章節 882: Chapter 882: The Business of Applauding!
At the grand Dolby Theatre, the Oscar Awards ceremony was nearing its climax.
The air was electric, filled with the sound of triumphant music and thunderous applause that echoed from the stage all the way to the backstage corridors.
Martin walked with purpose, trailing behind the crew as they made their way through the labyrinth of the backstage area. He was focused, his heart pounding with the energy of the night. As he turned a corner, he spotted Julianne Moore, radiant and still glowing from her victory, clutching her freshly earned Best Actress award.
Martin paused and approached her with a warm, genuine smile. "Julianne, congratulations," he said, his voice calm but filled with admiration.
Julianne, still caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, her hands trembling slightly, looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled with gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you... thank you so much," she said, bowing slightly as she clasped Martin's hands with both of hers, her smile as wide as the spotlight she had just stepped out of.
Martin nodded politely, giving her a soft, reassuring squeeze before continuing on his way. The grand finale of the evening, the award for Best Picture, was about to be presented, and Martin had a role to play.
As he neared the entrance to the stage, the director and producer Hamilton appeared, walking briskly with a determined air. He motioned to the PwC representative, who handed Martin a pristine envelope sealed with the answer that everyone in the audience was waiting for. Hamilton's tone was firm as he gave instructions, "When the music starts, you'll walk right on stage."
Martin nodded but paused for a moment, eyeing the envelope in his hand with a tinge of skepticism. Something gnawed at him. "This is the Best Picture list, right? Are you sure there's no mistake?"
Hamilton raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. "A mistake? This is the Oscars," he replied with a short laugh, dismissing the notion as absurd. "Everything's been double-checked. You don't have to worry."
But Martin couldn't shake off his concern. The tension had been thick before the ceremony, with controversy simmering under the surface. There had been rumblings from activist groups, and he knew the Academy had come under fire in recent years, particularly when it came to race and diversity. One of the nominated films, *Selma*, had drawn significant attention. Martin, standing there, didn't want to be caught in the middle of a politically charged moment, recalling the infamous mishap from a previous Oscars night.
Hamilton, sensing the tension but brushing it aside, leaned in as the opening notes of the next musical cue began to fill the theatre. "It's time. Get out there."
With the envelope firmly in hand, Martin took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage. The bright lights hit him like a wave, and he was met with the eager gaze of hundreds of stars, their faces glowing with anticipation. He waved to the audience, a practiced smile on his face, and began to recite the carefully memorized script that introduced the Best Picture nominees.
He turned slightly toward the towering screen behind him, where a montage of films began to roll. Clips from *American Sniper*, *Boyhood*, *Selma*, *The Grand Budapest Hotel*, and *The Theory of Everything* played in quick succession, their images lighting up the room with the promise of cinematic excellence.
Martin's hands felt the envelope in his grasp. The room seemed to hold its breath as he carefully tore it open. His eyes scanned the card inside, and after a brief moment, he announced, "The Oscar for Best Picture goes to... *Boyhood*!"
A surge of cheers erupted from the audience as Richard Linklater and his team leaped to their feet, overjoyed. The director, along with his cast and crew, made their way to the stage, their faces beaming with pride. Martin handed Linklater the iconic golden statue with a congratulatory nod, then stepped aside, giving the stage to the night's true stars.
As the stage filled with the triumphant crew, Martin quietly slipped into the shadows of the backstage once again. The ceremony had reached its grand conclusion. Although *Interstellar* had been nominated for several awards that evening, including Best Actor, it left empty-handed. It was becoming clear that the Academy was not yet ready to embrace Christopher Nolan, at least not for the top honors. Martin mused that if Nolan ever wanted to win Best Director, it would be a long, uphill battle, a fight that could take a decade or more.
Backstage, Martin posed for photos with a few of the winners, shaking hands and exchanging congratulations before he left the theatre behind. Beverly Hills was calling, and so was the Oscar Night after-party.
Later that evening, at the glamorous party, Martin found himself in the company of some of Hollywood's elite. Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson joined him at the bar, the trio sharing stories and laughter as the party buzzed around them. At one point, Nicholson spotted Michael Keaton across the room and grinned, pulling Martin aside. "Come on," Nicholson said, his voice low and playful, "let's go say hi to Batman."
The three men gathered in a quiet corner, reminiscing about old times. Keaton, looking reflective, spoke candidly about his experience playing the Dark Knight in the 1989 version of *Batman*. "Back then," Keaton admitted, "playing Batman nearly ended my career. Nowadays, these superhero actors have it easy. They don't know how tough it was."
As the night wore on, Leonardo drifted off to meet with Alejandro Iñárritu, the talented Mexican director whose work was setting the industry ablaze. Martin took a deep breath, looking around the room. The Oscars may have ended, but Hollywood's wheels were always turning, and tonight was just another chapter in its ever-unfolding drama.
The air at the party buzzed with lively conversation, but Leonardo's focus was elsewhere. He had spent the past hour listening to a passionate pitch from a director eager to get his new project off the ground. Now, with a drink in hand, Leonardo was thinking about the meeting.
The director, a talented but intense Mexican filmmaker, had been relentless in trying to convince Leonardo to star in his upcoming film and have his production company, Open Road Pictures, fund part of it.
After a while, Leonardo returned to Martin and Nicholson, holding a thick, weathered book in his hands.
"What's that?" Martin asked, noticing the serious expression on Leo's face. "Someone profess their undying love by sending you a novel?"
Leonardo chuckled and tossed the book lightly toward Martin. "Nah, the Mexican director gave it to me. He's planning to adapt this into a movie and wants me for the lead. Also asked me to invest."
Nicholson, ever curious, leaned in to get a better look at the cover. "The *Revenant*, by Michael Punke? Never read it," he said, squinting as he tried to recall if he'd heard of it.
Martin, on the other hand, knew exactly what this project was. "The *Revenant*, huh?" He flipped through the first few pages, scanning the opening chapters. "I remember this one... It's about a group of fur trappers in the 19th century, going deep into the wilderness of the American West. Leonardo... this is *the* movie," he said, closing the book and handing it over to Nicholson.
This film would be Leonardo's big break, the final leg in his long journey to the Oscars. Of course, now Leonardo had already won the Best Actor award, but Martin knew this was a crucial project for him.
"So, are you gonna do it?" Martin asked, eyeing Leonardo curiously.
Leo didn't hesitate. "Honestly, I don't like the director," he said bluntly. "I mean, the guy's talented, no question about it. But working with him... not exactly my first choice."
"But," Martin raised an eyebrow, "if you invest, you'll have more control. He'll have to listen to you."
Leonardo grinned, snapping his fingers. "Exactly. You nailed it. It's not about liking or disliking someone. This guy's got vision, and this movie, especially the role of the lead, it's got potential. A lot of it." His eyes drifted across the room to where the director was mingling, afro bobbing as he gestured animatedly.
Nicholson, who had been quickly flipping through the pages, stopped and nodded. "You'd be perfect for this role. It's a complete departure from the characters you've been playing recently. You've been with Scorsese for so long that all your roles are starting to blend together a bit. You need to mix it up, change direction. Otherwise..." he paused, smirking. "You'll lose to this guy," he said, jerking his thumb toward Martin with a playful glint in his eye.
Leonardo threw his head back and laughed. "I was thinking the same thing!"
Martin rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "You two just want to see me make a fool of myself, don't you?"
Nicholson handed the book back to Leonardo with a sly grin. "We mean well, kid. Speaking of which, maybe it's time you marry Lorraine, huh?"
Martin shot him a quick middle finger, shaking his head with mock frustration. "I'm not even dignifying that with a response."
Despite the playful banter, the conversation had turned serious for Leonardo. His production company, Pioneer Films, had enough clout to make this movie happen without breaking a sweat. The second his name was attached as the lead actor, studios would line up to distribute it. Leonardo was one of the last true Hollywood superstars, a rare breed.
The others? They'd all faded or become tied to specific franchises. Johnny Depp, for instance, had ruled the box office with *Pirates of the Caribbean*, but without that franchise, his magic had fizzled. Will Smith had stepped back from the limelight to focus on raising his son, losing his once-unbreakable hold on the industry. Brad Pitt was still a major player, but everyone knew he wasn't the same box office draw as he once was. Robert Downey Jr.? He was practically synonymous with Iron Man, both a blessing and a curse in the industry.
Leonardo, though, had managed to walk the line between superstardom and artistry, balancing blockbusters with prestige films. It's what made him unique and why everyone, from indie directors to Hollywood studios, still wanted him in their films.
The day after the Oscars, however, the media storm was in full swing. The Los Angeles press had erupted, angrily voicing their frustrations over the perceived snubs at the ceremony. Many argued that *Selma* should've been nominated for more awards, Best Actor, Best Director, and especially Best Picture. The sentiment was loud and clear: *Selma* deserved more recognition than it got.
In a city like Los Angeles, where political correctness had become part of the cultural fabric, these protests were hard to ignore. And it wasn't just about race anymore. LGBTQ+ groups were now adding their voices to the mix, launching their own movements in the bustling city streets, demanding more representation and equality in the film industry.
As protests grew, Leonardo's mind was elsewhere, pondering whether he should take on the role in *The Revenant*. He wasn't one to be swayed easily by politics or public opinion. For him, the choice was always about the art, the project, and whether it could push him further as an actor.
In the quiet corner of the party, surrounded by two of the most legendary actors in the world, Leonardo knew that *The Revenant* was more than just another movie. It was the next chapter in his career, a chance to evolve, challenge himself, and maybe, just maybe, surprise everyone all over again.
Martin, Elizabeth, and Lily had just left an art exhibition, enjoying the warm evening air as they drove home. But as they reached Sunset Boulevard, their relaxed mood shifted. The street ahead was jammed with traffic, a chaotic scene unfolding outside the car. A rally of protest groups had taken over the road, and cars were at a standstill, unable to move.
From the back seat, Lily rested her chin in her hand, her eyes wide with curiosity as she peered out the window at the mass of people holding signs and chanting slogans. "This Pandora's box you opened, Martin," she said, turning to him, "it's wild. I mean, other industries aren't this bad, but the people in the art world? They're losing it."
Martin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Crazier than Hollywood?"
Lily let out a small laugh. "Oh, absolutely. People in the art world are naturally more... unhinged than those in film."
Elizabeth, sitting next to Lily, grinned and raised her friend's hand in mock triumph. "Exhibit A: Miss Lily Carter."
Martin chuckled, glancing at Lily. "With the way things are going, I'm thinking you need bodyguards with you all the time."
Lily twirled a small carving knife between her fingers, the blade catching the light as it spun like a tiny, dangerous butterfly. "They're always with me," she said with a smirk, before adding, "But don't worry, I can handle myself too."
Martin smiled, reassured. He had already arranged protection for both women, but Lily's confidence never failed to amuse him. The sound of shouting and the hum of media crews outside caught their attention, pulling them back to the situation at hand. Lily tucked the knife away, her gaze drifting back to the rally. The LAPD had arrived, but they seemed hesitant to intervene in front of so many cameras. The media was swarming the protest, amplifying the scene for anyone watching at home.
"This is what happens when the mainstream pushes these groups," Lily muttered, half to herself, as she studied the growing chaos. "They're turning the whole country into a joke. Why do they keep encouraging this, making everything worse?"
Martin leaned over and kissed her forehead gently, then did the same to Elizabeth, who smiled warmly. "I think you're the one who can explain it best," he said, turning to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, always sharp and thoughtful, didn't miss a beat. "It's simple really. It's all about politics and money. Politicians need votes, so they pander to these groups. And industries, like Hollywood; well, they see dollar signs. Movie tickets, merchandise, all of it sells better when these groups feel represented. Plus," she added, her voice lowering, "it's an effective way to distract people from the real issues."
Lily's brow furrowed as she considered Elizabeth's words. "You're talking about the growing gap between the rich and the poor, right? As the rich get richer, the middle and lower classes are getting squeezed. But instead of addressing that, they stir up conflict, men against women, special interest groups versus the general public, so people focus on that instead of what's really going on."
Martin nodded, feigning surprise. "You know, that actually makes a lot of sense."
Lily rolled her eyes, catching his playful tone. "Of course it does, smartass. Ordinary people are so distracted by these petty arguments that they don't notice what the rich and powerful are up to."
Elizabeth leaned in, her voice steady. "And even though you opened Pandora's box, Martin, it's the demons and monsters that took full advantage after the whole Michelle Blake incident."
Before Martin could respond, his phone buzzed. Elizabeth reached over, picked it up from the seat, and handed it to him. "It's Thomas," she said, glancing at the screen.
Martin answered the call. "Thomas, what's going on?"
On the other end, Thomas's voice was excited. "The Cannes Film Festival Organizing Committee just sent over an invitation letter. It was faxed to the company about half an hour ago. I called to confirm."
Martin's interest was piqued. "I'm on my way home. Meet me at the manor."
Thomas agreed quickly. "On my way."
About half an hour later, Martin was sitting comfortably at home, a drink in hand, when Thomas arrived. He handed Martin a neatly folded fax with the prestigious Cannes Film Festival logo emblazoned on it.
Martin glanced at it briefly before putting it down on the coffee table. "What's the deal?"
Thomas's eyes lit up. "The Cannes Film Festival Committee wants you to serve as the chairman of the jury for next year's festival."
Martin paused, letting the weight of the offer sink in. Cannes was not just any festival, it was the pinnacle of international cinema, a place where careers were made, and reputations solidified. This wasn't just an invitation; it was an honor.
He leaned back, his mind already racing with possibilities. But before he could speak, Elizabeth raised her glass in a silent toast, a knowing smile on her lips. Lily, watching from the side, gave Martin an encouraging nod.
"Well," Martin said with a sly grin, "this should be interesting."
"Next May?" Martin asked, leaning back in his chair. He had been to the Cannes Film Festival several times before and had even won the Best Actor award there, so the idea of serving as jury president intrigued him. "Do I have room in my schedule for that?"
Thomas, ever efficient, already had Martin's calendar mapped out through 2016. He glanced at his notes and said, "Your schedule is pretty packed, but I should be able to carve out ten days for you."
Martin nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, that works. When will Cannes give us a definite answer?"
Thomas, ever the planner, explained, "Usually within three months after this year's festival ends. The organizing committee will announce the next jury president around then."
Martin drummed his fingers on the table, considering it. "Okay. Let's finalize the schedule for next May first. Once that's settled, we'll give Cannes our official reply."
Thomas gave a quick nod. "I'll handle the communication with Cannes."
Martin sat back and allowed his mind to wander briefly to the idea of being jury president. The Cannes Film Festival had always fascinated him. Sure, he'd been part of it a few times, but being in the seat of ultimate judgment would be something entirely different. He appreciated how the festival balanced its artistic nature with a level of commercialism that rivaled even the Oscars. Cannes, for all its glamor, knew how to sell itself.
One thing Cannes did better than the Oscars, he mused, was monetizing the red carpet. "The Oscars could learn a thing or two from Cannes," he thought. At Cannes, red carpet tickets were sold outright, with prices set from the opening ceremony to the final film premiere. There was no pretense, if you had money, you could walk the carpet.
But even more amusing to him was the infamous applause sessions at Cannes. Movies weren't just reviewed, they were celebrated or shamed with applause. Films that received five, seven, even ten minutes of applause often captured the media's attention, creating buzz that translated into box office gold once they hit general release. Applause had become a kind of currency at the festival, and unsurprisingly, the system had been gamed.
"What's even more interesting," Martin mused, "is how the applause itself has become a business." Just like extras in Hollywood, Cannes had its own group of professional applauders. Every year, people showed up at the festival, offering their services to directors and producers. For a price, they would applaud movies, creating the illusion of rapturous audience approval.
Martin chuckled to himself. "Applauding for love is one thing, but applauding for money? That's another level of genius. Cannes really is in a league of its own."
The thought of orchestrating applause made him laugh. "If I had been in Cannes instead of Atlanta back when I was getting started, I could've organized my own little army of applauders and probably earned enough cash to fund a film."
Thomas left shortly after their conversation, and Martin sat back, thinking about the opportunities ahead. Just then, his phone buzzed with news that *The Shallows*, the film he had been involved with, had reached the end of its theatrical run in North America. After seven weeks in theaters, it had squeezed out its last bit of potential and was officially pulled. The final North American box office numbers came in at a respectable $138 million, with the global total creeping toward $300 million as the film continued to perform overseas.
But Martin's mind was already shifting to his next big project: *Joker*. He had rented a temporary office on South Bowei Street, and things were starting to come together. The film had a production budget of $100 million, and Louise, his trusted collaborator, would be producing. Martin would be both directing and starring in the film, a huge undertaking, but one he was more than ready for.
He had already held several project meetings with Daniel and Louise, ironing out the details, and was in the process of assembling an experienced crew. One of his key moves was bringing back Steve Downton as his first assistant director. Steve had worked with him before and had proven to be one of the best assistants in the business. They shared a shorthand on set, which was invaluable for a project of this magnitude.
Though Martin had yet to direct an independent film on his own, he was determined to surround himself with the best. And for *Joker*, he knew he needed something more, a connection to the gritty, real-world experiences that would give the film authenticity. He and his close friends, whom he affectionately referred to as "the three bastards," had already talked about it, and they had a plan. The film would dive into dark, uncomfortable themes, and Martin wanted to make sure the production reflected that.
With everything falling into place, Martin felt a sense of excitement. Cannes, *Joker*, future projects, his plate was full, but he thrived under the pressure.
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