"Do you really like old movies?" Old John asked as he stood behind the bar, drying glasses.
Though they had not known each other long, he had come to understand Henry, the big kid. Maybe he had secrets of his own, maybe he was "different" too, but so what?
Old John had a typically Western mindset. He was happy to pave the way for those who came after him, but how they chose to walk it was their own business.
Of course, there was one major condition: they had to be pleasing to his eye, willing to listen to advice, free of lofty ambitions without practical ability, and know how to live with their feet on the ground. That was what diligence and decency meant to people of his generation.
In their eyes, Henry was exactly that kind of person. That was why his interactions with Old John, and even with the whole town, had become so simple, without so much self-interest involved.
So whenever Old John saw something or wanted to ask something, he simply asked.
Lately, compared with free, semi-official news channels like CNN, Henry had preferred watching old movies.
And he did not watch them only once. Even if they were reruns, he would watch them a second or third time, his eyes glued to the screen every time.
Caught off guard by Old John's sudden question, Henry first shifted one eye toward him, then the other, then turned his head. Only then did he seem to snap back to his senses, emerging from his immersion in the movie.
Henry replied, "They're all so beautiful."
As a man who had experienced twenty-first-century anime aesthetics and been baptized by all kinds of voluptuous online goddesses, Henry had thought black-and-white films—antiques no less ancient than dinosaur fossils—would be completely at odds with him.
After all, he had seen clips online before, including Charlie Chaplin's classic black-and-white silent films, and those exaggerated body movements had made him cringe terribly.
At first, he watched them only because he had endured nearly twenty years without entertainment, with nothing but pain in the latter half. It was a compromise born of having no other choice.
But once he watched seriously, he understood why classics were called classics.
There was no need to mention cinematic techniques like camerawork and lighting. Every era had something worth praising. To truly study them would require an essay long enough for a film studies PhD to ramble on about. Henry was not that professional.
What truly captivated him were the women who could still be breathtakingly beautiful beneath those black-and-white images.
After nearly twenty years of entertainment starvation, Henry had irreversibly become addicted to black-and-white films.
Of course, objectively speaking, there was nothing else around for him to become addicted to. He could not exactly get hooked on billiards or darts.
With Henry's current physical abilities, the only question in competitive or athletic events was how much he should hold back, not how he could win.
A Kryptonian's abilities were not merely simple enhancements like greater strength or faster speed. They involved minute control over every muscle, even a certain degree of alteration.
It was like the difference between an ordinary person's arm when it was extended and when it was bent and flexed, making the biceps bulge. Except a Kryptonian's adjustments were far more precise.
As far as his face was concerned, he could easily make those so-called exaggerated facial expressions. All kinds of over-the-top looks were effortless for him. He could even make subtle adjustments that made his entire face look like someone else's.
In sports, that meant perfect control over every degree of force. Combined with his reaction speed and thinking ability, every world record in athletics was like a sheet of paper that could be torn apart with a breath in front of Henry.
Take darts, for example. Hitting wherever he wanted was the most basic ability. Billiards was the same. Pocketing multiple balls with one shot or clearing the table in a single turn had become routine.
After playing a few times, Henry stopped bothering with those games. One reason was that they were boring, and the other was that he did not want to expose his abilities.
Old John understood Henry's reasoning and agreed. "Women from the Golden Age truly can't be compared with those female stars nowadays. Not every woman who flaunts her sex appeal can become Marilyn Monroe."
"Marilyn Monroe?" Though he did not criticize her outright, Henry's tone made his disdain clear. Pointing at the woman on the television screen, he said, "Now that is a real man's dream, okay?"
The television was replaying Audrey Hepburn's Roman Holiday. The runaway princess was riding a little scooter through the streets of Rome with a reporter who had less than honorable intentions.
Put nicely, her elegance blended with an innocent smile, making every glance and gesture enchanting. Put less nicely, she carried an air of foolish nobility that made people want to protect that smile—or destroy it...
In that shot, all the director's and cinematographer's efforts seemed meaningless. The male lead with no presence and the passersby might as well have been background props.
Everyone's gaze would be drawn to Audrey Hepburn's face, marveling at every expression she made.
Unfortunately, Henry's opinion did not win over most of the people in the bar. A group of old men booed like they were opening soda bottles.
"Young people are young people. You only know how to look at a pretty face. Don't you know that body, skinny as a bamboo pole, would only jab you when you held her? Marilyn Monroe is the real prize."
But others disagreed. "You people don't understand. Greta Garbo was Venus descended into the human world. Just seeing her makes me stand in awe."
"What kind of goddess has a cold face? Hedy Lamarr was the symbol of desire. Looking at her makes my thoughts gush forth like a spring, erupting beyond control."
Listening to everyone talk about the goddess in their hearts, Henry could not help sighing. "Are everyone's tastes really that different?"
"Rather than saying our preferences are different, it's better to say Hollywood in its Golden Age produced real beauties. What kind of ugly rejects do movies have now? It's like anyone with two eyes and one nose can get on camera."
"Yeah, there are too many choices. No matter who you pick, it doesn't feel right."
"I think you're all just arguing for the sake of it. Whatever someone else says, you always want to come up with something different."
"Anyway, we can only see them in movies. Can't we talk about them?"
"Of course you can. You can do whatever you want. Just go home and sleep early. Anything can come true in your dreams."
"Hey, tell me this. At the rate Hollywood is degenerating, do you think someday there'll be some dark-skinned woman, or one with a square face, thick eyebrows, big lips, and eyes that glare harder than your wives'—and she'll become the female lead? And we'll still be expected to buy tickets to see that in theaters?"
Old man, you really shouldn't have said that. If you people can just hang on a little longer, you'll see that future. Not just the film industry—television, games, every visually driven medium will be invaded. Isn't that thrilling?
Clutching his head, Henry groaned, "Ah, don't say it. I really don't want to see a future like that."
Everyone, including Old William, burst into laughter.
Then someone suddenly said, "Henry, if you're so interested in movies, why don't you go to Hollywood?"
The laughter stopped abruptly, and the bar fell silent.
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