Chapter 462: A Chicken Standing Among a Flock of Cranes

As a director from Mexico, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu had always worked in the independent film scene. Although he had only directed one low-budget indie film, Amores Perros, it had earned high praise from critics. When the film premiered last year, many critics gave his directorial debut a score of nine or higher.

This filled Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu with confidence about his future, and he decided to continue down the artistic path to produce a higher-budget independent film.

His demands weren't high. An investment of around 10 million dollars would be enough.

However, while his ideals were grand, reality was cruel.

Even though critics praised Amores Perros to the high heavens, it didn't change the fact that it had only grossed a little over 5 million dollars worldwide. Inarritu took his new script to every Hollywood production company capable of investing 10 million dollars. Not only was no one willing to invest, but he couldn't even manage to meet with their senior executives.

It wasn't that no one appreciated his script, but the moment investment was mentioned, everyone who had read it immediately shook their heads. In their eyes, such an artsy script was absolutely not worth a 10-million-dollar investment.

Inarritu faced endless eye rolls, especially at Sony Columbia, Twentieth Century Fox, and Warner Brothers. He had only recently figured out why. All three of these studios had heavyweight superhero films under their banners, while his script was about the devastating impact a superhero role could have on an actor...

However, at Warner, Inarritu met someone who shared his sentiments—the first-generation Batman, Michael Keaton.

Thanks to Keaton's introduction and help, he learned about this party in Malibu and managed to secure an invitation.

Inarritu had also done his research. The attendees weren't just senior executives from several Hollywood studios, but also major producers like Charles Roven, Jon Landau, and Katherine Kennedy. This was undoubtedly an excellent opportunity to pitch himself.

The problem was, with so many celebrities and socialites attending the party, how could he catch the attention of those big shots?

This minor director, originally a radio DJ, had a strong personality. Having been immersed in the independent film circle for years, he had inevitably picked up a lot of artistic affectations. Influenced by the neurotics, autistics, and schizophrenics so popular in indie films, he chose an exceptionally artsy method to grab everyone's attention at the party, hoping that pitching his persona would, in turn, pitch his script.

Things went exactly as Inarritu had imagined. Ever since he entered the massive banquet hall of the Eye-Shaped Villa, everyone who saw him was dumbfounded, as if witnessing something completely unbelievable.

This thoroughly artsy director had indeed used a thoroughly artsy method to instantly attract a great deal of attention.

Inarritu's black, wavy, mid-length hair hung loose down his back. He probably hadn't washed it in days; not only was it gleaming with grease, but large sections were matted together into strands.

In stark contrast to the formal evening wear of everyone else in the banquet hall, Inarritu wore a faded, worn-out denim jacket. His jeans, much like his directing career, featured several artistically torn holes.

In this banquet hall, such an outfit was absolutely a chicken standing among a flock of cranes. It would be hard not to draw attention.

However, Inarritu knew very well that this wasn't enough. It didn't fully highlight his personality or prove just how different he was. He had already planned exactly how to make himself stand proudly above the vulgar crowd of Hollywood.

In Inarritu's eyes, his personality was defined by his artistic aura, and that aura represented outstanding talent. Talent deserved to be appreciated.

He walked straight across the banquet hall toward the buffet tables. Anyone blocking his path or standing to the side covered their noses and retreated, giving Inarritu the distinct sensation of a king's arrival.

"How long has it been since this guy took a shower?"

"What is that smell? Why would Duke invite someone like this?"

Inarritu automatically ignored all the murmurs around him. He walked up to the buffet, grabbed an oversized tray, and piled it high with roasted lamb leg, tender veal chops, and cheesecake. He even went out of his way to grab the largest Alaskan king crab...

Carrying his food and drinks, Inarritu found the table closest to the crowd. He sat down and began to gorge himself. He ate and drank loudly, and the sharp cracks of him prying open the king crab shell drew sideways glances from everyone nearby.

Inarritu remained completely oblivious. He just sat there stuffing his face in what he believed was the most artsy, unique way possible...

Emma was the housekeeper of Duke Manor. Although the party was being handled by a specialized event company, she was still personally overseeing the internal coordination.

She had noticed Inarritu the moment he walked in, and her eyes had never left him as he sat down to gorge himself at the table.

If someone wore clothes like that and acted like that in public, no one could say anything; it was personal freedom, after all. But to do so as a guest in someone else's home, especially at such an upscale party, was a massive sign of disrespect to the host!

Rude, ill-bred...

This was the first impression Inarritu left on Emma. Never mind that this was a formal birthday party; even at the most ordinary gathering, his behavior would be incredibly impolite.

'There might be something wrong with his head. He could be a dangerous individual...'

This was Emma's next thought. After all, what sane person would do something so outrageous?

The sound of the man snapping the Alaskan king crab legs reached even Emma's ears, and she grew increasingly certain that he was mentally unstable.

Emma lifted the hem of her black evening gown and turned toward where Tina Fey was standing. Word had it that there was a circle in Hollywood entirely dedicated to making films about psychotics, and many deeply immersed directors and actors sometimes made themselves seem crazy, too. Perhaps this man was one of them.

She wanted to check with Tina Fey just in case. What if he really was a guest invited by Duke—a method actor currently playing a psychotic role?

"Do you see that man?" she asked in a low voice, walking up beside Tina Fey.

Tina Fey nodded. "I've been keeping an eye on him for a while now."

"Is he an invited guest?" Emma asked.

Tina Fey shook her head, answering with absolute certainty. "No. Do you think a guest would disrespect the host and himself like that?"

Such behavior wasn't just rude to the host; it was a lack of self-respect.

Emma withdrew her gaze. "He might be a security risk."

Tina Fey glanced over at Duke, who was still chatting with Jobs, and made a decision. "Have Charlie and Bru come in and escort him out quietly."

She knew Duke's habits well. Her boss would absolutely not tolerate this kind of behavior.

Inarritu tossed aside a crab leg and took a huge gulp from his wine glass. He casually grabbed a napkin, wiped it roughly back and forth across his mouth, and tossed it onto the tray. He let out an unabashed burp. Just as he was about to stand up and pick out a suitable target from all the eyes watching him to pitch himself and his script, two white men in black formal suits approached.

They stopped right behind him, one on his left and one on his right. The older of the two smiled and said, "Sir, Ms. Tina Fey would like to have a word with you."

At the name Tina Fey, Inarritu's eyes instantly lit up. She wasn't particularly famous, but she was a senior executive at Duke Studio and Duke Rosenberg's deputy. Why was she looking for him?

Although his mind was fully consumed by art, Inarritu wasn't foolish enough to think she had fallen for him...

His mind whirred, and he couldn't help but consider a possibility: 'Could my outstanding, unconventional behavior have drawn Duke Rosenberg's attention? He's not only a top-tier director in the industry but also a billionaire. A ten-million-dollar investment would mean absolutely nothing to him, right?'

'Duke Rosenberg collaborates deeply with Warner Brothers, and I submitted my script to Warner. Who knows? Maybe he's already read the script...'

At this thought, Inarritu nodded and stood up. He followed the two men out of the banquet hall, his mind still racing. His single-take filming method was an artistic cinematic technique profound enough to startle God and Satan alike; it was perfectly normal for someone to appreciate it.

Just as they stepped out of the banquet hall, Inarritu suddenly noticed something wrong. The two men were flanking him, steering him toward the parking lot. He couldn't help but ask, "Where are we going?"

"Apologies, sir."

As a professional bodyguard, Bru gave him no quarter. "Please leave. Your attire and behavior are far too inappropriate."

"No..."

"Sir, please keep your voice down."

Tina Fey stepped out from the shadows by the roadside. "I am now formally asking you to leave. And let me give you a piece of advice: wearing appropriate clothing and observing basic etiquette is a sign of respect, both for the host and for yourself."

Inarritu turned a deaf ear to her words and just carried on talking. "Miss, I have a script and a project that I want to ask Director Rosenberg to invest in..."

Hearing this, Tina Fey frowned slightly.

Before she could say anything, Inarritu added, "I'll be shooting this project in a single take!"

Tina Fey had been hesitating just a little, but upon hearing about such a highly artsy cinematic technique as a single continuous take, she waved a hand at Bru and Charlie, gesturing for the two bodyguards to escort the thoroughly artsy director off the estate.

She and Duke had discussed the single-take method before. Her boss had absolutely zero interest in such heavily artsy cinematic techniques.

Inarritu drove out of Duke Manor. He glanced back at the colossal estate with a hint of resentment in his eyes. He had merely wanted to show off his personality, but they actually thought him rude and threw him out...