Chapter 114: The Final Sprint

Holt walked down the long corridor, pushed open the door, and stepped directly out onto the balcony. He found his biggest client, the bespectacled Roger Ebert, enjoying afternoon tea at a small round table. Ebert gestured for him to sit and poured him a cup from the teapot.

"Any invitations?" Ebert asked his agent.

Just as they were for the rest of Hollywood, the summer season and the Thanksgiving-Christmas window tied to the awards season were peak earning periods for professional film critics. While their influence during the summer season was far weaker than during the awards season, studios still needed to borrow their names to beat the drums and build hype for big commercial blockbusters. For decades, the two industries had been closely linked—clashing yet cooperating—and had long since established an unwritten rule.

Massive commercial blockbusters, in particular, carried much higher PR and marketing costs and required the praises of top-tier critics. Sometimes, producers and distributors could offer up seven-figure PR budgets.

On the surface, a professional film critic's income came from columns, freelance reviews, and book deals. A select few at the very top also had television programs they were invited to host. These alone were enough to guarantee a handsome annual income.

Yet that was only their public income. Last year, Roger Ebert's columns and TV programs had brought in a little over $800,000, but in just one summer season, his under-the-table earnings soared into the seven figures!

Although he outwardly criticized the ever-inflating budgets of Hollywood commercial films and championed independent cinema, this was merely a posture to show he wasn't vulgar or pandering to the masses. These top critics had spent twenty years or more reaching their current status; they knew perfectly well that only big-budget commercial productions offered the opportunities for massive payouts.

Since last year, Roger Ebert had held a list of potential summer season releases. He had long set his sights on huge projects like The Lion King, Independence Day, and True Lies. According to past conventions, the producers and distributors would definitely invite him to their preview screenings.

With the dollar depreciating, Roger Ebert had already planned to raise his rates. Walt Disney proved to be quite accommodating—for The Lion King alone, he had pocketed a $300,000 check.

Doing the job after taking the money was the industry's most fundamental principle. Ebert still had a strong sense of professional ethics. Not only did he give The Lion King a high score of 9 out of 10, but he also gave it a thumbs up. The film's stellar word-of-mouth and scorching box office performance seemed to validate his eye, making him feel that his review had played a pivotal role—much like when he had once saved Bonnie and Clyde.

The impact of film reviews was hard to quantify with box office numbers. Over the past couple of years, whether due to a truly unique eye or just sheer luck, every film Ebert gave a thumbs-up—like Terminator 2, The Silence of the Lambs, The Rock, and The Lion King—had become a massive hit. This easily created an illusion: that his reviews held a guiding influence over the entire film market.

Even an industry leader like Roger Ebert possessed the emotions of an ordinary man. He could be arrogant, delusional, overestimate himself, and harbor greed.

With the payout from The Lion King securely in hand, Roger Ebert had been waiting for an invitation for Independence Day. Based on the timeline, the screening should be happening right about now; after all, it was already mid-June, and there was only half a month left until the film's release.

He had, of course, seen the commercial spot and the two subsequently released trailers. There was no suspense; Duke Rosenberg, just as he had expected, couldn't control his own destructive urges and had ultimately gone down a crooked path. Aside from cheap melodrama, the trailers were nothing but back-to-back explosions. If the entire movie kept that rhythm, it was guaranteed to be trash!

If they wanted him to put in a good word for such a garbage film, they would have to pay a hefty price!

"I've received a few invitations."

Holt set down his teacup, understanding Ebert's implication, and cut straight to the chase. "But nothing for Independence Day."

"I recall their test screening is coming up soon, isn't it?" Ebert's brows slowly furrowed behind his glasses.

"The day after tomorrow."

Hearing his agent, Ebert lightly tapped his fingers against the table. "They didn't invite me?"

"No." Holt shook his head. "Warner Brothers and Twentieth Century Fox didn't invite any film critics!"

"What?" Ebert looked up at his agent.

Holt spoke with absolute certainty. "The studios invited fans, the media, and theater chains, but they didn't invite a single professional film critic to attend."

Ebert's expression gradually turned grave. "What are they trying to do?"

Since the sixties and seventies, the film criticism sphere had maintained a tacit understanding with Hollywood studios: as long as a movie held a preview screening, professional critics were an indispensable part of the process. This unwritten rule had fundamentally reversed the plight of critics' historically low incomes.

Over the years, there had been a constant stream of critical darlings that bombed at the box office, as well as films like Star Wars that were trashed by critics yet became massive commercial hits. But this had not changed the reality that critics held profound influence over the film industry. Most of the time, professional critics were figures that actors, directors, and production companies needed to court.

To this day, professional critics and the film industry were practically inseparable.

At least, from Ebert's perspective, this was certainly the case. Past, present, and future—professional film critics would always profoundly influence the entire film industry.

Picking up his cup, Ebert slowly sipped his black tea, falling deep into thought. If they just hadn't invited him, that would be one thing. But to exclude all critics? Could it be that Warner Brothers and Twentieth Century Fox didn't have enough marketing budget?

That definitely wasn't it. The promotional momentum for this film was incredibly fierce; money was not the issue.

While he couldn't figure out why Warner Brothers and Twentieth Century Fox were doing this, after a few minutes of deliberation, Ebert suddenly recognized another problem—one that could affect the entire critical sphere.

If Independence Day released and became a huge hit without critics playing any role in it, how would the rest of Hollywood view the critics' circle? Would this impact the status and income of film critics at future blockbuster screenings?

Suddenly, Ebert realized that this matter didn't just concern him—it could potentially threaten the interests of the entire film criticism profession.

Messing with someone's lucrative interests was like carving meat straight from their bones. The more pragmatic promotional strategy Duke had proposed ran the risk of stepping on the toes of the entire film criticism industry.

But Duke didn't care. As long as it boosted the film's profits and benefited him, standing up and publicly trading barbs with the critics was no big deal.

A critic's greatest influence lay in the awards season, particularly with the school faction awards represented by the Oscars. For Duke, who positioned himself first and foremost as a commercial director, winning awards was certainly nice, but he wouldn't go out of his way to chase them if he didn't get any.

Out of all the directors in Hollywood history who had won the Best Director Golden Statuette, how many wielded more influence than Hitchcock, who had never won? Who had left behind a more resounding legacy?

He certainly wanted an Oscar Golden Statuette, but he wasn't about to pander for one, much less produce a film specifically designed as Oscar bait.

Naturally, an Oscar-bait film wouldn't use a promotional approach like Independence Day, nor would theater chains attach this level of importance to it by sending their respective chief viewing teams to today's preview screening. Only massive-budget productions with the potential for explosive box office returns were truly welcomed by the theaters.

Sitting in the front row of the theater, Duke felt quite calm—far less nervous than during his previous two preview screenings. Sitting right behind him were the representatives from the theater chains. When they had walked into the theater earlier, the way they looked at him was like they were staring at stacks of crisp green dollar bills. After two consecutive massive hits in the summer season, the theaters—being the closest to the market—clearly had a fair bit of confidence in him.

Just as Duke was pondering this, Sofia Coppola walked in from outside, briefly scanned the room, and came over to sit beside him.

"I just got some numbers," she murmured to Duke.

"Related to us?" Duke turned to look at her, and Sofia nodded. "News on the competition. Interview with the Vampire has basically ended its global theatrical run. The worldwide box office is $221.57 million."

"Not bad," Duke said with a laugh. "Turning a profit shouldn't be an issue. I imagine CAA will still have opportunities to package commercial blockbusters. Tom Cruise's box office draw is still staggering."

"As long as you understand," Sofia said, crossing her legs. "Even if Michael Ovitz steps down this year, CAA remains a behemoth."

CAA would only grow larger; Duke knew this well. Even if CAA's packaging services suffered a complete rout in commercial productions, they continued to attract new stars into their fold. In the future, they would dominate half, if not more, of the Hollywood actor market. As for Tom Cruise, who had traded smears with him last year, although he had lost in their market clash, his trajectory to superstardom hadn't slowed in the slightest.

"Also..." Sofia added, "I just got word from Warner. The Shawshank Redemption, which opens a week after us, scored a staggering 9.8 out of 10 at the critics' exclusive screening last year."

She looked at Duke. "I know you've never valued critics and you think their influence during the summer season is incredibly low. But don't forget, those standing at the pinnacle of the film criticism industry have spent decades working to get there and have plenty of followers themselves. It's hard to say whether their high scores won't generate a massive buzz for The Shawshank Redemption, which could hit our second-weekend box office."

"Relax, Sofia," Duke said, maintaining his calm demeanor. "Rather than worrying about The Shawshank Redemption, we'd be better off worrying if the lingering heat from The Lion King and Forrest Gump will affect us."

The Shawshank Redemption? Even if God Himself descended, He wouldn't be able to redeem that film in theaters.

Seeing that Duke genuinely didn't care, Sofia said nothing more, shifting her attention to the gradually brightening silver screen.