Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin's sharp observation skills quickly picked up on Natalie's subtle gestures and demeanor. Combined with his memories of her from his time in China, he formed an initial assessment of her character: a shrewd, calculating woman adept at disguising her intentions. A typical Hollywood "green tea" personality, he mused.

Once Martin had signed autographs for the crew, Natalie had finished tidying up and offered, "Let's go. Coffee's on me."

She made a point of glancing at Meryl Streep while speaking, catching a genuine smile on the older woman's face—not the condescending smirk Natalie was used to.

Heh!

Natalie smirked internally, taking delight in this rare victory. Linking arms with Scarlett, she sent a fleeting, coquettish smile Martin's way—one that Scarlett couldn't see—before heading out.

At the Coffee Shop

"You were amazing, Natalie!" Scarlett praised enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Scarlett," Natalie replied, before turning to Martin with a curious expression. "Among the three of us, your acting skills are unparalleled. What's your take on my performance?"

Martin sipped his coffee leisurely and began, "In a picturesque village by a serene lakeside, there was a girl named Nina Zarechnaya. She dreamed of the stage, fame, love, and happiness. To her, life was as beautiful and mesmerizing as the lake and the sky above—an illusion of boundless dreams. But life, as it often does, dashed those dreams."

He paused before delving deeper.

"Chekhov's works don't just offer a modern perspective on art—they extend this modernity to life itself. He avoids black-and-white depictions of people and situations, choosing instead to show life in its many shades of gray. As he once said, 'In my plays, there are neither angels nor devils.'"

Martin's analytical tone captivated Natalie.

"In The Seagull, Chekhov masterfully builds tension through silence, bringing the audience to an emotional breaking point. Yet, after the explosion comes an overwhelming emptiness. It's this emptiness that provides a profound sense of fulfillment to the audience."

He leaned forward slightly. "To play Chekhov's characters well, you must embody that vast emptiness—a void left after joy and despair collide. That's where the magic lies."

Martin's critique shifted directly to Natalie's performance. "You delivered a strong, intense portrayal, but it lacked subtlety. Specifically, in the final act: Nina, having endured so much, returns to the estate. At that point, she's like the seagull that's been shot down—a life destroyed by Trigorin. She meets Konstantin again, the man who shaped her fate. But your portrayal came across as too aggressive."

He continued, "At that moment, Nina and Konstantin have both come to terms with harsh truths. For Konstantin, the realization leads to his tragic end—he lacks the courage to face life's cruelties. Nina, however, chooses a path of acceptance. She carries her cross, but it's a descent rather than an ascent."

Martin concluded, "Your portrayal should have reflected that descent—not a rise in defiance, but a quiet resignation that paradoxically elevates her spirit. Chekhov's characters, after all, find liberation not through triumph but through falling deeply into their struggles."

Natalie sat transfixed, absorbing every word. What began as a casual question to engage Martin had turned into a masterclass in interpretation. His detailed analysis of Nina's character exposed nuances she had missed, making her reassess her performance.

For the first time, Natalie realized that Martin wasn't just another Hollywood darling riding a wave of hype. He possessed real talent—genius even.

Her admiration for him deepened. She had always been drawn to men of intellect, and Martin's insights set him apart from the shallow actors she'd encountered in Hollywood.

"You're a fan of Chekhov?" she asked, her interest piqued. "You seem incredibly well-versed in his work."

Martin shook his head. "I don't idolize anyone. What I admire is brilliance—whether it's Chekhov's realism cloaked in humor, Mark Twain's humor veiling sharp satire, or Maupassant's depictions of human nature within mundane details. I study these elements, synthesize them, and make them my own."

Natalie was impressed. Hollywood wasn't known for nurturing intellectuals, and Martin's articulate, substantial conversation was a refreshing change.

She found herself recalling the reasons she had retreated from acting. After Léon: The Professional, her rising fame had exposed her to a toxic industry filled with unrefined, superficial people. Her decision to pursue a degree at Harvard stemmed from a desire to escape the chaos and establish herself as more than just an actress.

Yet now, sitting across from Martin and Scarlett, Natalie couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. She had underestimated the speed at which Hollywood moves on.

The media had initially celebrated her as a "Harvard-bound Hollywood star," but her absence soon made her irrelevant. Fame is a fleeting commodity in a world driven by profits. Without a steady output of films, even the most unique narratives—like a Harvard-educated actor—fail to sustain public interest.

Scarlett, by contrast, had everything Natalie once dreamed of: a thriving career, stability, and a powerful ally in Martin.

As Natalie glanced at Scarlett, a flicker of envy crossed her mind. What if today was my chance? My opportunity to rewrite my story?

After some time, Scarlett checked her watch. "We should probably wrap this up. I have a meeting with Sofia Coppola later to review some edits for Lost in Translation."

"When's it coming out?" Martin asked.

"Next year," Scarlett replied.

"That's a long wait for a finished film."

Scarlett shrugged. "Sofia's meticulous. Besides, not everyone has your knack for churning out scripts and detailed storyboards. You make everything look so easy."

Martin grinned. "What can I say? Efficiency is my middle name."

Scarlett chuckled, and with that, the trio parted ways—but not before Natalie made sure to leave a lingering impression on Martin.