Chapter 392: Want a Kiss?

Bright sunlight fell on a mansion in the Chicago suburbs, illuminating an exquisite garden. Roger Ebert sat alone at a small table, enjoying his morning tea. The servants had cleared out early, as if the man sitting there was not America's most famous film critic, but a man-eating monster.

Everyone else was in hiding. Only the butler, Stiller, occasionally walked to the edge of the garden to check on his master, though he never stepped inside to disturb him.

They had adapted to this routine since 1995.

The man sitting in the garden appeared generous and hearty when facing the media, playing the part of a polite, refined critic. But having served him for years, Stiller knew very well that the film critic's heart was barely larger than the eye of a needle.

When had he gotten this way? Stiller thought back for a while before finally remembering—Duke Rosenberg's Independence Day!

He remembered how Roger had launched his fiercest attacks, only for his target to achieve the most successful box office run in history up to that point.

The feud had been set ever since. Most of the time, Roger was completely powerless against that director's summer season films. No matter how fiercely he attacked them, audiences still bought tickets, essentially ignoring his reviews.

This also made Stiller realize that the man he served didn't wield the terrifying influence he imagined he did.

There was one exception. When Mel Gibson's scandal made Duke Rosenberg the favorite for Oscar Best Director for Saving Private Ryan, Tim Robbins pulled off an upset victory. Roger had undoubtedly done a lot of work behind the scenes.

That seemed to be Roger's only victory.

In recent years, Duke Rosenberg had released a film almost every year. Without exception, Roger gave them bad reviews and low scores. Yet the audiences ignored his criticism and flocked to theaters, fueling Duke Rosenberg's endless string of triumphs.

It would be one thing if Roger were merely narrow-minded, but he was also incredibly conceited. He always insisted on collecting the latest statistics for Duke Rosenberg's films the moment they were available. It was easy to imagine his reaction to those blindingly high numbers.

Gradually, the servants caught on. To avoid becoming punching bags, they simply kept their distance whenever that time of year rolled around.

'Why bother? Why bother at all?'

At this thought, Stiller couldn't help but shake his head. Even he could see that film critics were losing their power. Their influence over the summer season, in particular, had dropped to an all-time low.

How could an art-leaning film critic possibly beat a commercial director during the summer season? Why bother?

If any other director had faced such fierce, unified attacks from Roger and his fellow film critics, they might have been finished. But Duke Rosenberg was far too powerful for critics to shake.

Having served Roger Ebert for so many years, Stiller saw certain things quite clearly. Public opinion was indeed controlled by a minority, but not by film critics. Even if Roger united every film critic in North America, what could he do?

How could a group of four hundred people at most, who held no real sway over the major media conglomerates, fight a director with tens of millions of fans nationwide and a major stake in Warner Brothers?

It wasn't that Stiller hadn't tried to advise him. Unfortunately, ever since the man won the Pulitzer Prize, he had turned a deaf ear to any dissenting opinions.

But was it worth it?

Roger Ebert had undergone surgery for thyroid cancer just last year. Stiller strongly suspected it was related to the time of year when his master kept his fury bottled up with no way to vent it.

In Stiller's eyes, every statistical report on Duke Rosenberg's films delivered to his hands was like a death warrant sent by Satan.

Stiller could offer advice once or twice, but he couldn't endlessly persuade the man. He was, after all, only a butler.

Glancing at Roger Ebert in the garden once more, Stiller shook his head and stepped away.

At the small table in the garden, breakfast and morning tea sat untouched. A copy of yesterday's Chicago Sun-Times and today's statistical report lay in front of Roger Ebert.

The Chicago Sun-Times was open to his column from yesterday, which primarily featured his review of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

"The film does indeed show us some beautiful scenery, but it cannot cover up a tedious and boring plot. Sitting in the theater, you can last an hour at most before feeling drowsy. This adaptation falls far short of expectations, and the protests from book fans are not without reason..."

Looking at his own review, the 6.2 score, and the film's opening-day box office numbers, Roger Ebert felt utterly mocked!

He had just blasted The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring in his column. Duke Rosenberg didn't even have to lift a finger; the freshly released studio statistics delivered a resounding slap to Ebert's face.

"First-day audience approval rating of 94 percent, with an overall grade of A+!"

Perhaps this meant nothing to haughty film critics. In their eyes, whatever belonged to the masses was inevitably vulgar. But the most important metric for a commercial film—the very data he feigned disdain for but dreamed of influencing—was glaringly bright!

"27.11 million dollars!"

This was the opening-day box office for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring!

Looking at this number, no matter how conceited he was, Roger Ebert knew that his influence over ordinary moviegoers—as the so-called most authoritative film critic in North America—had hit rock bottom.

Other than stirring up storms among the school faction during awards season, what could critics do during the summer season?

Roger Ebert suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. Remembering his illness, he hurriedly adjusted his breathing to calm his emotions. He had cancer, but he didn't want to die. At the very least, he couldn't die before Duke Rosenberg was finished!

Film critics had been reduced to their current state, and his income had plummeted by nearly half compared to a few years ago—all because of that man!

It was this young director who refused to play by their rules, stepping right on their slice of the pie and exposing to all of Hollywood that film critics were actually paper tigers.

Since the director had touched their interests, he had to pay the price. And until he did, Ebert absolutely could not fall!

As his breathing steadied, Roger Ebert's eyes grew brighter. Perhaps he couldn't snipe at his enemy in the summer season or on the commercial front, but as long as he lived, that guy wouldn't even touch the Best Director Golden Statuette!

He swore it!

No matter how Roger Ebert cursed and swore, he couldn't stop Duke from moving steadily forward to even greater success.

A director's success came from accumulating one hit after another.

Right now, the film that needed to succeed was undoubtedly The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

On Sunday afternoon, Duke led the cast of The Fellowship of the Ring into the Santa Monica Commercial Square, kicking off the production's North American promotional tour. The actors behind Gandalf, Aragorn, Frodo, Legolas, and King Elrond all made their appearances.

When Orlando Bloom, who played Legolas, stepped out in front of the fans, the girls who had already seen the film charged him in a frenzy. By the time security rescued Bloom from the pack of female wolves, his hair was a bird's nest, his casual jacket had been torn in several places, and the zipper on his jeans was completely broken...

"Orlando, you're a big star now."

Hiding in a lounge at the Santa Monica Commercial Square, Billy Boyd continued to poke fun at him. "Look at those girls. If you wanted a date, I think every single one of them would pounce on you."

"Don't talk about me; you're a star now too," Orlando Bloom shot right back. "If you stood out there and beckoned, a whole crowd of female fans would be willing to keep you company tonight."

"Wouldn't you say so, Duke?" he asked, turning toward Duke.

Duke nodded and told the room, "Guys, enjoy the ride."

"Yeah, this is a dream journey!" Elijah Wood, the youngest, was the most emotional. "Firing Martin Bob and insisting on auditioning back then was definitely the right move! I've secured the first and second single-day box office titles of my life."

The fact that Elijah Wood had fired his agent for the Frodo audition was no secret. Hearing this, everyone burst out laughing.

"I'm not joking. I'm being completely serious!" Elijah Wood stood up from his chair. "On Friday, our single-day box office was 27.11 million dollars! And yesterday, on Saturday..."

Gerard Butler, who rarely joked around, finished the thought. "32.24 million dollars!"

Elijah Wood looked at everyone in the lounge. "Do you know what this means? For me, it's the second single-day box office title of my life, but what about for everyone else?"

Everyone knew exactly what it meant!

The oldest person in the lounge, Ian McKellen, gave the answer. "We! All of us! Together, we have created the highest single-day box office in North American film history since the dawn of cinema! We've set a brand-new record!"

"That's right, we are record-makers!"

Aside from Duke, who simply smiled, the others erupted in cheers.

This was a number worth celebrating and a record to remember. As the ones who set it, they would be written into the history of the North American—and global—film industry!

They truly had every right to be proud and excited!

The North American promotional tour for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring had kicked off at the Santa Monica Commercial Square. Duke would lead the entire crew from west to east, sweeping through major cities across the United States to rake in the highest possible box office numbers.