Lucas immersed himself in studying the religious background that shaped Elvis, diving deep into the heart of Southern Christian faith.
His journey led him to Mississippi, where he sought to experience the spirit of the churches firsthand.
Surprisingly, Tom Hanks decided to tag along. Not for method acting—he was never that kind of actor—but because he wanted to keep an eye on Lucas.
He figured they could rehearse together while he did his own research, listening to old recordings of Colonel Tom Parker and poring over books. Learning something new always excited him, and in a way, this project made him feel young again.
Lucas, meanwhile, visited small, local churches, each one leaving a unique impression on him.
He found himself drawn to the soulful energy of Southern gospel music, the kind that didn't just fill the air but seemed to vibrate through the walls and into the bones of every person inside.
One particular church, tucked away from the busy streets, wasn't well-known, but the devotion inside was palpable.
The gospel singers weren't just singing—they were feeling the music, their bodies moving instinctively, caught in the rhythm of faith.
Their movements weren't polished, weren't practiced, but somehow, they carried a raw magnetism that made everyone in the room want to sway along.
Lucas, sitting quietly in the back, observed with a fascination that bordered on awe.
Then the lead singer, a lively man whose voice was as powerful as his presence, suddenly noticed him.
"Well, lookie here! We got ourselves another faithful brother among us!" he called out, his voice booming with excitement.
Heads turned. The congregation followed his gaze to Lucas, who, despite wearing a Yankees cap pulled low, felt their eyes locking onto him.
The singer grinned, eyes twinkling. "Come on now, brother! Don't just stand there—join us in feelin' the Lord!"
Lucas hesitated. He hadn't come here to participate, just to observe. But the energy in the room was infectious, and the way they all looked at him—expectant, welcoming—made it clear he wasn't getting out of this.
With a resigned sigh, he stood and stepped forward, earning cheers and claps as he awkwardly began moving with the music.
It felt… strange. But also freeing. The laughter, the clapping, the rhythm—none of it was forced. No choreography, no script. Just raw, uninhibited movement.
The pastor, grinning ear to ear, made his way around the room, engaging the congregation mid-dance.
"Brother Jacob! What's the Lord puttin' on your heart today?"
An older man, moving joyfully, responded, "He's tellin' me to keep pushin' through! To trust His plan!"
The crowd cheered.
The pastor spun to another woman. "Sister Lola! What's the Lord whisperin' to ya?"
"He's tellin' me that no matter how tough life gets, He's right beside me!"
More cheers.
Then the pastor turned to Lucas, who had been hoping to stay unnoticed.
"And what about you, young man? What's the Lord speakin' to your heart today?"
All eyes were on him again.
Lucas, caught up in the moment, exhaled and smiled. He wasn't sure what to say, but he let the energy of the room guide him.
"He's tellin' me…" He paused, feeling the rhythm, then grinned. "That I should stop overthinkin'… and just dance."
The room erupted in laughter and cheers, the music swelling again.
Lucas let his body move instinctively, no rehearsed steps, no calculated motions—just pure, raw energy. He surrendered to the rhythm, allowing his movements to be dictated by what he felt in the moment.
It was unpolished yet electrifying, a dance of complete presence, just like what he had witnessed in the churches.
Thirty minutes passed in what felt like an instant, and as the music slowed, he nodded in silent gratitude before slipping out of the church.
After five visits to different small churches, Lucas felt he had absorbed what he needed. It wasn't just about understanding Elvis—it was about feeling the spirit behind the music, the uninhibited way it moved through people, urging them to dance, to sing, to be in the moment.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
When he returned to the hotel, he found Tom Hanks sitting in the lounge, a book on psychology open in his lap. As soon as he noticed Lucas walk in, he set the book aside and grinned.
"How about it, kid?" Tom leaned back, watching him with curiosity. "Learned something new today?"
They had been in Mississippi for three days now, with Lucas immersing himself in the local churches, experiencing the faith that had shaped Elvis. Tom wasn't one to dive headfirst into method acting, but he respected Lucas' process. What he saw wasn't just blind dedication—it was research, an artist's way of finding his truth in the role.
Lucas dropped onto the sofa with a thoughtful smile. "I've learned something, alright," he mused, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "Sundays… they're different. Church hits different on Sundays."
Tom raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what exactly did you learn?"
Lucas didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood up, rolled his shoulders back, and took his stance as if he were holding an invisible microphone.
Tom smirked, crossing his arms. "Ah… I see. You're gonna show me instead of telling me."
Lucas didn't respond—he just started to move.
At first, it was slow, just a sway of the hips, a tap of the foot. Then, suddenly, the energy surged.
He launched into Blue Suede Shoes, his voice rich and soulful, brimming with something more than just technical skill. It was instinctual.
The dance wasn't choreographed, nor was it strictly Elvis—it was alive, fueled by the same fire he had seen in those churches, the same spontaneous movement of faith and feeling.
Tom watched, his smile faltering as something unexpected happened—he felt it.
It wasn't just performance; it was magnetic.
Before he even realized it, his own foot tapped in rhythm. Then his shoulders moved. And then, like he had been possessed by the spirit of the music itself, Tom found himself dancing.
"What the hell—" he laughed, his body moving on its own. "What is this?! My feet have a life of their own!" He bobbed his head, his laughter blending with the rhythm.
Lucas grinned but didn't stop. He just kept singing, feeding off the energy in the room.
For a few minutes, they danced like two guys who had forgotten the weight of reality, caught up in nothing but the sheer joy of movement.
Finally, breathless, Tom bent over with his hands on his knees, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus, kid..." he panted, looking up at Lucas with wide eyes. "I didn't expect that."
Lucas swiped the sweat from his forehead, catching his breath. He grinned and asked, "What do you think? Was I Elvis enough?"
Tom didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied Lucas with an intense gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. Something in the air shifted.
Lucas felt a chill run down his spine.
That wasn't Tom Hanks anymore.
That was Colonel Tom Parker.
"I see potential in you, kid." Tom's voice curled into a deep Southern drawl, but with a hint of an odd Dutch lilt—uncanny, calculated. It was both warm and predatory.
Lucas's eyes slightly widened. 'So, he's in character now.'
The way Tom looked at him… it was as if he were a businessman sizing up his most valuable product.
Lucas suddenly understood why people said Parker was a genius—and a devil.
Without another word, Lucas straightened his stance. He let himself fall into the moment, stepping into Elvis's shoes without hesitation. His voice softened, hesitant yet full of youthful excitement.
"You really think so, sir?"
Tom's smirk widened. "Think so? Kid, I know so." He chuckled, his tone oozing with confidence, with manipulation. "A boy like you, with a voice like that, hips like that? Lord, have mercy, the world ain't seen nothin' yet."
Lucas felt the back-and-forth unfold naturally, like they were standing in a different time. They were no longer Lucas Knight and Tom Hanks—they were Elvis Presley and Colonel Tom Parker, at the very moment Elvis was discovered.
They played off each other effortlessly, the energy bouncing between them as if they had already spent months rehearsing.
Minutes passed before the scene came to its natural close.
Tom relaxed, the mask of Parker slipping away. His warm, familiar smile returned as he looked at Lucas, shaking his head in disbelief. "I cannot believe it, kid."
Lucas wiped his face with his sleeve. "What?"
"You actually did it." Tom chuckled, rubbing his chin. "It's been, what? A few days since you started diving into his religion? And already—this?" He gestured to Lucas. "Unbelievable."
Lucas shrugged. "I've been working hard."
"Not just that." Tom stepped closer, his voice quieter but full of admiration. "The way you carry yourself, the way you sing, the way you move—for a moment, I swear to God, it was like Elvis himself had possessed you." He let out a breathy chuckle. "If you get any better, kid, I might have to start callin' a priest."
Lucas smirked. "You're flattering me too much."
Tom shook his head. "No, no, I mean it. I've seen a lot of actors, a lot of talent. But this? I admire the hell out of what you're doing." He tapped his temple. "I hope one day you can teach me your own methods. I could use a little of that magic."
Lucas nodded. "Sure. Anytime."
---
After five intense days in Mississippi, Lucas and Tom returned to California, Los Angeles.
The moment they arrived at the Warner Bros. production office, Baz Luhrmann was already waiting for them. He had been anxious to see how much Lucas had evolved since their last meeting.
They gathered in a private room with the rest of the cast. Lucas stood in the center, taking a deep breath before launching into his performance.
The moment he started, the energy in the room shifted.
His voice rang out, rich and raw. His body moved with effortless confidence, every step, every hip shake infused with something electric.
Olivia, watching from the side, felt her breath hitch. 'I thought his last performance was impressive… but this?' She stared in awe. 'I didn't think he could actually exceed it.'
Some of the other cast members found themselves unconsciously tapping their feet, fingers drumming against their legs, drawn into the magnetism of Lucas's presence.
Baz, sitting in his chair, leaned forward, his hands clasped together, his eyes locked on Lucas like a man who had just found the final piece of a puzzle. His heartbeat quickened.
'This is it,' he thought. 'This is what I've been looking for.'
Meanwhile, Tom stood back, arms crossed, watching not just Lucas but the reactions of everyone else in the room. A satisfied smirk played on his lips.
When Lucas finally finished, his breath slightly labored, the room fell into a stunned silence.
Then—applause.
Claps erupted from every direction, praises following soon after.
"That was amazing!" one cast member exclaimed.
"I felt that!" another chimed in.
Lucas wiped the sweat from his brow, smiling as he looked toward Baz. Unlike the others, the director remained quiet, his gaze still intense.
Seconds stretched.
Then, finally, Baz leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Looks like we're ready to pack our bags for Australia."
Excited murmurs filled the room.
After weeks of rehearsals, of preparation, of refining their performances—it was finally happening.
The production of Elvis was officially about to begin.