Chapter 230: Taking Over

The Toronto International Film Festival was founded in 1976. Over twenty years, it had evolved into an annual extravaganza enjoyed by four hundred thousand people.

In recent years, the Toronto Film Festival's transaction volume had approached Cannes, while its attendance rivaled Berlin. For North American audiences in particular, it was the top international film festival in the world—the Oscar ceremony being the undisputed Hollywood gala—forcing Cannes and the rest to step aside. Movies that made a splash here always captured the attention of the entire North American market.

The industry also widely recognized it as the most useful and active film festival.

Its usefulness and activity stemmed not only from a vibrant market—acting as a massive clearinghouse for film acquisitions—but also from its organization and positioning. It had no jury. Instead, the film fans in the audience voted collectively for the People's Choice Award.

Therefore, the most critical part of the Toronto Film Festival was the screening segment. Over 300 films would be shown across ten days; the printed schedule alone spanned 200 pages. This sheer volume was a logistical nightmare for attendees. Even waking early and staying up late, a person could only watch about a tenth of them, forcing everyone to carefully plan and compromise among the sea of options.

Festival screenings fell into two categories. The first was for the media and distributors; anyone with the proper credentials could enter, and seats were generally available, since the entire goal was selling film rights. The second was the public screening, where audiences had to buy tickets. Media and distributors could attend these as well, but they had to wait in line with everyone else. Because Chicago wasn't selling its distribution rights, it only held public screenings.

It seemed every exhibited film at the festival had an equal opportunity, but that was far from the truth.

Without a Main Competition, there was no star-studded red carpet, and the media's promotional impact was largely diminished. With so many movies screening and everyone's energy strictly limited, how were audiences supposed to choose what to watch?

Consequently, out of the long screening list, films boasting famous directors and stars naturally became the biggest draws.

Without a doubt, it was hard for the names Duke and Tom Cruise not to attract a crowd.

Chicago's first screening took place at seven o'clock on the second evening of the festival. Around six-thirty, Tom Cruise sent his assistant to check the front of the theater. He found a massive line of hundreds of people—audiences and journalists from all over the world. Despite waiting anxiously, these people ultimately never made it inside, because the theater had reached capacity just past six.

One should never doubt the passion of film festival audiences. The sheer impact of Duke and Tom Cruise's first collaboration was enough to cause a sensation.

Toronto audiences had a rather bad habit. Perhaps because past festivals featured so many debuts and experimental films, viewers would offer incredibly enthusiastic applause lasting for dozens of seconds at the end of every screening—regardless of what kind of movie it was or whether they actually thought it was good.

Thus, when the credits for Chicago rolled and over a thousand people gave a standing ovation in Toronto's second-largest theater, Duke and the rest of the crew didn't pay it too much mind. Even experimental films from Iran or South Korea received this kind of applause after their screenings.

Duke stood and applauded as well. Glancing toward the back, he noticed that the fans were predominantly middle-aged and elderly. This was a major characteristic of the Toronto Film Festival, which had even earned it the nickname of the "Middle-Aged and Elderly Film Festival."

Why did the People's Choice Award—voted on by Toronto audiences—always align so closely with Oscar tastes? This was likely one of the reasons.

Bringing Chicago to the Toronto Film Festival was, in fact, a highly targeted move.

A highly amusing scene unfolded during the ensuing Q&A session. Several rows of middle-aged and elderly women formed a tacit alliance, fiercely praising Tom Cruise's acting, singing, and dancing in the film. Their enthusiasm was so passionate and uninhibited that Tom seemed poised to become an idol for the older demographic ahead of schedule.

Frankly, Duke felt that Cruise's performance in Chicago showed tremendous improvement, having completely broken away from the shallow phase of simply acting cool and trading on his looks. After all, even a pig would make some breakthroughs if it spent over half a year preparing for a movie and nearly four agonizing months enduring repeated retakes.

After the chaotic audience interaction wrapped up, journalists arranged in advance by Warner Brothers pitched several questions to Duke and the other crew members. This was purely to fulfill promotional needs.

"Director Rosenberg, how do you view this collaboration with Mr. Cruise?"

Standing on the stage in front of the screen, the microphone was passed down the line to Duke after the journalist's question.

"I'd like to clarify something first," he said. "Tom took dance and vocal lessons continuously for over half a year for this film. His dedication is admirable, and the quality of his performance is obvious to all."

When necessary, Duke could lie without batting an eye. "Tom is the actor I've wanted to work with the most. Any director would find it a breeze to collaborate with him. I don't know why there is always so much outside criticism directed at Tom, but I consider it all baseless rumors. The Tom I've seen is an earnest, hardworking, and humble actor who also happens to be incredibly gifted."

The journalists subsequently directed their questions to Cruise. Even if Tom was usually terrible at public relations, he knew exactly what to say now. He endlessly praised Duke and the rest of the crew.

After asking Catherine Zeta-Jones and Naomi Watts a few routine questions, a reporter from a gossip outlet owned by Warner Brothers stood up.

"Duke, judging by recent news in the media, you and Miss Zeta-Jones are very close. Are you two dating?"

This was a prearranged question, and Penny Kalis had already drafted the answer.

Turning his head, Duke shared a deep look with Zeta-Jones, who was already gazing at him. "Kate is incredibly beautiful and charming," he said. "She helped me tremendously during the film's production and provided me with a lot of inspiration. I'm lucky to have met her, and we are currently very good friends."

Before the reporters could throw out another question, Robin Grande, who was hosting the Q&A, announced its conclusion. The crew quickly exited the stage.

The Toronto Film Festival lacked both a formal opening and a closing ceremony. Participating crews typically left the city right after attending their screening. The Chicago team wasn't planning an extended stay either, but they would remain for another two days. The city was currently swarming with the press, making it the perfect place to generate buzz—whether about Duke and Zeta-Jones, or Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.

The very next day, Duke and Catherine Zeta-Jones took to the streets of Toronto hand in hand. Trailing behind them were not only Warner-affiliated reporters but also numerous journalists from Europe and the US. The paparazzi from Fleet Street, in particular, looked ready to sprint right up and snap wild pictures of their faces upon seeing them holding hands on the sidewalk.

Duke ignored them entirely, occasionally whispering to Zeta-Jones with an air of extreme intimacy. As they passed a movie theater, they bought two tickets and went inside to watch a South Korean film that didn't even have English subtitles. By the time they emerged, the reporters had mostly dispersed. Finding a random street-side cafe, they sat down to chat over coffee.

At present, there was virtually no other entertainment in Toronto; besides watching movies, the only option was hitting the bars.

"Did you understand it?"

Sipping her coffee, Zeta-Jones brought up the film they had just watched. "I couldn't understand a word of the dialogue, and the plot was utterly baffling. I truly have no idea what the director was trying to say."

"I couldn't figure it out either," Duke said with a shrug.

Zeta-Jones set her cup down. "It was a bit boring. We should have left early."

Duke smiled. "The movies we normally see in theaters are almost entirely commercial films designed primarily to entertain the audience. That's the same everywhere in the world. Even in France, where they consider cinema high art, the films at the top of the box office are actually pure commercial flicks."

"Cinema has always been diverse," he continued. "There has to be some room for niche arthouse features and experimental films to survive. Film festivals are, in fact, the only place where many of these types of movies have any real presence. We might never see them in regular theaters, only at festivals like this."

"You always have a point."

A camera flash seemed to go off outside the glass window. With practiced synchronization, Zeta-Jones took Duke's hand to make them look exceptionally close, simultaneously picking up the thread of their conversation. "I know, really. Isn't watching movies the whole reason audiences come here? There are hundreds of features at the Toronto Film Festival in every genre imaginable, and people can pick and choose whatever they want to see."

"Exactly, the only thing that matters for the audience here is watching films." Duke lightly tickled Zeta-Jones's palm, and as she laughed, he added, "Isn't the whole function of a film festival just to screen movies and watch them?"

At that thought, Duke suddenly recalled one of his rare experiences attending a film festival in his past life. It had been the second annual capital film festival in a certain country—a massive, national-level event endowed with significant political and cultural meaning, deliberately held in the famous plaza of the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests. It had been raining that day, the air freezing cold. The domestic filmmakers attending the festival had been forced to stand in the freezing rain, suffering bitterly...

They had it relatively easy, as they didn't have to wait too long. However, many audiences and reporters stood in the freezing rain for three or four hours before finally witnessing the delayed opening of the grand event.

And everyone enduring the freezing rain together hadn't done it for the films, nor for promoting the festival, and certainly not to showcase a new cultural image to the world. They were just waiting for a certain official to give a speech...

The most ridiculous part was that no restrooms had been prepared inside for the audience, journalists, or filmmakers. The cold left many desperate to take a leak, but the moment anyone stepped out—unless they had a famous face the public recognized—they were guaranteed to be barred at the gates, never to get back in.

The experience of holding in pee like that had been truly one of a kind.

Many people from over there fantasized about their country's cinema bursting onto the global stage and crushing Hollywood to pieces. But the backwardness of a film industry couldn't be fixed by the industry alone; it involved comprehensive issues spanning the industrial foundation and the social environment.