Chapitre 880: Chapter 880: Oscar's Predicament!
By the time Martin returned from his overseas promotional work, the 87th Academy Awards Nominees Luncheon had already come and gone. The event, which typically buzzed with excitement and speculation, had left behind a trail of surprises. Chief among them: Christopher Nolan had not been nominated for Best Director.
The news had stunned many. Nolan, known for his visionary work on films like *Inception* and *The Dark Knight*, had long been expected to land a nomination for *Interstellar*. But instead, his name was glaringly absent from the coveted list. Martin, on the other hand, despite putting in little effort this awards season, had snagged a nomination for Best Actor with ease, thanks in part to his closeness with key Academy members.
Even more shocking was the absence of *Interstellar* from the Best Picture category. Though widely praised for its visual splendor and ambitious storytelling, the film had received mixed reviews from critics, its polarizing reputation likely hurting its chances. Moreover, Nolan's association with blockbuster superhero films had arguably skewed the Academy's perception, casting a shadow over his more serious work. It seemed that while Nolan had harbored high hopes of finally securing an Oscar for Best Director, the Academy had delivered a harsh reality check.
Still, *Interstellar* had picked up a number of technical nominations, including Best Art Direction, Best Original Score, and Best Visual Effects. As Nolan sat in his office at Davis Studio, reflecting on the situation, he sipped his black tea and glanced across the table at Martin.
"I didn't expect things to turn out this way," Nolan admitted, his voice quiet but tinged with disappointment. "I thought I had a decent shot at least at Best Director or Best Picture."
Martin, always one to speak frankly, nodded. "I thought so too. Honestly, I haven't paid much attention to Oscars PR lately. It all feels so unpredictable."
Nolan put down his cup, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "I never used to care much about the Oscars. But the moment I did start caring, I realized, they don't seem to care about me."
There was a self-deprecating chuckle in his tone, but the sting was real. Nolan was still relatively new to the intricacies of the Oscars game, and now, he sought Martin's advice. "Is there anything specific I should be focusing on if I want to compete for an Oscar?"
Martin paused, his eyes narrowing as he gave it serious thought. "Well, first of all, don't get anxious. Sure, there are some lucky ones who win Oscars early in their careers, but those are rare cases. Best to ignore those outliers."
Nolan sighed, knowing full well that luck wasn't on his side. "My biggest claim to fame is being a Hollywood commercial director. It's what I'm known for."
Martin leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "And that, Chris, is part of the problem. The Academy is wary of directors with that kind of reputation. Spielberg, for example, didn't win his first Best Director Oscar until more than ten years into his career. And George Lucas? He's done with the Directors Guild altogether. Winning an Oscar is the last thing on his mind now."
Nolan didn't need Martin to spell it out, he could think of plenty more examples of commercial filmmakers who had struggled to gain recognition from the Academy. But Martin's words carried weight, especially now, after the nominations had snubbed his film.
"Look, if you want my advice," Martin continued, "don't obsess over winning any particular Oscar. It's better to think long-term. You have to balance making the films you want with appealing to the Academy's sensibilities. They don't like being ignored, but they're equally put off by those who seem too focused on winning awards. They're a tricky group to navigate."
Nolan's mind flashed back to Leonardo DiCaprio and Martin Scorsese, two industry titans who had spent years fighting for recognition. He recalled how *The Aviator*, Scorsese's passion project, had been torn apart by critics and Oscar voters alike.
"You're right," Nolan said with a nod. "We have to take the Oscars seriously, but we can't just make films to win awards."
"Exactly," Martin agreed. "That mindset is important."
Nolan leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. "So is there anything unique about how the Academy operates? Any specific strategies?"
Martin hesitated, knowing full well the delicate dance that was Oscars campaigning. After all, he and Nolan had collaborated many times and built a strong working relationship. "It's not just about your film," Martin finally said. "It's also about your competition. Who you're up against can make or break your chances."
Nolan repeated the word, "Competition," understanding immediately. With his knack for marketing, it didn't take long for him to grasp the essence of the game. "I see what you mean."
Martin smiled. "Chris, you might want to think about making a ten-year plan."
"I will," Nolan said with a quiet resolve.
Martin had shared all the wisdom he could, but the path ahead was for Nolan to decide. One thing was clear: the Academy had its own set of rules, and like many before him, Nolan would have to find his way within them. As Martin had observed, the Oscars had a kind of unspoken hierarchy, and in that hierarchy, Nolan, though immensely talented, was still one step beneath actors like DiCaprio, whose own Oscar journey had been a long and arduous one.
If Nolan was to have his moment in the sun, it might just require a film that wasn't so quintessentially "Nolan." Time would tell if he was ready to make that shift.
There was one unspoken truth between Martin and Nolan, something that neither had voiced but both understood all too well: Nolan didn't have the best relationship with the influential Jewish forces in Hollywood. This rift wasn't public knowledge, but within industry circles, it was something people whispered about behind closed doors.
It all started back during the filming of *Inception*. While on location in Morocco, a serious incident occurred, a high-profile kidnapping case that caused a breakdown in trust between Nolan and key figures from that community. Nolan, already frustrated with the situation, let his displeasure simmer, and his dissatisfaction eventually led him to make a bold move: switching from Creative Artists Agency (CAA) to William Morris Agency (WMA), a rare and telling leap between two powerful agencies.
Though no one could say for sure if that particular falling out had affected the Academy's decision not to nominate *Interstellar* for Best Director or Best Picture, it was hard not to speculate. Martin had considered mentioning it during their conversation but decided against it. Both of them knew what had happened; there was no need to dig into old wounds now.
Their chat had stretched on for nearly three hours before Nolan finally stood, signaling that it was time to go. He said his goodbyes and left, still mulling over the disappointment of the Oscar snub.
After Nolan departed, Martin found himself reflecting on his own Oscars journey. He had already secured a Best Actor win for *The Martian* a few years prior, which meant the chances of him winning another for a similar role in *Interstellar* were slim to none. The Academy rarely awarded actors twice in such quick succession, especially for comparable performances.
Instead, Martin's hopes were now pinned on a different role, his portrayal of a mentally ill character in *Split*. The Academy had always had a soft spot for complex, psychologically challenging roles, and this one fit the bill perfectly.
On the other hand, his performance in *Joker* might face some hurdles. The Academy had a complicated relationship with superhero movies, often hesitant to honor them with major awards. And besides, Martin had already won Best Supporting Actor for this role once before, which meant he'd need something truly groundbreaking to warrant another win for the same character.
But for *Joker*, there was a strategy brewing in Martin's mind. He knew that this film needed to stand out, to be seen not just as another superhero flick, but as a cultural event. The kind of film that couldn't be ignored, especially by the Academy. Martin thought back to the campaign they ran for *The Dark Knight* it had been brilliant, and many of those tactics could still work today.
First, Martin knew he needed the right team around him, people who could help craft this narrative and bring the necessary attention to the film. He made a few quick calls, reaching out to trusted allies. Nicholson and Lorraine were on board instantly, and when he rang Leonardo DiCaprio to ask for his help, Leo didn't hesitate either. All three agreed to jump into action, after the current Oscar season wrapped up, of course.
As the North American awards season came to a close, Martin found himself nominated for Best Actor at nearly every major event. Yet, despite the nominations, he wasn't winning. The most telling loss came at the Screen Actors Guild Awards, where British actor Eddie Redmayne took home the Best Actor award for his portrayal of Stephen Hawking in *The Theory of Everything*. That win all but confirmed that Redmayne would also walk away with the Oscar.
Martin knew the writing was on the wall. His chances of winning Best Actor this year were slim, and he had come to terms with it. Nevertheless, he made it a point to attend every Oscar-related event, putting on a show of graciousness and admiration for the Academy. He understood better than most that part of playing the game was showing up, expressing your reverence for the process, even when the outcome wasn't in your favor. That, too, was part of the politics of Hollywood.
Meanwhile, Tom Hanks, the vice chairman of the Academy's executive committee, had taken notice of Martin's presence. After all, Martin was slated to present the award for Best Picture at this year's Oscars, a significant role that carried a certain level of prestige. Hanks, along with Hamilton, the producer and director of the ceremony, arranged to visit Martin at his studio to discuss the upcoming event.
As their car pulled away from South Broadway Street, Tom Hanks ended his call with Martin and turned to Hamilton, who had been reflecting on how things had changed over the years.
"You know, I was thinking about the first time I directed the Oscars more than a decade ago," Hamilton mused, a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "Back then, I didn't have to go out of my way to invite the stars. They were all lining up to be part of the show. The Oscars were *the* event to be at."
Tom Hanks nodded in agreement. "Yeah, times have changed. There are so many entertainment platforms now, so many ways for stars to promote themselves. The Oscars just don't hold the same kind of sway they once did. You can feel the pull weakening."
Hamilton sighed. "Let's just hope that Martin Davis' first time presenting Best Picture adds some spark. We could really use something memorable this year."
"I hope so too," Hanks replied, though his thoughts were more nuanced than he let on. There were things he wouldn't say aloud, not to Hamilton at least.
For one, Martin hadn't been nearly as aggressive in his public relations or promotional efforts during awards season as he could have been. Hanks knew that if Martin really wanted to compete seriously for the Oscar this year, he should've pushed harder. Even though the Academy had subtly signaled that it might relax some of its stringent rules around campaigning, there were still too few productions that had taken full advantage of that flexibility.
And yet, despite this, Martin's star power remained undeniable. Hanks just hoped that, with the right moves, Martin could help bring back some of the luster that the Oscars had lost over the years.
Tom Hanks knew exactly where the problem lay. The fall of Harvey Weinstein had sent shockwaves through Hollywood, not just because of his personal scandals but because of the financial state of Weinstein Pictures that was suddenly laid bare. For years, people both inside and outside the industry assumed that a company with so many Oscars to its name must have been swimming in profits. After all, Weinstein was a master of Oscar campaigns, known for turning awards season into a battlefield, and many of his films were synonymous with prestige and critical acclaim.
But when the numbers came out, the truth was more sobering. Aside from a few standout successes, most of the Oscar-winning films under Weinstein's banner didn't bring in nearly as much money as people thought. Worse yet, Weinstein Pictures was drowning in debt, much of it accrued because of the high-stakes game Harvey played in chasing those golden statues. It became clear that even without Harvey's personal downfall, the company was on course for a financial collapse within a few years.
Tom reflected on this as he sat in the back seat of the car with Hamilton, heading to Martin's studio. The truth was, studios competed for Oscars because of the commercial gains they hoped to see on the back end, higher box office returns, streaming deals, and a bump in prestige that translated into future projects. But if those profits didn't materialize, then the investment in Oscar campaigns would naturally shrink, and with smaller budgets, the buzz and spectacle around awards season would dwindle.
Hamilton, staring out the window, broke the silence. "I kind of miss Harvey Weinstein," he said, surprising Tom with his bluntness. "He was a bastard, no doubt about it. But when he was around, starting in November, the whole industry would light up. Every Oscars season was an event, full of controversy and drama. He knew how to make people talk. The entire country would be watching by the time the ceremony rolled around."
Tom nodded, understanding the sentiment, though he didn't share it completely. "There'll be another Harvey," he said, almost resigned to the cycle of the industry.
Hamilton sighed. "Maybe. But without someone like him, the whole thing feels smaller."
As their car pulled up to the entrance of Martin Davis' studio, both men fell silent, their thoughts still on how much the Oscars had changed. The car came to a stop, and they stepped out, greeted by studio staff who ushered them inside. Martin was already waiting in the lobby, all smiles and warmth, greeting them with the easy confidence of a man who knew his place in Hollywood's hierarchy.
After a few pleasantries, Tom Hanks didn't waste any time. "Martin, we're here because of the Oscars," he said, his tone direct but friendly.
Martin's smile widened as he gestured for them to follow him into the VIP reception room. "I figured as much. Katherine Kennedy gave me a heads-up yesterday."
Martin had a solid relationship with Kathleen Kennedy, having worked with her on multiple projects. Compared to Tom, Martin and Katherine shared a deeper rapport, and her call had already set the stage for today's discussion.
Hamilton, eager to get to the point, chimed in. "We'd like you to present the Best Picture award this year."
Martin paused for a moment, mentally running through the list of nominees for the Oscars. After a quick internal check, he nodded, there were no potential disasters like the *Moonlight*/*La La Land* mix-up that had plagued a past ceremony. He smiled, confident. "I'd be honored."
Tom Hanks gave a small nod, clearly pleased with the answer. "The Academy has noticed your support over the years. Among the younger actors of your generation, no one is more fitting to present this award than you."
Martin, ever the professional, smiled graciously. "Thank you. Just send me the schedule, and let me know when the rehearsals are set so I can make sure everything aligns with my calendar."
Hamilton stood, extending his hand. "We'll finalize everything on our end and send over the details right away."
Martin shook his hand. "Sounds good."
Hamilton made his exit, but Tom lingered behind. Martin raised an eyebrow, a little curious, he and Tom Hanks weren't exactly close, their interactions mostly limited to industry events.
Tom flashed his signature smile, one that was equal parts sincerity and charm. "I've got one more thing. On behalf of Katherine and myself, I'd like to invite you and a guest to a small, informal dinner the Academy is hosting tomorrow night. It's nothing too formal, just a chance for some of us to get together."
Martin nodded, accepting the invitation. "I'd be happy to join."
With that, Tom Hanks took his leave, leaving Martin to contemplate the conversation. Tomorrow's dinner promised to be an interesting event, especially with the kinds of people who were likely to attend.
The following afternoon, Martin wrapped up work earlier than usual, returning home to change for the evening. He brought along Elizabeth Olsen as his guest, knowing her presence would be both charming and strategic. Together, they made their way to a private business club near the Academy, where the informal gathering was being held.
The guest list was small but formidable. Directors like Steven Spielberg and James Cameron were mingling, as were superstars like Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Cruise. It was a who's who of Hollywood power players, and the exclusivity was palpable. If you weren't a major player in Hollywood or a key figure within one of the industry's associations, you didn't even get close to an invite.
Elizabeth, ever poised, stayed by Martin's side, helping him navigate the social maze of the event. She had an intuitive knack for keeping conversations flowing smoothly, remembering names and details Martin sometimes forgot. When they approached a new group, she would subtly remind him of a relevant connection or anecdote, ensuring every interaction was seamless.
As the evening progressed, Martin found himself deep in conversation with several influential figures, planting seeds for future projects and solidifying existing relationships. With Elizabeth by his side, every exchange was handled with grace and charm.
In the world of Hollywood, these dinners weren't just social events, they were where deals were hinted at, alliances were forged, and reputations were maintained. And as Martin smiled and raised his glass with the industry's elite, he knew that, as much as the Oscars had changed, he was still firmly in the game, playing by the rules while writing a few of his own.
Midway through the dinner, Kathleen Kennedy appeared at Martin's side, her expression warm but purposeful. "Martin, do you have a moment? Tom Sherak and I would like to speak with you."
Martin glanced at Elizabeth, who smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Together, they followed Kathleen into a private lounge just off the banquet hall. Inside, Tom Sherak, the chairman of the Academy's executive committee, and Tom Hanks, the vice chairman, were already waiting. The atmosphere in the room felt a little heavier than the casual gathering outside.
Sherak and Hanks stood to greet them, offering firm handshakes and polite smiles. Martin exchanged a few light pleasantries but sensed this was more than a simple catch-up. He took a seat in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, his curiosity piqued. It wasn't every day the Academy's leadership convened like this. Elizabeth gracefully settled beside him, her presence both calming and observant.
Sherak got straight to the point, a smile playing on his lips but his tone serious. "Martin, as you know, the Academy has been undergoing reforms for a few years now. We've had some successes, but... also some challenges. The Executive Committee has been seeking input from members, and we're curious to hear your thoughts."
He didn't need to spell out what "challenges" meant. The Oscars, once the undisputed crown jewel of Hollywood, had been losing its luster. Fewer people were tuning in. The once-glamorous event, filled with suspense and celebration, had been overshadowed by shifting entertainment habits, streaming platforms, and an audience that was no longer captivated by the golden statue.
Sherak paused, his eyes meeting Martin's. "I'm sure you've noticed. You've always had a knack for promotion and marketing. What do you make of the Oscars' current situation?"
Martin took a moment before responding, his gaze shifting between the three Academy leaders. They were trying, he knew that much. Over the last few years, the Academy had implemented various reforms efforts to diversify the voting body, to modernize the show's format, and to adapt to the new digital age. But reversing the Oscars' decline? That was no easy feat. The cultural landscape had shifted, and audiences had endless entertainment options at their fingertips. The Oscars, with its traditional glamor, was starting to feel... out of touch.
After a moment of contemplation, Martin spoke thoughtfully. "The truth is, people today have so many choices. Streaming, social media, podcasts... the Oscars just don't have the same pull they used to. It's hard to compete with content that people can access instantly, anytime, anywhere." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "This year's pre-publicity, the overall buzz... it's not as strong as it was last year."
Tom Hanks, ever thoughtful, nodded. "Exactly. Studios aren't putting in the same kind of effort they once did. In the past two years, film companies have been cutting their budgets for Oscars campaigns. The investment isn't there, and when the investment drops, so does the attention."
Kathleen Kennedy, who had worked closely with Martin on several projects, chimed in. "Without the financial backing, there just isn't enough influence. The reality is, no matter how good the films are, if there's no money behind them during the promotion period, the Oscars lose visibility. It's hard to compete with that."
Martin leaned back slightly, nodding in agreement. "So, it all comes down to money," he said simply.
Sherak, acknowledging the hard truth, added, "Money won't solve all our problems, but it could certainly help. Without enough funds, it's hard to make the kind of splash the Oscars need right now."
The Academy, Martin knew, made the bulk of its income from the Oscars and from membership fees. However, many long-standing members, including some of Hollywood's most influential figures, didn't contribute much financially due to lifetime membership exemptions. The Oscars' revenue, therefore, was directly tied to how much influence they could maintain in the wider world. And right now, that influence was waning.
Martin thought for a moment before speaking again. "Tom mentioned earlier that the lack of influence comes from the lack of investment during the promotion period. But we can't just expect Hollywood studios to start increasing their spending. With the current economic climate, it's unrealistic. The industry is tightening its belt."
Kathleen nodded, her face grim. "Disney's been cutting back on its awards budgets. Even the biggest studios are pulling back. It's not just us feeling the pinch."
"The economic downturn has hit Hollywood hard," Tom Hanks added, his voice low. "Studios aren't willing to take the same financial risks they used to."
Martin's mind began to turn, ideas clicking into place. "We've been relying heavily on international capital to fund film productions. Overseas money is becoming a huge part of Hollywood's financing structure." He paused, a new thought sparking. "Maybe we can tap into that same source for the Oscars. Attract international investment specifically for award campaigns. If we can bring in the kind of funding we're seeing for films, we could revitalize how we promote the Oscars."
He was remembering a recent example, a South Korean film that had shattered North American records by spending over $30 million on its awards season campaign. That kind of financial commitment had paid off, and it was something that could potentially be replicated on a larger scale.
Kathleen exchanged a glance with Tom Sherak, clearly intrigued by the idea. "International investment in the Oscars..." she mused aloud. "That's certainly something we haven't explored in depth."
Tom Hanks looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. "It's an interesting idea. We've seen how foreign investment is transforming film production. Maybe it's time to bring that same approach to the awards season."
Sherak leaned forward, visibly excited by the prospect. "Martin, you might be onto something. If we could bring in international capital, not just for production but for promotion, we could turn the tide. Make the Oscars a global event, not just a Hollywood one."
The conversation continued, filled with brainstorming and the exchange of ideas, but Martin could tell they were onto something. The Oscars needed a fresh angle, something to bring it back into the public eye in a meaningful way, and international investment could be a game changer.
As they wrapped up, Tom Sherak shook Martin's hand, his gratitude clear. "Thanks for your insight, Martin. We'll definitely be taking this back to the committee."
Martin nodded, feeling a sense of possibility in the air. Change was never easy, but sometimes, all it took was a new perspective to breathe life back into an old tradition. As he walked out with Elizabeth by his side, he felt confident that he had sparked something that just might help the Oscars reclaim their former glory.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
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