Chapter 217: Because This Is the Oscars

Hearing Duke's unhesitating refusal, Mel Gibson instantly clenched the hands resting at his sides into fists. He exerted every ounce of his strength just to maintain control.

Staring at him, Duke could already tell that the man was only apologizing for the sake of it.

"I won't accept your apology right now."

Seeing the people around them looking over in surprise or understanding, Duke made a point to speak up.

"You didn't just hurt me, you hurt a massive group of people. You insulted my ethnicity. Mr. Gibson, the person you need to apologize to isn't me."

Pulling a tiger skin to act as a great banner—the old Duke had been very good at this trick, and now he used it without the slightest hesitation.

His bloodline and ethnicity had been given to him by his mother. Though he didn't necessarily identify with them deeply in his heart, leaving a natural advantage on the table would make him a textbook idiot.

"Duke..."

Mel Gibson tried to speak, but Duke cut him off.

"I said it before, Mr. Gibson—the person you need to apologize to isn't me."

He stood up and offered his hand to Zeta-Jones.

"Kate, let's go."

"All right."

Catherine Zeta-Jones cooperatively slipped her hand into the crook of Duke's arm. She let him lead her toward the banquet hall's entrance, making a point to glance at the stunned Mel Gibson. Her amber eyes were filled with disdain.

'A shameful loser!'

Snorting coldly to herself, Zeta-Jones faced forward again. Her beautiful eyes immediately returned to their most charming state, sparkling as brightly as the chandelier overhead.

In the banquet hall, the rest of the Saving Private Ryan crew was gradually dispersing. Ben Watts, Zack Snyder, and a few others took the women they had just picked up and prepared to get rooms upstairs. Those who had brought their wives or girlfriends prepared to head home. No one spared Mel Gibson another glance.

There weren't many people from the Braveheart crew attending the party, but a few were still around.

"He completely humiliated us!"

"I will absolutely never work with him again," the man who had just won Best Costume Design told the assistant director.

"Only a fool would work with Mel Gibson again!" the assistant director scoffed.

Alerted by her assistant, Tina Brown hurried out of a lounge. She didn't even need to search for him; following the crowd's disdainful gazes immediately led her to Mel Gibson's tall but slightly dejected figure.

"He disrupted our party?"

Seeing that tonight's most important guests—the Saving Private Ryan crew—had entirely vanished, Tina Brown frowned and walked straight over.

"Mr. Gibson," Tina Brown said in a low voice, stopping in front of him. "I hope you will refrain from appearing at any future parties hosted by Vanity Fair."

With that, she turned and walked away coldly, as if the man behind her didn't even exist.

"Where are you going, Kate?"

"Do you need me to have the driver take you back?" Duke asked tentatively as they walked out of the banquet hall.

Zeta-Jones hesitated slightly, her eyes flashing, before giving him a sweet smile.

"You decide."

"You're very understanding."

Lifting his free hand, Duke gave Zeta-Jones's arm a gentle squeeze.

"Darling, I think I'm starting to like you."

"Actually..." Zeta-Jones clung tightly to Duke's arm. "I've already fallen in love with you."

Flashing a bright smile, Duke dialed a number and quickly secured a presidential suite. He had no intention of taking Zeta-Jones home; instead, they took the elevator to the hotel's upper floors.

The Oscars were over, but the media's feast was far from finished. By the following morning, a massive wave of outrage over the injustice done to Duke flooded the entertainment pages. Many publications stated outright that the School discriminated against young directors, stealing the Golden Statuette for Best Director that rightfully belonged to him.

The School made no response, and Duke couldn't be bothered to care. This was a routine act the media put on once a year; few industry insiders paid it any mind.

Some media outlets even went so far as to argue that Saving Private Ryan shouldn't have won Best Picture, crying foul on behalf of Tim Robbins and Dead Man Walking.

From this angle, it was clear the media had no principles to speak of. As long as they could attract eyeballs, they didn't care which person or movie they were defending.

Take last year, for example. The vast majority of the media sympathized with The Shawshank Redemption, but if a private survey had been conducted, how many of those journalists actually believed it should have beaten Forrest Gump for Best Picture?

The so-called Oscar controversies hyped up in the media were exactly that—controversies. It was very difficult for them to substantively influence the School.

For instance, the media had long been urging the School to reform and favor films with broader audiences, but what was the actual effect? The School's reform was an empty promise. Looking ahead twenty years, one would find that the average age of the School's members—the Oscar voters—hadn't gotten any younger, but had actually increased. The films they selected became more niche, conservative, and politicized. Even as the Oscars' viewership shrank drastically and its influence plummeted, they still implemented no substantive reform measures.

At the end of the day, the School was ultimately dominated by conservatives holding an absolute advantage.

This was completely normal. Anyone getting older tended toward conservatism.

Leaving the Hilton Grand Hotel, Duke sent Catherine Zeta-Jones back to her temporary residence in North Hollywood before returning to his home in Malibu. Upon entering the villa, he noticed a new glass cabinet in the living room. The Golden Statuette he had won for Best Original Screenplay was already resting in the most prominent spot, with a pile of other trophies sitting below it.

Although he rarely attended award ceremonies, Duke had racked up quite a few miscellaneous honors over the past few years, such as the Saturn Awards and the MTV Movie Awards.

"I put the trophies in there."

Mrs. Leah walked in from the lounge and pointed at the glass cabinet. "What do you think?"

"Mom, your taste is always the best," Duke said, walking over to the cabinet. He took a look and joked, "Maybe one day, my trophies will fill this entire thing."

"It's good to have confidence."

Accepting the coffee pot brought by the butler, Mrs. Leah sat down on the sofa.

"Will they be Golden Statuettes, darling?"

"I think Saturn Awards are more likely, Mom."

Walking over to sit opposite his mother, Duke picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"In my plans, realistic subjects are only a very small minority."

Mrs. Leah changed the subject. "I'm heading back to New York this afternoon. Duke, you're about to turn twenty-six. Next month, my lawyer will come over to handle the handover of the Victoria's Secret share trust with you. If you aren't going to be in Los Angeles, remember to notify him in advance."

Duke thought over his schedule. "I shouldn't be leaving. Chicago officially starts shooting at the beginning of next month."

"Duke, you're about to turn twenty-six."

Walking over to pat his shoulder, Mrs. Leah headed toward the stairs.

"You have a successful career now, and you're mature and rational. I'm very gratified, and I'm proud of you. Keep moving forward, and don't lose your way."

He was turning twenty-six once again. Duke sighed softly, a wave of emotion washing over him. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out at the broad expanse of the sea. Dreams were just like the Pacific Ocean before him, so vast they were boundless. Only by working harder and harder could the wings carrying his dreams soar across those waters.

In the past, he had been an inconspicuous nobody. Only after a bitter struggle did he get a slight chance to emerge, but just as he stuck his head out, an accident occurred. Perhaps his previous efforts had moved some inexplicable existence, granting him a chance to do it all over again. Such an opportunity could only be stumbled upon, not sought. If he didn't put in the work and just let things run their course, what good would some memories of the future do him?

Even a fool knew that a chasm as vast as heaven and earth separated watching a movie—or even its behind-the-scenes footage—from successfully producing one.

To bridge that gap, he had learned and accumulated knowledge, sacrificing massive amounts of time and energy. He had immersed his entire being in the film industry. His past experiences, combined with the systematic study of this lifetime and a cautious, serious, resilient, and hardworking attitude, were what allowed him to achieve his current results.

These results seemed quite brilliant, but to Duke, they were far from enough. Since he had stepped into Hollywood, he naturally wanted to stand at the absolute pinnacle of the directing profession.

He knew very well that achieving this meant putting in even more effort. It meant forging ahead while shouldering immense pressure, and encountering countless obstacles and difficulties. But he would not shrink back. He believed his will was tenacious enough and his shoulders broad enough. He believed that, just as when he faced Mel Gibson and Sean Connery, he could leverage certain forces to break through any trial or hardship.

Every successful director like James Cameron and Steven Spielberg was bound to possess nerves of steel. Duke was certain his own were tough enough!

He wouldn't stop his march forward. He wouldn't stand in the distance looking back, much less retreat to admire past scenery. He always knew what he wanted, knew where his future lay, and knew that to realize that future, he had to work for it!

Perhaps there were indeed people in this world with heaven-sent genius who could easily achieve success without hard work, but they were exceptionally few and far between. Duke knew he wasn't that kind of genius; he knew that even if pizzas fell from the sky, they wouldn't land in his pocket.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the surface of the Pacific Ocean undulated, just like the path of life—it would never be a perfectly smooth journey. But the rolling sea was vast; as long as one was willing to strive with all their might, they would always be able to see its most beautiful scenery.

'I have my own goals. I will lock onto my direction. No matter how great the temptations or setbacks, I will firmly march forward!'