"How long can a movie be? At most two or three hours, right? Sounds long, but if you divide the time evenly among each hero, it's just a tiny sliver for each of them. And in that little bit of time, can they show all the things that make them shine?"
Cooper's stance was clear—he believed putting a group of superheroes, each with their skills and standout traits, into one film was extremely risky. The first hurdle was stealing the spotlight—who gets the big heroic moment, who makes a fool of themselves, who delivers the final blow to the villain, who gets beaten down—it would all have to be meticulously planned. There was no way every hero could be treated equally.
In American action films, it's common for the protagonist to get pummeled to the brink of defeat before making a roaring comeback to crush the enemy. But that sort of thing would never appear in a Laila film—she didn't have the time to give each hero that kind of arc, nor would she pad the runtime by repeating the same formula over and over. Imagine every single hero getting beaten half to death, then rallying to win…
If it were all like that, audiences would be groaning in their seats before the first hour was over.
The second hurdle was order—who comes first, who comes last, who leads, who follows. Every superhero had their fanbase. Even Iron Man, once hovering in the B-list, had amassed countless new fans thanks to Laila's films.
So if one hero got more screen time and another less, wouldn't the fans riot? "Why does my favorite superhero only get a few shots while the others hog the spotlight?"
Cooper's genius lay in identifying this as the real pressure point—attacking the allocation of character focus was far more relatable than simply doubting Laila's ability to handle an ensemble. Some superhero fans had already started debating the issue.
One question was quickly gaining traction: "Which superhero is the strongest in the Avengers?"
Every hero's fans insisted their pick was the best.
The Hulk couldn't be hurt or killed—wasn't that the strongest? Captain America had superhuman strength and unshakable virtue—shouldn't that make him the leader? Iron Man had wealth and style—even without superpowers, his cutting-edge tech made him the one who deserved the most screen time.
Round and round it went, everyone was sure they were right and dismissing the others. Fans who liked multiple heroes were both the happiest and the most torn—they could see all their favorites together, but couldn't decide who to give their "strongest" vote to.
When Cooper saw the online reaction, he nearly blew a fuse.
What on earth was wrong with these people? Couldn't they see that his entire point was to undermine Laila's film? How had they turned it into a casual debate over "who's stronger"?
And there was nothing he could do about it—he could only scowl and look for a new angle of attack.
Laila, meanwhile, was delighted when she saw Cooper's article finally appear. Don't ask how she knew the piece—posted under another name—was his. She'd read so many of his works that she could recognize his style in an instant.
Compared to the generic "ensemble films are hard" gripes from other haters, Cooper's approach was far more persuasive.
Even Laila herself thought the issue he raised could genuinely happen. There were plenty of historical precedents for films collapsing under the weight of too many main characters, leaving no one particularly well-served.
But it didn't bother her—so long as the chatter was about her movie, the louder the better.
Filming on Silence continued.
Most of the scenes took place in a dense jungle. The monkeys had nearly driven Laila mad earlier, and injuries to both leads had delayed the schedule somewhat, so the shoot hadn't exactly been smooth.
But there was one thing that left her deeply satisfied: the acting.
Whether or not it was thanks to that conversation with Roy, in recent days, he seemed freer, more uninhibited, and often delivered excellent performances. His co-star, Leslie Cheung, was inspired and began pushing his acting to the limits. On camera, they were like two firecrackers igniting at once, bursting with deafening force.
A good acting duel was thrilling not only for the actors but for the crew as well. The cinematographer told Laila this was probably the most fun he'd ever had on a shoot—both leads were so experienced they needed almost no direction to find the right angles and show their best selves to the camera.
It wasn't just him—makeup artists, prop handlers, anyone who worked with the two of them seemed energized, eager to bring their A-game to help make the performances shine even brighter.
But no one was happier than Laila. She loved cinema with all her heart, and seeing the scenes in her mind come to life on film—knowing they would one day be shown to countless people—gave her a joy that words could not capture.
Silence had a fair number of fight scenes, but this time Laila didn't have Roy design the choreography—she brought in the Hong Kong stunt team she'd worked with before. Just the day before, they'd flown in to the island.
They'd expected a typical Hollywood production, full of foreign faces—so when they saw Leslie Cheung not only present but starring as one of the leads, the room practically exploded.
The happiest of all was Sammo Hung. He was so moved he could hardly speak for a long moment. This—this was pride. In decades of cinema, the number of Eastern actors who had headlined in Hollywood could be counted on one hand, and they had almost all been martial arts stars. In the eyes of foreign audiences, it was as if kung fu was the only thing Easterners could bring to the world stage.
For Eastern filmmakers with any ambition, that stereotype was a bitter pill.
But Leslie Cheung was different—he wasn't a martial arts star in the traditional sense, and had rarely done heavily action-oriented films. In this movie, though there was plenty of fighting, his character was a master of pharmacology—skilled with poisons and medicines, able to heal or harm, and fully capable of protecting himself through his craft.