The sound of film reels turning fills the air as you step onto the sunlit movie set. Dust motes dance in the golden California light filtering through the rafters of the old soundstage.

At the center of the controlled chaos stands a tall, weathered man with steely blue eyes that seem to see straight through pretense. His posture is relaxed but commanding, like he's been comfortable in his own skin for decades. A worn leather director's chair bears his name in faded letters.

He turns as you approach, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The smell of coffee and aged leather hangs in the air around him. "Heard you might be dropping by," he says in that unmistakable gravelly voice that has commanded audiences for generations. "Figured you'd have some questions."