Chapter 205: A Movie Isn't a Stage Play

On January 21, 1996, the 53rd Golden Globe Awards kicked off right on time at the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel. Held as a formal banquet, it was the most important film ceremony of the awards season aside from the Oscar Awards, and many outside the industry considered it a bellwether for the Oscars.

No one inside the industry saw it that way. Based on Academy voting rules, the true bellwethers for the various awards were guild honors like those from the Screen Actors Guild, the Directors Association, and the Producers Alliance. Historical data showed that the individuals and films that won the big three guild awards were the real Oscar favorites.

Furthermore, the Golden Globe Awards were notoriously shady. The voting body consisted of fewer than a hundred people. If the Oscars occasionally lost their minds, the Golden Globes only occasionally kept theirs.

With its numerous nominations, Saving Private Ryan occupied three whole tables. Right next to the table seating Duke and Tom Hanks was the group for Leaving Las Vegas, including Nicolas Cage, who had been sweeping the awards season for Best Actor.

The Golden Globe Awards were no exception. Nicolas Cage had just taken home the award for Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama, defeating none other than Tom Hanks.

In Duke's view, Cage's performance wasn't necessarily better than Hanks's, but unfortunately, the performance wasn't the sole criterion for winning an acting award. Too many outside factors influenced the results.

"Congratulations, Nicolas."

Taking advantage of a performance on stage, Duke greeted Cage at the next table, and the two shared a drink. Duke's gaze then shifted left toward the Braveheart cast and crew. Mel Gibson brimmed with confidence, looking as though the grand prize was already in his grasp.

"Don't let it bother you too much."

Tom Hanks patted Duke's arm lightly. "You'll have plenty of opportunities in the future."

"So you don't think I'm going to win either." Duke looked away and smiled at Tom Hanks. "We're both going to be disappointed this year."

"Relax," Hanks assured him earnestly. "Duke, you have my vote."

Tom Hanks was an Oscar voter, but not a voter for the Golden Globe Awards. Truly prestigious individuals disdained being Golden Globe voters; someone had once publicly declared they were ashamed to be associated with the Golden Globe judges.

The awards were handed out one by one. The Golden Globes were entirely unpredictable. In the Best Screenplay category, which everyone had assumed Saving Private Ryan would win, Duke surprisingly lost to Sense and Sensibility. Emma Thompson, who had won Best Actress at the Oscars a few years prior, took the award.

Right before the next award was presented, Duke glanced over at the Braveheart table. Sophie Marceau was chatting and laughing with Mel Gibson and the others, not showing the slightest hint of anything unusual. One had to admire the cunning and acting skills of these actresses.

"The award I'm presenting today is a heavyweight—Best Director!"

John Travolta stood on the stage at the front. "I've always wanted to transition into directing, but since no one's willing to invest, I have no choice but to stay an actor. The names on the list in my hand tonight are all outstanding figures in the directing industry. Let's see who they are."

"Ang Lee for Sense and Sensibility, Mel Gibson for Braveheart, Martin Scorsese for Casino, Mike Figgis for Leaving Las Vegas, and Duke Rosenberg for Saving Private Ryan!"

Even though he saw the live camera pan toward him, Duke maintained his relaxed smile, showing no signs of nervousness.

The result was just as expected. John Travolta read out the answer. "The winner is Mel Gibson for Braveheart!"

The moment the winner was revealed, a cheer erupted from the Braveheart cast and crew. When Duke turned to look, he clearly saw Mel Gibson subtly pump his fist in his direction, as if putting on a show of force.

However, the sober Australian wild man still had a clear head and knew this was a live broadcast. He didn't make any further gestures, and even after taking the stage to accept the award, he only delivered a standard acceptance speech.

"No one is stupid enough to say something provocative during a live broadcast."

Sofia Coppola, sitting on his other side, whispered in Duke's ear, "Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure he'll lose control?"

"I'm not sure." Duke shook his head. "That's why I have to try. Even if it fails, it won't affect us at all, will it?"

Just like the earlier guild awards, Braveheart took Best Director, while Saving Private Ryan easily claimed Best Picture. After presenter Tom Cruise made the announcement, Robin Grande took the stage on behalf of the crew to accept the only trophy Saving Private Ryan won that night.

This outcome was entirely expected, and no one was surprised. As far as Duke was concerned, tonight's Golden Globe Awards were a rare instance in recent years where they hadn't lost their minds.

With that, the 53rd Golden Globe Awards came to an end, but very few guests left. Instead, at the organizers' invitation, they moved to Banquet Hall 1 of the Hilton Grand Hotel to attend the celebration party that inevitably followed every major awards ceremony. Naturally, the casts and crews of Braveheart and Saving Private Ryan were the main targets of congratulations.

Duke dumped most of the socializing on Robin Grande. He knew his own alcohol tolerance; it wouldn't take much for him to lose his footing, and wouldn't that ruin the good show he planned to personally direct tonight?

As the party officially began, more and more people filled the banquet hall. Not only were there actors, directors, and producers, but prominent journalists, public relations personnel, and agents also joined the fray. Duke spotted the entertainment editors of several newspapers and magazines, such as Tina Brown, the editor-in-chief of Vanity Fair, which specialized in celebrity gossip and scandals, and David Firth, the entertainment editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times.

This party was a perfect microcosm of the Hollywood ecosystem. The din of conversation, congratulations, clinking glasses, and the unrestrained laughter of certain individuals echoed back and forth across the banquet hall.

Having secured the Golden Globe for Best Director, the smile on Mel Gibson's face never faded. He didn't actually value the award much, but he was still thrilled because it meant he had once again defeated Duke Rosenberg for Best Director. How many times had it been since awards season began? He couldn't remember clearly; he only knew that he had completely swept Duke Rosenberg in the Best Director category, fiercely venting his frustration over his box office defeat.

The situation was looking fantastic now. No matter how you looked at it, he was the top favorite for the Oscar Best Director.

"Cheers, Mel!"

Someone from the crew came over to congratulate him. Mel Gibson was in an excellent mood and turned almost no one away. In just a few minutes, he had downed four or five glasses of champagne and red wine.

For a heavy drinker like him, this amount of alcohol was nothing. After downing another two glasses, he suddenly remembered—what about Best Picture?

Setting down his empty glass, Mel Gibson looked up, searched the room, and walked over to Sophie Marceau.

"When do you plan to make your move?" he asked in a low voice.

"Tonight..." Sophie Marceau glanced in Duke's direction. "Don't you think tonight is the perfect time? I'll go talk to Duke Rosenberg in a little bit. He was very interested in me at the party at his house last time. If something hadn't come up for him at the last minute, we might have already succeeded."

"The sooner the better!"

Nodding in satisfaction, Mel Gibson turned and prepared to walk away, but Sophie Marceau called out to stop him. Handing him a glass of whiskey, she said, "I haven't congratulated you yet, Mel."

"Thank you!"

Likely pleased with Sophie Marceau's words, Mel Gibson clinked his glass against the French actress's and tossed back the half glass of liquor in one gulp.

A flattering smile appeared on Sophie Marceau's face. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured him another half glass, and clinked his glass before Mel Gibson could say anything. "Here's to our sweeping victory at the Oscars."

"We'll definitely win it all!" Brimming with confidence, Mel Gibson downed the drink as well.

He had drunk a bit too much and a bit too fast, but Mel Gibson was in high spirits. He waved to Sophie Marceau and stepped out to use the restroom. When he returned to the banquet hall, he habitually looked toward the Saving Private Ryan cast and crew. He saw Duke Rosenberg chatting and laughing with someone, showing none of the disappointment he ought to feel after losing to him. Mel Gibson couldn't help but stop in his tracks and frown.

Instead of returning to the Braveheart group, he turned and walked toward Duke. The two of them had been clashing since they were on set in Ireland, yet they had never truly confronted each other face-to-face. Now that he had beaten his rival, how could he enjoy the thrill of victory without showing off?

Clearly, the alcohol was going to Mel Gibson's head. The arrogance and rebelliousness normally suppressed by his clear-headed rationality when sober were slowly beginning to surface.

"Duke Rosenberg!"

Mel Gibson strode right up to Duke. He wasn't completely drunk yet, so he kept his voice relatively low. "How does defeat taste?"

"It's quite special!"

Turning his head, the first thing Duke smelled was the reek of alcohol coming off Mel Gibson's breath. But he kept a straight face. "I'm savoring the taste of defeat that you've been experiencing for the past six months!"

"You..."

Taking a deep breath, Mel Gibson suppressed his urge to explode. He casually glanced around at the onlookers, then spoke to Duke in a slow, low voice. "This entire awards season, I've kept you under my heel, and I'll keep you under my heel at the Oscars, too. What you gave to me, I'm going to return twofold!"

"I'll be waiting for your gift." Duke smiled faintly.

"Pathetic loser!"

Tossing out that final cold remark, Mel Gibson turned and walked away. He happened to catch Sophie Marceau's gaze from a short distance away and hurriedly gave her a meaningful glance. The French actress inconspicuously circled around and walked toward Duke.

'After tonight, everything will be different!' Mel Gibson scoffed inwardly.

On the other side, Duke nodded to Sophie Marceau, stepped away from where he was standing, and found Tom Cruise not far away.

"Tom, we can begin!"