"Three, two, one, action."
Mr. Azzi was visibly irritated, like a flea that couldn't stay still.
"For god's sake, someone ordered a pizza twenty-one minutes ago."
He didn't even bother looking at Peter, instead turning to enter the pizza shop, muttering angrily to himself, his chest burning with rage.
"Hamilton, Burton & Smith Law Firm, eight thick crust supreme pizzas..."
Before he could finish speaking, he turned and saw the two Italians making pizzas and couldn't believe his eyes. His temper flared instantly.
"Blah blah... @#%&$ blah..."
He shouted in a torrent of Hindi, a language switching that rendered his already thickly accented English almost incomprehensible.
The Italians behind the counter were not about to back down, angrily gesturing back while shouting, "I told you, I don't understand that language."
"Speak English!"
Mr. Azzi didn't hold back either, shouting right back, "Hell, you can't make pizza!"
"I can't make pizza? I've been making pizza for five years."
"Shut up!" Mr. Azzi shouted at the Italian man, as if an angry bull thrashing about in the small pizza shop.
Nearby, an onlooker was eating his pizza, holding it in his mouth, his right hand pulling the rest as the cheese stretched without breaking. His eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Azzi and Peter, as if captivated by the drama.
In the span of a second, his gaze shifted at least seventy or eighty times, completely unable to hide his excitement.
Mr. Azzi's attention was clearly not on the bystander. He strode behind the counter, giving a slap to the sign hanging on the inner wall of the restaurant—
"Joe's Pizza: Guaranteed in 29 Minutes."
Mr. Azzi kept grumbling, "If it doesn't get there in eight minutes, it'll be past the guaranteed twenty-nine minutes, and then I don't get paid. And on top of that, this big customer is going to switch to 'Yurt's Pizza'."
Peter stood in front of the counter, looking exhausted. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Why don't you just send Salim?"
Mr. Azzi: "Salim got fired yesterday."
Peter: ...
Mr. Azzi was about to say more but was interrupted, "Excuse me, where's my cheese pizza?"
"Him, 'Mr. Smile'." Without turning, Mr. Azzi pointed to the Italian behind him, yelling like a lion, not even looking at the customer. He turned back to the despairing Peter. "I'm counting on you now, alright?"
"You need to get it there on time."
Taking a deep breath, Mr. Azzi forced a smile, but it looked more like an evil grin from a cartoon villain. "Peter, you're a good guy, but you're unreliable. This is your last chance."
Peter was startled.
Mr. Azzi showed no mercy, "You have to cross forty-two blocks in seven and a half minutes, or you're fired."
Peter was stunned, trying to argue for himself, but his thoughts and words got stuck.
The bystander's eyebrows were dancing as he used his tongue to roll the cheese into his mouth, his expression utterly exaggerated.
Mr. Azzi stared blankly at Peter, then turned to grab the tall stack of pizzas and put them on the counter.
Bang.
Pushing the pizzas forward, he and Peter stared at each other. Mr. Azzi's mouth curved into a smile—an empty, emotionless grin—but seeing Peter not responding, he immediately frowned and roared like a lion.
"Go!"
It was like thunder in a clear sky, the roaring waves opening to swallow Peter whole.
Peter's knees bent slightly, instinctively taking a small step back, driven by survival instinct to put distance between them.
A beat late, Peter finally found a trace of rationality in the storm: save the job.
He grabbed the stack of pizza boxes and rushed out of the pizza shop.
Snap.
The bystander's cheese string finally broke, leaving him frozen in place.
"Cut!"
Sam halted the filming.
This time, before Sam could say anything, someone in the crew couldn't hold it in.
Pfft.
They let out a laugh, and then a murmur of laughter quickly spread throughout the crew.
This was definitely comedy.
Whether it was Asif's rhythmic speech, his almost incomprehensible curry-accented English, the natural comedic timing paired with his eye rolls and mumbling, or Anson's cartoonish reactions, from his expressions to his body language, all of it had a certain absurdity to it. Then add in the attention-grabbing bystander with his perfectly timed reactions, and the chemistry of the scene exploded.
It was too funny!
Sam looked at the crew, bewildered, glancing left and right. Finally, he couldn't hold it in, and the tension in his mouth relaxed.
The chemistry in this scene had been completely unexpected.
Asif deserved applause. There was no sign of the earlier stumbling—his lines, his accent, his expressions—everything was perfect, and his portrayal of an irritating boss was masterful. The slightly exaggerated comic book style wasn't overdone but carried an underlying humor.
Moreover, such a long line, with the focus of the entire scene on Asif's shoulders, was delivered in one go without a single stumble—
No wonder Anson had suggested shooting this scene now. Asif was clearly in the zone.
Sam loved Asif's subtle facial expressions; they were beyond words and brought the character to life more than lines ever could.
Sam thought for a moment and spoke through his walkie-talkie to the pizza shop, since he was standing behind the monitor at the street corner, far from the camera. Shouting wouldn't have worked.
"Excellent." Sam said, then thought, "Asif..."
Asif's heart tightened, and he held his breath, swallowing dryly.
"Brilliant performance." Sam's praise made Asif clench his fist, exhaling long. "Let's do it again. This time, Asif, make your expressions... a bit more animated. We'll add more comedic effect. Be more emotionally exaggerated with the employee, the customer, Peter."
"Basically, just follow your instincts, and slightly exaggerate the details. I know you can nail it."
Having his work recognized, Asif felt warmth surging in his chest, with countless words stuck in his throat, not knowing how to express them. In the end, he simply said, "No problem." He paused. "Thank you, Director."
Sam also paused, his thoughts churning. "You should thank Anson."
Asif quickly looked at Anson, mouthing silently, "Thank you."
Anson returned a smile.
Sam continued, "Anson... everything's great, just do it as you see fit. We'll do one more take, and then get some close-ups. Anson, the close-ups will focus mainly on you. Let's give the audience a good look at our Spider-Man."
Surprisingly, Sam even cracked a small joke.