"You might want to thank her."
On the screen, the middle-aged lawyer patted Nick's leg, "But remember one thing, never make her angry!"
The theater erupted into laughter, a loud and boisterous sound that had appeared more than once since Amy's plot twist began.
"This couple..." Kyle Dunst laughed heartily, "is just too funny, truly a perfect match!"
Laughter echoed around him.
Judging solely by the laughter, one might think this was the reaction to a terrible film, but as the screening neared its end, not a single person had left the theater, nor did anyone express dissatisfaction or mention any terms associated with a bad movie.
This film was dark, yet joyous!
The most interesting part of the movie was that it had no "villain" per se; the story itself was the antagonist.
Amy was both the perpetrator and the victim. The media always focuses on the victim, hence all the attention and sympathy went to her. After Kyle Dunst learned the truth, Nick became the victim, shifting the emotions towards him.
"Marriage is really like that, isn't it? No one is clean; everyone is both a perpetrator and a victim."
As the credits rolled, Kyle Dunst heard a middle-aged man in the front row say this. He wasn't married himself and couldn't relate, but he found the film immensely intriguing. The director had subtly mocked marriage, love, and the media all in one go, effectively cursing without using foul language.
When the film ended, the theater was filled with joy.
"For such a dark-themed film," a young Black man said to Kyle Dunst, "to be made so entertaining, the director is really something."
His friend chimed in, "Indeed, it's brilliant. This movie is simply fantastic."
Another added, "A match made in heaven, forever and ever."
As the lights overhead brightened, the audience began to leave. Kyle Dunst noticed that most people were smiling, clearly having enjoyed "Gone Girl."
Daisy, however, did not smile after the premiere; instead, she felt something stirring inside her.
During the first hour of the film, she felt comfortable: "See, that's what marriage is like, men are such jerks, just a few years in and they're cheating with younger women, resorting to emotional abuse if they can't divorce. It's infuriating."
The next hour, to her surprise, brought a complete reversal.
James Franco's portrayal of Nick Dunne was pitiful. Watching him hold Amy's hand and repeatedly practice saying "I love you," Daisy felt nauseated.
The scariest part was Daisy realizing she resembled Amy, though not quite matching her caliber—deadly beautiful, sexy, smart, and cool.
That vindictive streak was similar too, both obsessive and overly sensitive. Back in high school, someone described her as "a lolita-faced viper," and since then, she remembered "viper" as an ugly word.
Murphy had painted a humorously dark picture of marriage. Faced with a dinner crisis, Amy didn't just pick at the crumbs but smashed the whole dining table, splattering her husband with blood, leaving him dumbfounded and resigned.
By the end, Daisy felt sympathy for Nick. While it seemed men could conquer the world, in reality, their free will was often dominated by women in subtle ways...
Walking out of the Chief Rock Theater, Daisy glanced back, feeling like Murphy's directorial skills had advanced yet again.
She had been one of the first to watch Murphy's films and had observed his growth from a green director to his current stature, fostering a unique sentimentality.
With almost every film, she could see Murphy's tremendous progress.
"Gone Girl" was undoubtedly a classic in drama, with Murphy's mastery over the plot being nearly perfect. He blended apparent warmth with harsh reality beautifully, merging segmented storytelling from the first half into a cohesive whole with the second half's revelation—extremely clever.
Daisy had never imagined marriage could evolve into such a thing, from loving to deceiving to an extreme, almost masterful game.
Also, Murphy must not like the media much. After watching this film, it was clear how easily the public could be captivated by the media and appearances. The "enthusiastic" crowds in the movie repeatedly served as a backdrop to the harsh realities.
"Is marriage really like this? Just a human institution for reproducing the next generation? A bond in the name of love that starts with good intentions but ends in mutual control and exploitation?"
Thinking this, Daisy shivered. Marriage was terrifying, best avoided.
"How was it?"
In a theater in Santa Clara Valley, California, a brunette accompanied Mobik-Stani out, "Still upset?"
"No need to be," Mobik-Stani shook his head. "Seeing such a fascinating film, even if temporarily deceived by promotional tactics, was worth it."
Seeing such a unique film, what
did it matter if they were misled?
But as he looked at his girlfriend, his expression was slightly uneasy.
The movie's underlying messages, veiled in entertainment, were sharp enough to make one reassess marriage. It could make those fearful of marriage even more so, and reveal irreparable cracks.
The most deadly aspect was the profound oppression it depicted, perfecting the film's suspenseful atmosphere.
A black car drove away from the Chief Rock Theater; Robert Downey Jr. couldn't stop smiling, while Susan Downey, seated beside him, frowned in confusion.
"Is it really that funny?" she asked, "Are the marriage issues depicted that amusing?"
"Marriage issues?" Robert Downey Jr. shook his head, "Dear, don't be fooled by Murphy, that guy. This so-called portrayal of marriage is just his twisted sense of humor."
He turned to look at Susan Downey, "Now that we're out of the theater, think about how much of that movie really relates to real life."
Susan Downey thought for a moment, then gently shook her head.
"Murphy's progress in comedy and humor is quite evident," Robert Downey Jr. continued, with his typical chattiness, "Didn't you notice? The comedic elements in the film are undeniable. The audience behind us laughed repeatedly during the viewing, and many dialogues were witty and humorous. I like this mix of comedy within suspense; it adjusts the atmosphere well without going overboard. Murphy really nailed the dark comedy."
"Right," Susan Downey nodded.
She was a filmmaker herself, clearly able to discern these elements.
"Murphy's use of subtext is absolutely masterful," Robert Downey Jr. was moved, "I think 'Gone Girl' could become a textbook example in this regard."
He paused, coughed twice, then added, "The opposite example is 'Moulin Rouge', although it's a good movie, the central word 'Love' appears too often, leaving no room for subtext, it's all spelled out for you."
"Look at 'Gone Girl'," he went on, "Murphy's subtext is abundant, but it's presented, not shoved down your throat through dialogue."
Knowing Robert Downey Jr.'s loquacious nature, Susan Downey still agreed with his points, adding, "Murphy's satire on the media, his jest at the truth, his critique of the facade of happiness, and his despair over marriage, these insights naturally emerge post-viewing."
"So," Robert Downey Jr. used Murphy's words, "that makes the film seem very sophisticated. A good film doesn't just throw big truths in your face; it allows you to discover and experience them on your own."
"As long as Murphy stays on course," Susan Downey sighed softly, "his potential is limitless."
She reflected on the film's ending, "Murphy's narrative technique is classic, like slowly boiling a frog, gradually building suspense and oppression without seeming abrupt. These oppressive elements genuinely envelop the viewers, consuming their thoughts, making escape impossible. The film's profound ending is the final blow, thoroughly permeating the viewers' hearts with these oppressive elements."
"Dear," Robert Downey Jr. reached out a hand, gently patting his wife's shoulder, "I told you, that's just Murphy's twisted sense of humor, don't let it get to you."
Seeing Susan Downey's expression, Robert Downey Jr. suddenly felt it might be necessary to confront Murphy in Santa Monica the next day.
"Dear," Susan Downey suddenly said, "you've made a very impressive friend."
Robert Downey Jr. understood her subtext, shaking his head, "You wouldn't understand our relationship; we're not just friends, we're the best of brothers."
Susan Downey couldn't grasp this type of bond between men, especially in a place like Hollywood, where such close-knit relationships in their small circle were rare.
"The tragedy of love is not in parting or death, but in indifference."
For some reason, the next morning, as he sat at the breakfast table thinking about the movie from last night, this phrase popped into David Ellison's mind. He muttered to himself while eating, "Some people seem born for film, creating works that are destined for the screen, like 'Gone Girl'."
Having studied at USC's School of Cinematic Arts, David Ellison appreciated that Murphy's story could be interpreted from many different angles, each offering rich layers to savor.
At that moment, David Ellison glanced at a number on the paper beside him—this was the advance screening box office for "Gone Girl" he had just been informed of by Stanton Studios: $6.2 million!
David Ellison then received a call from his father, Larry Ellison, asking him to come back to San Francisco first thing the next morning.
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