vstars Chapter 54 London's Blade
Chapter 54 London's Blade
Patricia was already waiting in the dressing room.
The light from the makeup mirror illuminated the entire room brightly. In front of the mirror were a row of brushes, three boxes of foundation, and an unopened eyebrow trimmer.
Patricia Field stared at Emily Blunt's face, which was not yet fully armed, like a stern general.
"sit down."
Emily sat down immediately.
Patricia didn't rush to do anything. She went around behind the chair, gathered Emily's hair, and examined herself in the mirror for a full half minute.
Her cheekbones are much more defined than those of the average Hollywood actress, and she has thin lips with slightly downturned corners.
Patricia picked up the eyebrow razor from the vanity, but instead of thinning it, she raised the arch of her eyebrow slightly.
As the makeup process began, Emily closed her eyes, feeling the cold brushes tracing her face.
"Honey, don't think of these cosmetics as a burden; they're your armor. In Runway, if you show even a hint of fatigue, it's like shedding a drop of blood in a shark tank."
An hour later, the door to the dressing room slowly opened.
Lin Ruiyang, who had been sitting behind the monitor with his head down, looked up.
The noisy discussions in the studio vanished instantly, and even several burly Black men who were moving props instinctively stopped and held their breath.
The girl who emerged was no longer the London girl with a backpack and hunched shoulders.
Emily Blunt wore a deep purple Saint Laurent fitted suit with an extremely high neckline that almost constricted her throat. This design visually elongated her neck, giving her an almost inhuman sense of arrogance.
Patricia styled her hair into an extremely neat side part, with every strand seemingly positioned precisely.
What's most striking is her eyes.
With deep red eyeshadow and extremely thin eyeliner, her gaze lost all traces of inferiority, leaving only a strong sense of sickness, yet also an extremely elegant indifference.
"That's the feeling." Lin Ruiyang stood up and circled around Emily.
"Don't laugh, Emily. Remember, in this movie, if you laugh, it means you're mocking the other person's cheapness."
"I feel... I can't breathe anymore," Emily said, her voice cold and taut, her back taut.
"That's right, fashion is a painful form of self-cultivation."
Lin Ruiyang turned to John: "Let those reporters in, no, just let the photographers from Vanity Fair and Vogue in. The rest, let them wait at the door to watch our website update."
The heavy soundproof door of the photography studio was pushed open again.
The man who walked in was a thin man in his early fifties.
He wore a faded baseball cap, a Leica with worn-out paint hanging around his neck, and was followed by two assistants carrying a heavy professional lightbox.
But the moment casting director Allen saw who it was, he gasped. Even Patricia Field, who had been in a state of high excitement and was defiant of everyone, stopped what she was doing and showed an expression of almost respect.
Because this man is Patrick Demarchelier, a name that was at the very top of the fashion photography world in 2005.
He was Princess Diana's most trusted personal photographer, a regular contributor to Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, and the creator of countless high-fashion spreads for luxury brands.
If Patricia Field uses clothing to construct the soul of a character, then Patrick is the pope who uses the lens to imbue fashion with divinity.
Patrick ignored the commotion around him.
He took the Leica off his neck, held it in his palm, and weighed it in his hand, as if to confirm its weight.
His approach to photographing subjects is always the same: look at the person first, then raise the camera.
At that moment, his gaze swept over everyone else and landed directly on the deep purple Saint Laurent suit. He looked from the neckline to the waistline, then at the angle of the skirt's drape, and finally settled on Emily's eyes.
He stared at those eyes, which were covered with deep red eyeshadow and extremely thin eyeliner, for perhaps ten seconds, or perhaps longer.
For the next forty minutes, the studio was running at full speed.
Patrick's assistants set up two light boxes that had been repositioned, one shining from a 45-degree angle and the other providing supplemental lighting from below, with the light source positioned just below waistline.
Patricia patrolled back and forth behind the set, ready to adjust any unwanted folds in her clothes at any moment.
Emily stood in the center of the set, being directed by Patrick to change positions four times and angles three times.
The shutter clicked countless times.
After taking the photos, Patrick looked down at the preview image on the digital camera back, remained silent for a long time, then handed the camera to his assistant and went to a corner to take out his phone.
He called the editor-in-chief of American Vogue and said only one sentence: "Give me two double-page spreads of this photo set."
Ignoring the awe-inspiring gazes around him, Patrick simply gestured to his assistant that they could call it a day.
For a photographer of his caliber, producing a set of stunning photos that will be recorded in fashion history is not a miracle to celebrate, but rather a natural professional output, as natural as breathing.
He walked up to Emily, the British girl who had been tense in front of the camera for hours, and was now leaning on a chair, looking somewhat exhausted.
Patrick sized her up, his words carrying an unquestionable professional judgment:
"The lines of your cheekbones and the cut of this Saint Laurent suit create a wonderful chemistry. In the film, you're no longer an interviewee from London; you're part of Manhattan."
You should thank Patricia; she chose two things correctly: the clothes, and you.
Emily nodded, her face pale with surprise and flattery.
Throughout the entire process, Patrick ignored everyone else in the studio.
In his view, the director's task is to provide a qualified actor and a suitable scene, while his task as the cinematographer is to achieve ultimate visual dominance.
As for who created this power, the signature on the negative says it all.
The earthquake occurred half an hour after the official photos were released.
When Vanity Fair and the show's official website released the promotional photos simultaneously, the fashion scene in Los Angeles and New York began to shift.
In 2005, before filters and skin smoothing completely destroyed aesthetics, Patrick's cold and high-contrast black and white images possessed an industrial power sufficient to shatter all rumors.
(It's a bit too difficult to use. I managed to generate one, but it's still quite different from what I imagined...)
"Good heavens, I take back what I said earlier. Lindsay Lohan for this role? You're kidding me, she'd look like a cheerleader who stole her older sister's clothes, while this British girl... she's practically at the very top of the power pyramid!"
"That cool, British vibe is a perfect match for Saint Laurent! How did that Chinese director see that this girl possessed such a commanding presence?"
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, in London at dawn.
The British media, which had initially adopted an angry and defensive stance, went into a frenzy the moment they saw the photo.
The Daily Mail ran the headline on its front page: "London Blade: How to humiliate Hollywood mediocrity with a single photograph."
The article satirizes the situation with scathing remarks: "While NBC is still praising American popcorn aesthetics, that genius director from China has already teamed up with Patrick to slap Hollywood in the face with light and shadow."
Emily Blunt exudes a European elite aura that flows in her blood, something no American sweetheart could cultivate even with a lifetime of gym sessions and beauty salon visits.
Other media outlets were not to be outdone and quickly followed suit.
The Times: "The Manhattan editorial office, a victory for London."
The Guardian: "Emily Blunt is a fashion bomb dropped from across the Atlantic."
The video of an NBC entertainment commentator imitating a London accent to mock others has been compiled into a parody by British media and has been viewed nearly half a million times on YouTube.
And in a top private club in Los Angeles.
Lindsay Lohan angrily slammed her phone onto the sofa, while her agent stood beside her, his face ashen.
The anticipated "Lin Ruiyang begging for mercy" did not happen. Instead, the most powerful fashion magazines in the United States were all sharing the British newcomer's photos.
"Is this what you call a sure win?" Lindsay pointed at the stunning photo of Emily that had dominated the headlines of major fashion websites, her voice shrill.
"The whole of America is laughing at me now, calling me a cheerleader in a fast food box!"