Chapter 413: Global Box Office Surpasses 400 Million

"Duke, this is Monster Love, published by Nancy Collins in 1994. The story I mentioned originates from this. It details the origins of werewolves and vampires, chronicling their millennia of grievances and feuds."

Listening to Wallace Lee, Duke's gaze quickly skimmed the novella on the table. A sense of familiarity washed over him. The plot about a female vampire falling in love with a special human, in particular, seemed remarkably similar to a movie he had once seen.

Wallace Lee added, "I've met the original author, but the price she asked for is beyond what I can personally afford. On top of that, someone named Len Wiseman from Lakeshore Entertainment Company is also in contact with Nancy Collins, trying to secure the adaptation rights."

Duke closed the text Wallace Lee had brought over. He thought for a moment before speaking.

"Lee, you know how it is. A script means absolutely nothing to Hollywood."

Just like when he had hit walls everywhere in the beginning, trying to move Hollywood with a script or a story was nothing but a fantasy.

Many people believed that as long as you had talent, you would inevitably shine in Hollywood, and that a good story or a good movie would surely conquer the industry and even the world. But Duke had spent ten years here. Having battered himself against it in the beginning and gradually climbed to the upper echelons of the circle, he had a profound understanding of the reality.

Hollywood was indeed a place of art and creative talent, but in truth, filmmaking was a business, not an art.

That was why the industry was called "show business," never "show art."

People always seemed to think Hollywood was searching for geniuses. Countless TV programs showed talent agencies and film studios telling audiences on camera that they were looking for cinematic prodigies. That was simply one of the industry's biggest lies.

If someone actually believed that and called up the biggest agencies in town to announce themselves as the genius they were looking for, the agencies wouldn't care. They would just hang up.

What Hollywood needed wasn't a brilliant mind, but a brand with marketing potential—like James Cameron, Duke Rosenberg, Tom Cruise, or Tom Hanks.

Whether you were a producer, writer, actor, or director, what Hollywood valued was not talent, but the potential for profit. Often, what moved a studio to back an aspiring youth—as had happened in Duke's own journey—was not the artistic merit of their work, but the revenue it could generate.

When a person's name possessed the ability to attract audiences—or rather, the money in their pockets—only then did they become the so-called "genius" Hollywood was looking for.

Not everyone who succeeded in Hollywood was extraordinarily gifted, but they certainly knew—or had someone who knew—how to package themselves and turn their name into a brand. To some extent, that was also a kind of talent.

This commercial paradise did need ideas and stories, but everyone knew they were actually the least valuable part of the equation. The stories behind massive blockbusters were all extremely simple. Countless hits like Independence Day and Titanic, if judged solely on the narrative quality of their scripts, were at best the work of second- or third-rate screenwriters.

It was no exaggeration to say those stories lacked any originality. If a newcomer took that kind of script to a studio, absolutely no one would give them the time of day.

Hollywood was eager for talent? A place where talent was valued and inevitably shined? Don't be stupid.

It was just like how most people's first reaction upon hearing the word "Hollywood" was that it was a place where movies were made.

True, a massive number of films were produced there every year. The major studios, as well as directors and investors like Duke himself, also hoped the public would view Hollywood purely as a place that crafted excellent cinema.

But the reality was that production only occupied a minuscule fraction of the machine. It was an industrial zone for film marketing, not a creative production paradise.

Take the so-called low-budget sleeper hits, for example. Were their costs really low?

Their production budgets might have only been one or two hundred thousand dollars, but how much was spent on marketing?

In Hollywood, people spent far more time marketing a movie—roughly two to three times the duration of its production, if not longer.

A "movie" in the Hollywood sense wasn't just what a director shot on camera and edited in post-production. At best, that could only be called a "film." A "movie" was the final product playing in theaters after undergoing a massive series of marketing campaigns.

The biggest difference between the two was that a film didn't make money, whereas a movie did.

Only when a picture could run advertisements in the media and promote itself to the public did it transform from a "film" into a "movie."

Just like with Duke's projects, which always generated massive waves of promotion, the stories, ideas, and art were all very cheap commodities in the overall process.

Of course, many artistic and idealistic directors chose to go the film festival route.

But in reality, for the vast majority of film festivals—including the Three Major European Film Festivals—simply having a work of art wasn't enough to participate. You also needed a large sum of money.

To enter a film, the production team had to submit an entry fee to the organizers, which was often exorbitant. Then came the other expenses: printing promotional materials, transportation, staff salaries, screening costs, public relations funding...

If they were lucky, the film would find a distributor willing to buy it at the festival. At that point, the picture had nothing to do with art anymore. All discussions would revolve solely around profits, sales, and distribution.

Didn't that sound incredibly unartistic?

To put it bluntly, whether a person or a film, if they wanted to be taken seriously in Hollywood, they first had to prove they had value and could generate revenue.

Otherwise, no matter how much they pitched, they would end up just like Duke had back then—rejected, rejected, and rejected again.

A single story and idea pulling in investments? Talent inherently being valued? It was a beautiful dream.

Before you proved yourself, all stories and ideas were nothing but illusions.

Thus, Duke closed the script and slowly shook his head at Wallace Lee.

Just as Wallace Lee thought Duke was going to reject him completely, Duke spoke up.

"I'll have someone buy the adaptation rights. But Lee, you need to prove to me that you have the ability to direct this film."

"I will!"

Wallace Lee was, after all, not a naive idealist.

"After I finish my current work, I'll draw up a detailed proposal," he said.

"I'll be waiting."

Duke handed the text over to Tina Fey.

Transitioning from an assistant director to a director was never a simple matter.

As evening approached, Duke had Anna Printz and Wallace Lee stay for dinner. The group set aside the afternoon's topics and mostly discussed the post-production of The Two Towers.

Because some of the post-production on the trilogy was advancing concurrently, The Two Towers was progressing much faster than The Fellowship of the Ring had. According to Duke's expectations, all the post-production for the second film would be completed around the New Year.

Although he would inevitably give everyone a long vacation in between, Duke wasn't going to wait until The Two Towers premiered to start post-production on the third film. He planned to officially begin the editing and other tasks for Return of the King in February.

After dinner, Wallace Lee and Anna Printz bid their farewells and left.

"Tina, when is Mom coming over?"

Upon returning to the living room, Duke immediately asked about his mother's itinerary.

"No later than next Monday," Tina Fey replied. "Mrs. Leah will meet up with Miss Jensen in Tokyo, and they will fly to Los Angeles together."

Duke calculated the timing. It shouldn't clash with his schedule, which came as a relief.

Sitting down on the sofa, he saw Tina Fey reading the text and added a reminder.

"Have Duke Studio secure the film adaptation rights as soon as possible."

"Understood." Tina Fey nodded.

Ivanka walked over curiously. She leaned in next to Tina Fey to look at the manuscript for a moment before asking Duke.

"You seem to be taking this very seriously."

"Seriously?" Duke shook his head, offering no explanation.

Seeing the text naturally reminded him of a werewolf and vampire movie franchise he had only watched a few times. He still had a vague impression of it. The initial investment had been very small, and the box office hadn't been staggering, but the fact that it continuously spawned sequels meant it had generated substantial profits. Otherwise, the production company would have abandoned it long ago.

If Wallace Lee proved he had the ability to direct commercial films, Duke would choose to invest. If he couldn't, then the project could simply be handed to someone else. Anna Printz, for example, would do just fine.

She wasn't like Sofia Coppola, who was somewhat averse to the immense pressure of directing a film solo.

Duke wouldn't just greenlight a project simply because Wallace Lee was his former classmate. If he let personal ties dictate his business decisions, he could have three Duke Studios and still end up bankrupt.

While Duke Manor remained brightly lit, the sky above Beverly Hills turned pitch black. Under the starlight, a yellow Chevrolet turned onto a side road and parked nimbly in a space. A somewhat burly woman pushed the door open and stepped out.

She was clearly Latina. Closing the car door, she strode over to a café by the street, pushed open the glass doors, and walked in. She swept a sharp gaze across the restaurant, but the high booth partitions blocked her line of sight.

"I'm looking for Miss Jessica," she said to an approaching waiter.

The waiter immediately led her to a private booth.

"Hi, Jessie," she said, breaking into a bright smile.

"Hi, Michelle."

Looking for all the world like the best of friends, Jessica Alba stood up and gave Michelle Rodriguez a hug.

But where Jessica couldn't see, a look of utter disgust flashed across Michelle Rodriguez's face, vanishing in an instant.