Chapter 388: Ivanka's Website

"May a shining star in the night sky and its endless starlight guide your journey onward. May the veil of darkness fall away, and evil stay far from your pure heart..."

The credits slowly rolled to an ethereal, dynamic, and tranquil song. For the first time since the screening began, Norman Hiller tore his eyes completely away from the big screen and checked his watch. Over two and a half hours had already passed.

'The movie is actually this long?' Hiller realized with a start!

To him, the film felt as if it had ended shortly after it began. He had been so immersed in the dreamlike story that he hadn't noticed the passage of time at all. Thinking back now, he realized that compared to the breakneck pacing of The Matrix, this story's progression was much more relaxed and steady.

What amazed him was that this relatively slow pacing didn't feel boring or drawn out. Instead, he found it incredibly compelling. It effortlessly drew him in, leaving him wishing the movie could go on even longer.

'Why couldn't it be a bit longer? Why did this fantasy journey have to end here?'

It wasn't just Norman Hiller; the vast majority of the audience in the theater felt the exact same way. This was an absolutely magical film, and none of them wanted to see it end.

A journey like this shouldn't even have an end!

The song played on. A strange emotion seemed to be brewing in the theater—invisible and intangible, yet Michael Bay could clearly feel it.

The film was over. Although the first installment ended in tragedy, he realized that the biggest box office blockbuster of this year's Summer Season had just arrived!

Looking at the ordinary audience members around him—some sad, some excited, but none looking calm or bored—Michael Bay fell into a brief moment of thought.

'They're both ultra-long epic films. So why did most audiences call Pearl Harbor tedious, while The Fellowship of the Ring leaves them absolutely mesmerized?'

'I still have so much to learn from Duke Rosenberg!'

Duke, after all, wasn't Peter Jackson. He didn't harbor any homeland nostalgia for New Zealand. While traveling scenes with the hobbits and the Fellowship naturally showcased the scenery of Middle-earth, he refused to use shots purely to show off the landscape. The time saved was partly used to enhance the action and special effects sequences, while the rest was simply cut. That was how this 165-minute theatrical cut came to be.

Pacing was absolutely critical for any commercial film. The pacing of The Fellowship of the Ring flowed like a gentle stream, but it was never slow enough to feel dreary.

Furthermore, the slower transitional scenes were either buoyed by the exotic landscapes of Middle-earth or the eye-catching appearances of the angelic elves.

As for the result...

The credits finished rolling, and the applause arrived right on cue. The loud ovation went from scattered to uniform, shifting from explosive thunderclaps to rolling ocean waves. Like drops in a tidal wave, the audience members rose to their feet as one. They clapped with all their might, paying tribute to this incredible masterpiece and honoring the director and crew who had created this magical journey!

The thunderous applause swelled into a ceaseless tide. After five full minutes, the ovation showed no sign of stopping.

"Congratulations, Duke!"

The crew had already stood up. Ivanka was the first to offer him a hug, followed by everyone else nearby!

"Oh, my! Oh, my..."

Seemingly infected by the atmosphere of the crowd, the youngest core cast member, Elijah Wood, lost control of his emotions.

"What did we just make? Almighty Lord, what did we just make!" he cried.

His eyes were red with excitement as he looked around at Duke and the others.

"Did we really make this? I can't believe it. This masterpiece is what we shot in New Zealand!"

As Elijah Wood's best friend in the film, Sean Astin pulled him into a tight embrace.

"We did it! God, we did it! To hell with all that damn criticism!"

Gerard Butler, who had drawn countless tears at the film's conclusion, saw that the applause still hadn't died down. Thinking back to how the protesters had drowned out the cheers on the red carpet, he pumped his fist in cathartic release.

"Fuck the protests!"

The entire crew grew electric amidst the applause. Over nearly two years of preparation and filming, how much had they suffered? How much hardship had they endured? How many scars had they collected?

At this moment, they had the right, the confidence, and the need to bask in the applause—to enjoy this ovation brimming with respect!

People were always influenced by their surroundings, and even someone as calm as Duke was tightly clenching his fists!

Though he never showed it, a massive total investment of over $500 million—marketing included—was pressing down on his shoulders. How could he not feel the mountainous weight?

And how many people knew just how many nights he had been tortured by insomnia during the shoot, driven by a volatile mix of pressure, exhaustion, and excitement?

Suddenly, a hand reached over and grasped his tightly clenched fist. Duke turned his head, nodded at Ivanka, and his surging emotions slowly smoothed out.

Yet the applause still showed no sign of fading!

Ivanka held on tightly, her eyes slowly shifting toward the back. The theater's lights were now shining brightly, illuminating the densely packed crowd. Everyone was on their feet, clapping for a film, for a crew, for a director, and for a single man's success!

They were all applauding Duke's success!

Even though she wasn't the one being honored, Ivanka was still incredibly happy—overjoyed, even.

Duke took a deep breath and turned to Charles Roven beside him.

"Gather everyone. Let's go up for the curtain call!"

Brad Miller's hands had long since grown sore and numb, but he didn't want to stop for even a second. Only by clapping could he vent the thrill and excitement coursing through him. As he watched the entire crew step onto the stage in front of the silver screen, he clapped even harder.

Led by the director and the producer, the crew took a bow!

Instead of stopping, the applause in the theater grew even louder. It continued for nearly ten more minutes. Only after the crew had taken five consecutive curtain calls did the ovation finally begin to subside.

According to the premiere's schedule, the cast and crew were supposed to have a Q&A session with the audience after the screening.

Inevitably, the first question came from a reporter who had been prepped beforehand. The moment the reporter grabbed the microphone, he asked his question.

"Director Rosenberg..."

Then, he realized he couldn't ask another word.

Brad Miller didn't want to wait. He desperately wanted to see the next two films. As the applause died down, he shouted out without thinking.

"The Two Towers!"

Beside him, Hiller and Pitt's eyes instantly lit up. They joined the chant.

"The Two Towers!"

Anyone who knew The Lord of the Rings understood exactly what "The Two Towers" meant. Countless moviegoers—unwilling to accept that the journey was over—spontaneously answered the call.

"The Two Towers! The Two Towers! The Two Towers! The Two Towers..."

In the face of a riled-up, passionate crowd of fans, a Q&A session was impossible. In fact, nothing could proceed.

Duke stood there, holding his microphone. He said nothing, and he did nothing.

"The Two Towers!"

The overwhelming chants rushed toward the stage like a tidal wave!

The reporters completely forgot about their interviews. They stood up one after another, looking toward the back. They had never seen anything like this—an entire theater of fans collectively summoning the sequel right after the first movie finished!

What a spectacular sight.

They raised their cameras, their targets no longer the cast and crew on stage. The crew was irrelevant now. The journalists frantically snapped photos of the even more frantic fans behind them, not caring at all about burning through every last inch of film!

Watching all of this unfold, Duke stopped Charles Roven from tapping the microphone to restore order. He let the reporters take as many pictures as they wanted!

Over fifty minutes had passed since the screening ended, yet the theater still hadn't cleared out. Chrissy led his large contingent of protesters, blocking the area near the exit so they could loudly protest one more time when the audience and crew finally left.

Having taken someone's money, he had to do the job. He was very clear on that point.

It was just... just that the situation was entirely too strange. Almost an hour had passed since the movie let out, but not a single audience member had emerged, let alone the crew or the media.

What the hell was going on?

"Boss..."

A young Black guy leaned in.

"Do you think the audience is so pissed off at the movie that they're refusing to leave, and they're trashing the theater instead?"

"Are you brain-dead?"

Chrissy slapped him hard on the back of the head, pointing at the nearby police officers who had been keeping a close eye on them.

"If that were happening, the cops would have stormed in ages ago," he said.

The young Black guy rubbed his head. Suddenly spotting a number of audience members walking out of the theater entrance, he quickly warned him.

"They're coming out! They're coming out!"

"Everyone, look alive!" Chrissy yelled to the hundred or so people behind him.

"Hold up your signs and banners! Once the reporters come out, follow my lead and chant..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a wave of loud discussions and curses erupted from the audience members walking out ahead of them. Their voices were pitched high with excitement, and even from a distance, they fell crystal clear into the protesters' ears.

"You're protesting a movie this incredible? You guys have brain damage!"

"Fuck, protesting my new favorite masterpiece? Fuck you all..."

"Have you even seen the movie? Protesting without watching it—what a bunch of retards!"

"I protest you protesters!"

As the voices from across the way grew louder and louder, Chrissy couldn't help but freeze. His side was supposed to be the one launching the protest. How did it end up being the audience?

While he was still stunned, many of the younger audience members stopped in their tracks. Countless others gathered around, rapidly swelling into a crowd of hundreds. They sneered and mocked the protesters, as if they were looking at the biggest fools in the entire world.

Just like inside the theater, once a crowd formed, emotions became highly contagious. Someone in the crowd shouted a loud curse, and then a torrent of F-bombs rained down on the protesters' heads like a torrential downpour.

The reporters emerged as well. Sarah from the Los Angeles Times instantly grabbed her cameraman and rushed over to capture this rare sight.

In a flash, she already had a headline in mind for this news segment.

"The Fellowship of the Ring Conquers Moviegoers in Just One Premiere; Fans Go to War with Protesters to Defend the Film!"

Of course, a war wasn't actually going to break out. The protesters had been surrounded by police this whole time. The cops quickly rushed in to maintain order, and the two sides slowly dispersed.

It was right at this moment that Miller and Pitt, finally leaving the Chinese Grand Theater, met up with the group of protesters.