"The Truman Show, directed by Edward? Then it should still be quite good."
Film critic Roger held his movie ticket in hand and sat inside the theater waiting for the screening to begin, a faint weariness flickering in his eyes.
As a film critic, this was both a painful yet somewhat fortunate profession. The painful part was that he had to watch movies every single day. The fortunate part was—naturally—that he also got to watch movies every single day.
Roger had once believed that he didn't need to watch films daily. After all, the number of movies available in theaters was limited. A cinema typically scheduled no more than a dozen films each day, sometimes fewer than ten. Each film lasted only about two hours. So what? Watch it once, and that would be that.
If one were ruthless, the moment a film was released you could go watch it immediately, and after that, you could rest for a long time. Wasn't that exactly Roger's image of an ideal job? Short working hours, high salary, and plenty of freedom to arrange your time however you pleased.
But ideals were like Gojo Satoru declaring victory, only to be cut clean in half by Sukuna—harsh reality striking it down without mercy.
Short working hours? Technically yes. But to write reviews that were fair, insightful, impressive, and stood out from the crowd, sometimes a single movie had to be rewatched several times. This was so that a critic could uncover Easter eggs and hidden details before other reviewers, securing traffic and attention.
If it were a commercial blockbuster, that was still fine. The logic of such films was usually very simple and straightforward—like the answers placed right in front of you, all you had to do was trace them out. At most, wait to see if there was a post-credit scene. That was the end of the job.
But the problem was: not every movie was a commercial blockbuster. Some carried suspense, some contained veiled satire. Those required careful pondering, one viewing not enough, two or more needed until one had confidence in the interpretation.
That was why most critics deliberately cultivated good relations with directors. This way, when writing reviews, they could appear more authoritative. After all, by asking the director whether the film carried any hidden meaning, they could save themselves a great deal of labor.
So, while the job looked short in hours, in truth it wasn't short at all. The intensity was maxed out.
A competent film critic not only had to maintain their fanbase, but also keep constant track of the entertainment industry, so that they could seize trending topics at the earliest possible moment. On top of that, they sometimes had to compete with peers, handle haters, edit videos, and much more. In reality, the job was exhausting.
High salary? That too depended. In the beginning, Roger couldn't even afford meals. He relied on his parents' support. Only after building a small fanbase did, he gradually earn enough to feed himself.
Now, he had reached the stage where he could send money back to his parents as a show of filial piety. But the deepest impression he carried was—money is hard to earn, and food is hard to swallow. Or in other words, plenty of people would rather eat shit if it meant earning more money.
In this world, perhaps being born the child of a wealthy family was the only truly easy thing. Everything else was never that easy.
"But Director Edward's films are relatively easy to understand," Roger thought, "just not too friendly to the heart, and sometimes the depth is hard to dig out."
The announcement for admission rang through the hall. Roger picked up his ticket and entered the theater. The hall was packed. Edward had won the hearts of countless audiences with his endless supply of high-quality films.
Roger himself quite liked Edward's work. They looked simple, didn't require overthinking, then suddenly scared you half to death. Afterwards, they still left you with a strange sense of satisfaction.
So yes, Roger genuinely enjoyed watching them. Still, for the sake of releasing reviews at the earliest opportunity, he worked hard. To speed things up, he had even prepared templates—depending on the genre, he only had to slot in scores and polish accordingly.
That way he could publish as quickly as possible. Of course, typing speed was critical. If your fingers weren't fast, you couldn't grab the traffic.
As the theater darkened, the film began. Roger watched intently. But the moment he saw the first human face, and then Truman, a faint sense of unease crept into his heart. Something didn't feel right.
"This… doesn't look like a horror movie."
["You can't give up, buddy. Even if you're only on tiptoe, you've got to climb the peak."]
Truman spoke softly to his reflection in the mirror.
Then the film cut between the director's narration, Truman's own monologues, and two actors smiling into the camera as they declared The Truman Show was the ultimate reality show, completely authentic.
Roger fell silent. Could it be a sci-fi horror film? But the lines—Truman's words combined with the actors' claims—carried a strange sense of absurdity. Roger sat up straighter, focusing hard. He wanted to see. He wanted to know just what kind of film this was.
[Day 10,909]
"10,909? If you divide by 365, that's about thirty years." Roger subconsciously did the math and was stunned by the number. Compared to the simple word thirty years, a figure like 10,909 felt so much more direct, so much larger, so much more despair-inducing.
"In case I never see you again—good afternoon, good evening, and good night~"
With Truman's bright smile and cheerful demeanor, the movie formally began.
The sunlight was dazzling, the colors bright and not oppressive. Everything felt unique, in sharp contrast to Edward's earlier works. Roger was certain—this was not a horror film. Just as Edward had written on his personal account, The Truman Show was a drama, a film that attempted to say something.
Roger had seen all of Edward's works, even outdoor screenings like Lights Out. From them he noticed one habit of the director: Edward liked to tell stories through color tones.
Generally, color palettes were divided into warm, cool, and neutral tones. According to researchers, colors could affect a person's mood to some extent. Even psychology used a person's favorite colors to analyze their personality traits.
Roger realized Edward especially loved using tones to narrate. In his earlier horror films, most shots were drenched in cool tones, evoking suppression, unease, and dread—viewers trembling uncontrollably with fear.
But in this film, there were many warm tones interwoven with cooler ones, but overall warmth dominated. Roger was certain—this was not a horror film. If it were, given Edward's personality, the jump-scare shots would have already begun.
Truman prepared to drive to work, but something fell from the sky. He investigated and found it was a stage spotlight, one commonly used on set, labeled with the name of a constellation.
"Fake… everything is fake. Truman lives in a fabricated world. This is… The Truman Show!?"
Roger instantly realized. Coupled with what had come before, he understood—he was sitting in a theater, watching someone else act out a reality show.
Having realized this, Roger watched even more intently.
Truman, though confused, still drove to work. On the way, the radio conveniently explained away the fallen light as debris from a passing airplane, dismissing it as an accident. Truman didn't doubt it, and happily went on his way. Strangers greeted him on the street, advertisements loomed around him—brands Roger himself recognized.
But Roger ignored those. What he cared about now was—how would Truman eventually discover that the world around him was fake? That was the hook. Wouldn't a drama like this risk boring the audience? Wouldn't people leave halfway?
After all, not everyone liked dramas or art films. Not everyone enjoyed pondering a director's philosophical questions about life and society. Some people just wanted to relax during their free time, nothing more.
But Roger was no longer worried. Edward was undoubtedly an outstanding director. He had gripped the audience right from the start with the reality-show format. Although it was a drama, it didn't preach. It simply narrated—a butterfly caught in a spider's web, struggling without realizing it.
Truman, at work, asked about traveling to Alola. His manager overheard. Glancing at his newspaper, it bore the headline: "Seaview Town, The Best Place in the World."
Truman continued pitching products to clients but still privately asked about Alola. His manager's face darkened. Then he arranged for Truman to take a work trip to another island.
Roger frowned. Weren't they worried Truman might escape? When he saw that fallen lamp earlier, he already suspected the town Truman lived in was fabricated—a set built solely to film The Truman Show.
But when Truman arrived at the pier, Roger saw him trembling with fear. The camera lingered on a sunken boat nearby. Truman's legs shook. Everyone around him seemed to be observing his reaction. In the end, Truman gave up on leaving.
Then Truman's wife appeared. Roger's eyes widened—it was the same actress from the beginning! He drew a sharp breath. So Truman's wife was fake too? If she was an actress, then their love, their marriage—was it all scripted?
Truman's wife even slipped in product placements while talking. Roger felt angry. Truman was being kept entirely in the dark!
Later, Truman confided in a male friend, once again speaking of leaving for Alola. But his friend discouraged him. Truman sat alone by the ocean at night, staring at the waves. Then came a flashback.
In it, Roger learned why Truman feared the sea. As a child, he went sailing with his father, only to encounter a storm. His father drowned before his very eyes, leaving young Truman scarred with deep oceanic terror.
"This is control, pure control… wait—could Truman's father also have been an actor?"
A chilling thought struck Roger. He tensed. If so, then Truman's despair was unfathomable.
His entire life, arranged from the start.
The story advanced. Truman noticed strange events—rain falling only on him, even chasing him when he moved. His wife opposed him, spoke of having children.
Meanwhile, the camera cut to the security staff in a garage, chatting as they watched The Truman Show. They even revealed that during intimate moments, the production crew deliberately turned the cameras away to avoid exposing privacy.
The next day, Truman went to work and saw a homeless man who looked exactly like his father. He tried to confirm it, but a group of people blocked him, and the vagrant was whisked away. Truman never got the chance. Troubled, he visited his mother. Roger realized—his mother was also an actress.
"So… in The Truman Show, Truman is the only real person?" Roger suddenly grasped it.
Truman's mother denied everything. His wife reassured him not to overthink—and slipped in yet another advertisement. Truman grew suspicious. He pulled out a red piece of clothing and fell into thought.
Through another flashback, Roger finally saw: Truman had once met a girl in school and fallen for her. Though she was an actress, she wasn't cast as Truman's love interest. They weren't scripted to have romance. Still, Truman confessed, and the girl dragged him to the beach, whispering cryptic warnings.
"Damn riddlers," Roger muttered, shaking his head. "Why couldn't she just say it directly? Tell him everyone around him was fake, just actors, that he was living on a set? Why speak in half-truths?"
The result was Truman staring in confusion as his love was taken away. Her "father" claimed they were leaving for Alola the next day. This became one of Truman's reasons for longing to go to Alola.
"What the hell? Even this is on videotape?" Roger cursed inwardly. Only when he heard the commentary of in-film "viewers" did he realize the flashback itself was also a recording. Truman's entire life, everything, was captured on film.
But this only made Roger more curious. If that was the case, how would Director Edward steer the story forward? How would he develop it? Truman couldn't remain a reality show actor forever. A film needed conflict. And conflict tested the director and screenwriter. Mishandled, even a masterpiece could collapse into garbage.
When Truman took out his wife's photo frame, assembling the torn pieces of another woman's face behind it, the shot zoomed out to reveal—the actress herself was also watching The Truman Show.
Then Truman accidentally tuned into the crew's frequency while driving, discovering oddities. His suspicion grew. He began doubting everything around him.
Roger leaned forward, heart racing. What choices would Truman make? How would he uncover the truth of this false world?
(End of chapter)
(TN: Love this film, just watched it like a few months ago.)