Bab 7: Chapter 6: You’re the Director
"Are you sure you want to do this, Leah?"
George Lucas broke the peaceful atmosphere of the café as he set down his coffee cup, his voice filled with surprise. He quickly lowered his voice, "This is too risky!"
"I'm Duke's mother."
Leah Rosenberg's voice remained calm as she slowly sipped her coffee. "I'm fully aware of how harsh Hollywood can be. If I don't help him, who else in this world will?"
She looked up at George Lucas, her dark eyes as serene as ever. "I'm only doing what's within a mother's capabilities."
"After you called me last night, I studied the script closely."
Seeing his friend's determination, George Lucas quickly regained his composure and began stating the facts. "To make the movie as the script envisions, it would require an investment in the millions. I watched a bit of the footage Duke shot. He certainly has some ideas, and his fast, sharp editing style is distinctive, but he lacks experience!"
"George, give me a precise number," Leah Rosenberg said, directly ignoring Lucas's last remark. "By your estimate, how much does Duke need?"
After studying his friend for a moment, George Lucas stroked his signature beard and said slowly, "If it were produced by Lucasfilm, with all the effects handled by Industrial Light & Magic, it could be done for about 12 million dollars. But since Duke is a rookie, the cost would surely rise—at least 15 million."
"I'll mortgage the properties in Santa Monica and San Francisco as soon as possible," Leah responded, as if she were discussing a trivial matter. In truth, this was a decision she had been mulling over since she first read the script weeks ago. "Combined with my savings, I can gather 10 million dollars, and I'll figure out the rest."
"Leah, you're gambling big!" George Lucas reminded her.
"George, think back twenty years…" Leah's previously calm eyes now sparkled. "When we were starting out, wasn't every decision a gamble? Do you remember what it was like when we were making *Star Wars*? Ninety percent of Hollywood thought you were a fool, and every critic in North America called your work trash. And what happened?"
Lucas couldn't help but smile when his friend brought up his greatest success. He took a sip of coffee. "You really believe in Duke?"
"I don't."
Leah Rosenberg's response nearly made Lucas spit out his coffee. "But as a mother, I'm willing to give him a chance to succeed. Even if he fails, all I'll lose are two properties and some money. I can handle that."
Seeing George Lucas slowly nod, Leah's voice softened. "George, we've known each other for thirty years, and I've never asked you for anything. As for the film's production and distribution…"
"Lucasfilm will handle all of that."
Since Leah had decided to cover most of the investment and had made such a heartfelt plea, George Lucas no longer tried to dissuade her. After thinking for a moment, he said, "If I'm interested in the script, those film funds will certainly be willing to cover the remaining investment."
In Hollywood, the big players were experts at finding ways to make deals that benefited everyone.
With the general direction settled, the two discussed more specifics before parting ways after spending half the day in the café.
Duke knew nothing of his mother's decision. Although he hadn't given up hope, he was well aware that an opportunity wasn't likely to come anytime soon. He needed to find a suitable job to support himself.
He was in contact with an assistant director from the *Hook* crew. After experiencing a financial crisis that had halted production, Spielberg's team had secured new funding and resumed shooting at Universal Studios. Duke wanted to return to the set to work, even if only as a temporary hand, because observing Hollywood's fastest director in action was a rare learning opportunity.
Most importantly, he needed an income while he waited for opportunities to arise.
Duke had considered asking his mother to invest in him, but it was just a fleeting thought.
No mother owes anything to her child, and he couldn't ask for more than what she had already given. Mrs. Leah had already expressed her doubts about the script.
Even if she was willing to invest, without the support of a film company, it wouldn't make much of a difference.
Leaving aside the complexity of setting up a large crew without a production company's backing, even if the movie were made, getting it distributed and released would be a huge challenge.
In this massive industry, distribution companies always sit at the top of the food chain. Duke wasn't naive enough to believe that just because he could secure a contract with a distributor, they'd pour millions into promoting his film and then share a third or even half of the profits with a complete unknown. Did he think the executives were fools?
Don't forget, he was a total rookie. No distributor would invest heavily in a project where they didn't even hold the rights to the film of a newcomer director. They weren't running a charity!
Unless he sold the rights to the distributor outright—but again, who would pay top dollar for a debut film by a rookie director?
That's why new directors always go through producers or production companies. It's an unavoidable choice.
Since he had previously worked as a temp on the *Hook* set, it only took two phone calls for Duke to secure the job. Starting next week, he'd be back at the Universal Studios set.
As a temp, he didn't have a fixed position, moving wherever the crew needed him. He did the dirty, tiring jobs.
Like most Hollywood crews, this one didn't exactly have a harmonious atmosphere. There were conflicts both out in the open and behind the scenes. It was an intensely competitive environment where everyone fought for a chance to move up, especially those with ambition.
Of course, the king of this set was Spielberg. But even a director as successful as him could be troubled by financial issues. The production had been shut down before while they searched for funding.
And there were always those who challenged his authority, like the lead actress, Julia Roberts.
Before the production was paused, Duke had witnessed Julia, high on drugs, arguing with Spielberg over a minor issue. She even pushed him at one point, and if people hadn't intervened, things might have escalated.
Spielberg didn't replace her, likely because of the financial problems and the fact that she had already filmed a lot of scenes. But it's hard to say whether this incident contributed to Julia Roberts' career slump in the early to mid-90s.
After a long day of work, Duke found a quiet corner, changed out of his work clothes, and put on his jacket. He left the soundstage and walked along the narrow path between buildings toward the parking lot.
As a low-ranking temp, he didn't get the luxury of a golf cart ride.
Despite being tired from work, Duke's back remained straight. His tall frame stood firm like the palm trees lining the road.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of brakes behind him. A white six-seater golf cart stopped beside him.
"Duke Rosenberg?"
A somewhat familiar voice called out. Duke turned to see Rick Solomon sitting in the driver's seat.
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment and turned to walk away.
"Hey, Duke!"
Rick Solomon honked the golf cart's horn and raised his voice when Duke looked back. "I heard you wrote a script and have been shopping it around Hollywood for funding. So, how's it going? When's your big movie getting made, Mr. Director?"
His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Or has your film already started shooting here at Universal? That'd be huge news…"
Before Duke could respond, Rick pointed to the badge hanging around his neck. "See this? It's my pass for the *Alien 3* crew! I'm playing a supporting role!"
"David Fincher's debut?" Duke's lips curled slightly. "Congratulations."
Seeing Duke's usual demeanor, showing neither envy nor jealousy, Rick Solomon leaned forward and said smugly, "Oh, by the way, I heard from my father the other day that Warner Brothers held a meeting about your script…"
Duke raised an eyebrow, and Rick Solomon's smile grew. "Too bad they rejected your *Speed*!"
He tapped the steering wheel lightly. "Duke Rosenberg, give up your dream of being a director! You should stick with your promising temp work on set!"
Suddenly, the golf cart behind them honked its horn. It seemed Duke and Rick's exchange was blocking the way.
Duke stepped aside to let the cart pass, but instead of moving on, it stopped.
"Duke?"
A girl about twenty years old jumped off the cart. She wore a striped short-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. She was slim, with strong facial features, a hooked nose, dark eyes, and full, prominent lips. When she smiled, her mouth turned upward, revealing white teeth.
"Hey, Sofia."
Duke waved at the girl as she approached. Though they weren't close, he had met her many times at George Lucas's house. Her father was none other than the legendary Francis Ford Coppola. "What brings you here?"
"I'm working on the *Alien 3* crew," she said with a slight nasal tone. "I'm David Fincher's temporary assistant."
"Hi, Sofia."
Rick Solomon quickly jumped out of his cart to greet her.
"Hi."
Sofia Coppola nodded slightly, completely ignoring Rick's enthusiastic smile. She turned to Duke and gave his arm a playful smack. "I haven't congratulated you yet!"
"Congratulated me?" Duke was puzzled.
"I went to San Francisco yesterday to visit Uncle Lucas," she explained, her voice still carrying that slight nasal tone, "He mentioned you and said that your script will soon be approved by Lucasfilm, and you..."
There was a hint of envy in her tone, "You are the confirmed director."
"Is this true?" Duke's first reaction was disbelief.
"Would I lie to you?" Sofia crossed her arms and looked at him. "I guess Lucasfilm will notify you soon."
"Okay, let's not talk about this anymore." She pointed at the electric car, "Get in, I'll take you to the parking lot."
The two got on the electric car, and Rick Solomon on the other side finally reacted, "Hey, Sophia, you are kidding, right?"
However, the only answer he got was the sound of the wind created by the electric bike.
After standing there in a daze for a while, Rick Solomon got into the driver's seat. He looked at the sun that was about to sink below the horizon and frowned tightly, "How...how is this possible?"
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