They filmed a lot of empty shots that seemed meaningless but carried a sense of melancholy—like the dilapidated basketball courts in the neighborhood.
Or abandoned children's swings, specifically looking for the ones that were heavily rusted. Shane walked over and gave one a kick, letting the empty swing sway back and forth.
...
For the final shot, Shane had Karen stand at a distance and film him walking alone down a potholed street, his back to the camera.
He had carefully selected this street for its perspective and depth.
In the lens, the low-angle sunlight of the winter afternoon stretched Shane's shadow long. The backlighting perfectly outlined his tall, lonely silhouette, blending him into the decaying streetscape around him.
In an era before online video had fully exploded and authentic depictions of lower-class life were largely ignored by streaming media, Shane's raw, unedited footage already possessed an inexplicable infectiousness.
---
Finally done with filming, Shane and Karen returned home. The moment they stepped inside, the heating cut off the cold from outside.
Carl and Debbie were still watching TV.
Lip had returned at some point and was sprawled on the sofa gnawing on an apple. Seeing the two of them, he raised an eyebrow with a curious expression.
"Hey," Lip asked, "our 'South Side Adonis' and his muse have returned from gathering material? Get any Oscar-worthy footage? Need me to use my connections and contact my 'senior partners' in Hollywood for you?"
Facing Lip's simple teasing, Shane smiled. He was used to this Gallagher style of communication.
"No need, thanks for your 'kindness,'" Shane replied as he took off his jacket.
"Actually, I just got a notification. The Oscar committee said as long as I film it, they'll give me an award. I'm going up to accept the golden statuette next year. How about this: if you give me 100 bucks now, I'll consider taking you with me to carry my bags on the red carpet."
Lip choked for a second, then sneered: "Alright, kid, your mouth's gotten sharper. Looks like you didn't just train your muscles; you trained your mouth too."
Shane shrugged indifferently, not bothering to bicker further, and went straight to the basement with Karen.
He needed to check all the footage from today's shoot as soon as possible and do some preliminary sorting and tagging on the computer.
His brain was already calculating which shots could be used at the beginning to set the mood, which could serve as transitions, and where voiceovers about "South Side daily life" should be inserted to maximize resonance...
Shane had just sat down at the computer, not even having had time to look closely at the outdoor footage, when a bang-bang knock came from the basement door, followed by Kevin's trademark booming voice:
"Hey! Coach! I'm here! What are we doing now? I feel like I'm bursting with energy, like I could fight a bear barehanded!"
As soon as the voice fell, Shane opened the door. Kevin was standing there, his face full of excitement.
Seeing Shane come out, he clumsily threw a few haymakers at the air, imitating a boxer on TV. His posture looked less like boxing and more like he was interrogating an invisible spy.
Shane couldn't help but smile at his impatience.
"Don't rush to fight bears yet. Let's figure out your current physical condition first." He pointed to the empty space in the middle of the basement. "Come on, let's do a few simple tests."
For the next while, Shane had Kevin complete a series of basic physical fitness tests in his basement:
Max push-ups, squats until failure, measuring arm and chest circumference... Throughout the process, Karen held the camcorder, keeping the lens on Kevin to record every grimace and expression during the tests.
These were precious materials and bloopers that couldn't be missed.
The test results were about what Shane expected.
Kevin, who moved beer kegs and did manual labor in the bar all year round, actually had a decent physical foundation. His strength was above average for his age, but his endurance was lagging—he was panting after just a few burpees.
Shane took the data recorded in his notebook and, based on Kevin's height and weight, quickly calculated (combining the knowledge he had learned) his approximate daily caloric needs and body fat percentage in his head.
As he wrote on the paper, he habitually rambled to Kevin:
"Hmm... your basal metabolic rate is around... to gain muscle, your daily intake should reach... with this body fat percentage, we need to first..."
"Stop, stop, stop! Coach!"
Kevin's head was spinning. he waved his hands to interrupt, his face written with "I don't understand but I'm greatly shocked."
"Don't give me these numbers! Just tell me directly, right now! What do I need to do? Another few sets of that cement barbell bench press? I feel like after doing that thing, these two slabs of meat on my chest are gonna explode!"
As he spoke, he hilariously squeezed his not-so-defined pecs, as if they had already turned into massive pectoral muscles.
Shane looked at him, a bit amused, but he had other plans in mind.
"Kevin, Kevin, don't rush."
Shane put down his pen, looked at Kevin, and said very seriously:
"Listen, your most important task right now isn't to work yourself into the ground immediately. It's to eat more. Get yourself a bit fatter first and bring your weight up."
"What?!"
Hearing Shane say this, Kevin's eyes went wide instantly. His voice raised an octave, disbelief written all over his face.
"Why?! I came to you to help me kill this fat! Why are you telling me to get fat? Brother, are you sure you didn't say that backward? Or did Frank spike your drink last night?"
He pointed at his slightly protruding belly, looking like he had heard the most ridiculous joke of the century.
Seeing Kevin's "I'm uneducated, don't lie to me" expression, Shane knew that talking to him about "caloric surplus" or "anabolism" was casting pearls before swine.
Although half of it was indeed "tricking" Kevin.
Shane switched to logic Kevin could understand.
"Listen, Kevin," Shane gestured with both hands, trying to make the explanation more vivid. "Imagine your body is that old furnace in your bar."
Kevin's attention was drawn back. He knew furnaces.
"If you want the furnace to burn hot, is just scooping out ash (losing fat) useful? You have to add enough firewood and coal (food) first! Your problem right now is that there isn't enough wood in the chamber, the fire isn't hot, so you pant after jumping twice."
"We add good firewood (eat more) first, get the fire roaring, make your strength greater, make the muscles (fat) thicker... In the end, your muscles will be way stronger than this little weak flame you have now! Understand?"
Kevin blinked, staring at Shane's gestures, imagining the furnace in his bar. Did he understand? Sort of?
He scratched his head: "So... I'm not supposed to put out the fire, I'm supposed to make it burn hotter first? So should I go eat a donut now?"