let Ryan drop out and hire a private tutor instead. But then she'd remember that the boy already disliked interacting with kids his age. Doing that would only make him more withdrawn, and she'd immediately squash the idea.
"Dear Nat, congratulations on returning to the stage at the community theater. It's a pity you're so far away in New York—I can't come to see your performance. About what you said in your last letter on the subject of art, I must disagree. In my opinion, all forms of art begin as entertainment. If the masses can't accept it, then no matter how rigorous, profound, or meaningful it is, it will inevitably die out. History has proven this time and again. If possible, I would love to debate this with you face to face..."
Since returning to Los Angeles from Philadelphia, Ryan and Natalie had been writing to each other almost every week. While they did encourage each other in their letters, most of the content was debates—or more accurately, bickering. Especially on matters of art, their viewpoints were worlds apart. Every letter contained new arguments aimed at refuting the other's perspective.
Stuffing the letter into the envelope and sealing it, Ryan heard the sound of the door opening. Nicole, who had gone out to shoot a commercial, must have returned.
"Hey, Nicole, you look a bit tired. Want something to drink? Juice or coffee?"
Walking into the living room, Ryan saw the exhaustion written all over Nicole's face and took the initiative to head into the kitchen.
"Juice is fine. I wouldn't dare let you make coffee again—otherwise, the neighbors will definitely complain!"
At Nicole's words, black lines seemed to drop across Ryan's face. Just after the new year, he had discovered his worst talent—anything related to cooking. The one time he tried making coffee, he nearly blew up the entire kitchen.
"Alright then." Ryan poured two glasses of strawberry juice and placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Ryan, how did you handle lunch today?" Nicole had been in Malibu today and was on a tight schedule, so she didn't return for lunch.
"I ordered takeout. Mr. Zhou's restaurant!"
Thinking about it, Tom Cruise had actually done him a solid. If not for him, Ryan wouldn't have known about this relatively authentic Chinese restaurant.
Speaking of Tom Cruise, he still hadn't given up on Nicole. After Christmas, he asked her out again. Unfortunately for him, it was Ryan who answered the call. The shameless boy didn't blow him off this time; he just asked one question—how it felt to wash his face with pepper spray. Mr. Tom Cruise hung up immediately.
"Nicole, I wrote a new song today. Want to hear it?"
As time passed, Ryan's songwriting skills improved rapidly. Though his voice hadn't changed yet, it had become much more mature than before, and his singing was now quite pleasant. The neighbors rarely complained anymore. In fact, many felt that listening to him sing was an enjoyable experience.
Naturally, that included Miss Nicole Kidman.
He fetched his handmade rosewood guitar from his room and sat on a high stool. Ryan strummed the strings, and the crisp music rang out.
It was a very simple song, in the style of pop-country folk. After a brief intro, Ryan's slightly immature voice began to sing:
"Life is like climbing,
The road ahead is always full of obstacles,
Those who never give up
Run forward with their heads held high,
Until they reach the highest and most beautiful place..."
The lyrics weren't long and were quite simple, but they were full of encouragement. Paired with the upbeat rhythm, the song gave off a strong sense of positivity and motivation.
"How is it, Nicole?" Ryan looked expectantly at the cool and elegant woman.
"Ryan, you never stop amazing me." Although she had grown somewhat numb to being constantly surprised by Ryan over the years, Nicole Kidman still couldn't help but sigh. "I know a thing or two about music—this song, though simple, is already good enough to be produced."
"Wow, looks like I really am a genius!" This time, the image of the red-haired monkey didn't make an appearance.
"Ryan, what I want to say is—you're learning too many things. A person's energy is limited. Do you really plan to become a singer in the future too?"
"Why not?" Ryan spread his arms with a look that said "of course I do." Before Nicole could speak again, he quickly added, "Nicole, I get what you mean. I understand the saying 'don't bite off more than you can chew.' Don't worry, I have enough time and energy."
"Worry? In the past month, I've been called to St. John's Elementary three times. How do you expect me not to worry?"
That's life—you can't have it all. If you want to gain something, you have to give up something else. And for a child, time is truly precious. He couldn't possibly waste the most valuable thing he had on schooling that was almost completely meaningless, could he?
Yes, perhaps in the near future, or after entering middle school, he would need to set aside time to study to keep his grades from becoming too embarrassing. But that time was not during elementary school.
Compared to the rather terrifying "stuffed-duck" education he experienced in his previous life, American elementary education was way too relaxed. Strictly speaking, it was more like an enlightenment phase. These shallow subjects—even American history, which he hadn't known much about in his past life—were easy for Ryan to handle after reading through the textbooks once.
During the holidays, Ryan finally had more time to complete the two unfinished screenplays. But there was no rush—just like he told Nicole Kidman before, everything could wait until The Sixth Sense was released.
Ryan firmly believed that, even though this was David Fincher's first time directing a film, and the project started years earlier than in his previous life, it might not necessarily be worse than what that Indian director made. Besides, as the producer, Harvey Weinstein was famously sharp-eyed in his previous life. As long as those two didn't completely lose their minds, the film wouldn't fall short—at least not by much.
What's more, the subject matter was still very rare at the time and directly reflected one of the central concerns of American mainstream society—family.
A week later, Ryan visited Miramax's Burbank studio to do a few lines of dubbing for the film, which was in post-production. Of course, it was only for a few brief scenes.
"Wow, David, are you guys editing?" Ryan asked as he looked around the room filled with machines, including a splicer, and turned to Director David Fincher.
"Yeah, Ryan."
"And what are all these machines for?"
Ryan bombarded the director with question after question like a walking encyclopedia. By the time David Fincher finished answering, his throat was dry and scratchy.
Compared to filming, post-production was equally time-consuming and labor-intensive—sometimes even more so. For big-budget sci-fi films and the like, it was even more complicated.
Speaking of which, David Fincher didn't actually have much authority during the post-production process. The rough cut had to be approved by Harvey Weinstein. That's just how Hollywood worked—it wasn't like Hong Kong, where directors had all the power.
In Hollywood, the producer system reigned supreme. Unless a director was also a producer, they rarely had final cut rights. For a newcomer like David Fincher, having such rights was simply out of the question.
"Harvey, when will the movie be released?"
When he met Harvey Weinstein, Ryan asked curiously.
"The sooner, the better, of course." After nearly six months of knowing each other, Harvey Weinstein had gradually figured out how to interact with Ryan. When talking business, you absolutely couldn't treat him like a child—otherwise, you'd fall straight into his trap. "Right now, we're aiming for early April, depending on how the post-production goes."
Ryan pinched his chin thoughtfully. In his opinion, this movie would've done better if released during summer, but he was only the screenwriter and lead actor. He wasn't foolish enough to confuse his identity and weight in the decision-making process, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Besides, a release in April wasn't without its advantages. That period usually lacked heavyweight films, and they could sign a long-term deal with theaters to extend the screening time. As long as the box office met his expectations, that would be enough.
Ryan also thought of the seemingly childish contract he and Nicole had signed with Miramax. If the film really met his expectations, he wondered whether Harvey Weinstein would fire whoever had negotiated with Kingsley.