Chapter 197: Ambition

From a fair distance away, Duke could see lights illuminating the sky. After driving through a canyon in the Santa Monica Mountains, he parked his black Bentley in the lot outside the luxurious clubhouse and headed inside. The moment he appeared at the entrance, an attendant stepped forward to guide him toward the open-air garden where the party was being held.

This was an anniversary celebration hosted by the Directors Association. As one of Hollywood's top commercial directors, Duke was naturally invited, and attending was also part of fulfilling his directorial contract.

The party was held in late October, a time inching ever closer to awards season. Attendees included directors, famous actors, and veteran producers. Some were core members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences—especially the Academy's current rotating chairman, Levi Roseman, himself a senior figure in the Directors Association. Almost every year, actors, directors, and production companies looking to make their mark during awards season turned the Association's anniversary party into a massive public relations event.

By scheduling the party during this timeframe, the Directors Association showed they were more than happy to play along.

Duke had just reached the edge of the party when Thomas Rothman, who had been waiting specifically for him, spoke to Robert Iger.

"Look who's here," Thomas Rothman said. "Our two-billion-dollar director has arrived!"

"Two-billion-dollar director?" Duke looked at the two men in confusion.

"Have you ever calculated your cumulative box office?" Robert Iger gave Duke a quick breakdown. "Speed made over 340 million dollars, The Rock is close to 410 million, Independence Day pulled in over 900 million, and Saving Private Ryan has already crossed 600 million. Your total box office has already surpassed two billion dollars!"

A voice rang out from the side.

"It won't be long before you surpass me!" the voice said. "Duke, Leah should be proud of you."

Duke quickly turned around and extended his hand. "You flatter me, Mr. Spielberg."

Although his mother had clashed with Anne Spielberg in their youth, she had no issues with Steven Spielberg. In fact, thanks to George Lucas, she even had a somewhat friendly relationship with the director.

"Just call me Steven." Spielberg bypassed Duke's hand, patting him firmly on the arm instead. "I know how hard you work, otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to let you join the crew of Hook. I originally thought you'd need to hone your skills for a few more years, just like our generation did. I never expected you to rise so quickly. It's truly astonishing."

Although Spielberg was acting unusually affectionate, Duke would be a fool to take it completely to heart.

Speaking with a touch of modesty, Duke said, "You could really be considered my teacher. I've always been amazed by your shooting speed, but I just can't seem to replicate it."

"You're both famously fast shooters in Hollywood, aren't you?" Tom Rothman chimed in at just the right moment.

Directing a movie a year was absolutely top-tier speed in Hollywood. There were certainly directors faster than Spielberg, but none could match his ability to maintain both quality and quantity while still delivering massive box-office results.

"It would be more accurate to call me a Hollywood assembly-line machine," Duke said with a hint of self-deprecation. "Many media outlets mock me, saying I don't create art; I just manufacture movies on an assembly line."

"Don't mind those voices." Spielberg related deeply to this point. Adjusting his glasses, he continued, "There will always be people jealous of those who constantly succeed. Even if you try to cater to them, they'll still mock you!"

As he spoke, his gaze shifted slightly to the side before quickly snapping back.

No one else noticed, but Duke caught it. He glanced in that direction as well. Over there sat a group of people who had similarly ridiculed Spielberg's production model. The most conspicuous among them was a short, fat man in glasses. Anyone who paid even a little attention to the film industry would recognize him: the illustrious Roger Ebert.

How could a party steeped in so much School Awards networking possibly be missing the professional film critic demographic?

Withdrawing his gaze, Duke didn't spare them another glance. He knew they couldn't stand him, so why bother paying them any mind?

While Thomas Rothman and Robert Iger were busy socializing with others, Spielberg lowered his voice.

"Duke, what are your plans after Chicago?" he asked. "I heard you registered a sci-fi script. Are you interested in working with DreamWorks? DreamWorks can invest in your movie and serve as the distributor for Duke Studio."

When he put down the camera, Spielberg was a standard businessman.

"DreamWorks can compress the distribution fee to seven percent," he offered.

Compared to Warner Brothers' ten percent, this was a very tempting offer. However, Duke had no interest whatsoever in Spielberg's proposal. Siding with DreamWorks would mean subtly standing in opposition to the Big Six Companies. Going forward, his film distribution and merchandise sales would face suppression from the Big Six and the corporate conglomerates behind them, severely reducing his potential earnings.

DreamWorks distributing his movies while the Big Six Companies just sat by and watched them sell like crazy without doing anything? This was Hollywood!

Even with the same genre and budget, a film distributed by DreamWorks would inevitably secure hundreds fewer theaters than one handled by the Big Six. Furthermore, the very tactics he had previously used in alliance with Warner and Fox would inevitably be turned against him and his movies.

He didn't believe for a second that Warner, Fox, and Disney would treat him as a special exception just because of their past cooperative relationships.

In the face of profit, capital knew no exceptions.

Using polite pleasantries like "we'll have opportunities to cooperate in the future," Duke tactfully rejected Spielberg. Guided by Thomas Rothman and Robert Iger's introductions, Duke continuously greeted and exchanged pleasantries with the party attendees. Whenever he encountered important figures like Spielberg, he stopped to chat for a few sentences.

Of course, they deliberately bypassed the group of professional film critics. There was no need to clash with them at such an occasion, was there?

Although he wasn't very interested in Oscar public relations, Duke enjoyed a share of his films' profits, so he naturally had to fulfill the obligations stipulated in his directing contract. He wasn't some rebellious youth who only knew how to act recklessly. He understood the importance of networking, so he simply treated this as a job, just like making a movie.

Building connections, networking, offering a few minor compliments, and reminding those with voting rights to watch his movies—this was the absolute limit of what Duke could do. The rest of the work would be handled by professional PR personnel.

Fox was running PR for its own films, and Paramount Pictures was no exception.

After circling more than half of the small garden where the party was being held, Duke inevitably ran into a few people he didn't get along with.

As if seeing old friends, Duke smiled and walked toward Martin Bob and Mel Gibson, taking the initiative to extend his hand.

"Hi, Martin," he said. "It's been a while."

Even though he wanted to tear Duke apart, Martin Bob still flashed the most enthusiastic smile appropriate for the occasion.

"Yes, it's been a while, Duke," he said. "Congratulations on another box-office hit!"

Beside him, Mel Gibson lacked such good restraint. The features on his unruly face were practically scrunched together in a scowl.

"It's a pity that high box office often loses at the Oscars," he spat. "You're going to lose the awards season!"

"That's not necessarily true." Duke dropped his smile and fired back without any politeness. "Think about last year's Forrest Gump and The Shawshank Redemption. Mel, if I remember correctly, Braveheart is also a commercial film. It's just that its dismal box office easily gives people the illusion that it's an art house movie."

Mel Gibson glared at him. It took a long time before he finally squeezed out a sentence.

"You're not going to win Best Director!"

"It's true, you have an advantage over me in age." Duke leaned forward slightly and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear. "But don't forget, I'm of Jewish descent! I don't have to sacrifice much; some things will naturally belong to me."

Taking a slight step back, Duke quietly waited for a reaction. Mel Gibson's face looked incredibly grim, but he didn't say anything else, stubbornly refusing to jump into the trap laid out for him.

"Let's go," Mel Gibson said, leading the way out of the area.

Seeing that things hadn't unfolded according to his script, Duke could only sigh inwardly. Then he figured it out. Mel Gibson didn't seem to have been drinking. Without the stimulus of alcohol...

After spending more than an hour socializing, Duke was finally able to rest for a moment. He grabbed a glass of soda and walked toward the edge of the party, finding a seat next to a palm tree. He sat down and quietly observed his surroundings. Because this kind of party was a rare networking opportunity, most people were clustered together, leaving the rest area sparsely populated.

Taking a large gulp of soda, his constantly patrolling gaze suddenly stopped. Duke looked with great interest at a table over fifty feet away. Sitting there was someone he was very interested in. More importantly, both Mel Gibson and Tom Cruise, whose profiles were facing his direction, looked incredibly grim. From their expressions and body language, it wasn't hard to tell that they were having a severe disagreement—or rather, they were arguing.

The two clearly remembered what kind of occasion this was, so they kept their argument contained to a very small radius. Duke couldn't hear what they were saying; he could only tell that both men were highly agitated. In any other setting, the two superstars, both used to playing tough heroes on the silver screen, might have actually started throwing punches.

A vulgar savage facing off against a medieval vampire? It would be a decent live-action brawl.

Of course, things wouldn't unfold the way Duke's bored imagination pictured. He didn't know what else Mel Gibson said, but Tom Cruise's expression grew even uglier. Dropping a few cold words, he stood up, left the table, and walked diagonally in Duke's direction.

When Tom Cruise passed by over ten feet away, Duke waved at him.

"Tom, over here!" he called out.

Cruise turned his head. Seeing it was Duke, he hesitated for a moment before changing direction and walking over.

Duke gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat, Tom." Waiting for Tom Cruise to sit down, he pointed to the spot behind him where Mel Gibson had been sitting and asked with feigned curiosity, "Did that savage do something vulgar and rude again?"

He aligned himself with Tom Cruise. "He just provoked me a moment ago."