Chapter 69: Test Screening Reactions

Half the film had slipped by before Roger Ebert realized it, but he had already formed a visceral impression of it. Aside from maintaining a fast-paced, explosive thrill, The Rock possessed a stark characteristic that Speed lacked—visual language and color application so gorgeous they verged on the elaborate!

Few films pushed their cinematography to such a gorgeous extreme, elevating both the mise-en-scène and the narrative to such aesthetic heights.

Typically, camerawork dared not be too prominent, overdone, or scene-stealing, lest a picture become a purely visual experience or a music video. For the vast majority of directors, cinematography ultimately had to yield to acting and storytelling.

But in Roger Ebert's eyes, every shot and every scene in The Rock was a textbook-perfect, gorgeous frame akin to a high-end commercial or a music video.

The slow motion at the very opening, the extreme scenic close-ups, those intensely backlit shots in the rain—they resembled a richly graded luxury commercial, yet brimmed with tension. Ed Harris's fury and military aura shone through on the strength of the camerawork alone.

No one dared stretch gorgeous commercial aesthetics across an entire film!

Even if someone had, in Roger Ebert's memory, it had been a complete failure.

Even if he disliked this genre, Roger Ebert had to admit that The Rock absolutely did not belong in the failure category.

If Duke Rosenberg's Speed had merely been a test of his skills, then The Rock was a spectacular display of brilliance!

The short, plump, bespectacled film critic wore a calm expression, but he was marveling. 'Duke Rosenberg's completely unbridled visual language actually manages to frame the story and characters with incredible tension. It's astonishing. He has made massive strides in narrative ability and visual composition since Speed.'

Earth-shattering explosions suddenly erupted from all directions. Orange-red flames roared to life on the screen, their colors dense and blinding. Framed in slow motion, the blast slowly bloomed into a striking mushroom cloud, so bright it seemed to pierce the audience's eyes.

As the camera tilted up, the entirety of Alcatraz Island and the wider San Francisco Bay seemed to shudder from the blast...

The explosions interrupted Roger Ebert's train of thought. Staring at the silver screen and listening to the endless cheers erupting from the fan section behind him, he knit his brows tightly together. His earlier appreciation for the film began to dissipate.

Film was a sophisticated art form. These endless, crass spectacles were simply impossible to like. Just how many explosions had there been so far?

Roger Ebert had truly lost count, but of one thing he was certain: if Duke Rosenberg could just restrain his destructive urges and continue refining his camerawork and narrative pacing, he could very well become a master of visuals and storytelling. But if not...

Ultimately, Roger Ebert slowly shook his head. In truth, two films were enough to reveal a director's underlying traits. Duke Rosenberg's destructive urges were far too strong, entirely eclipsing any artistic ambition.

'Playing with explosions and visuals is pure instinct for him. It's his only thrill!'

As a professional who had watched both Speed and The Rock, Roger Ebert quickly arrived at this conclusion.

Beside him, Kenneth Turan was focusing far more on the film's shooting and production techniques than Roger Ebert was.

He could see that Duke Rosenberg had put real thought into the film's lighting. Almost every scene utilized artificial lighting, enriching and intensifying the color saturation to perfectly complement the movie's heavy tone.

General Hummel's opening cemetery sequence—with its dense, pouring rain, deep blue hues, and resonant, somber monologue—established the picture's central theme right out of the gate.

The mid-film car chase between Goodspeed and Mason showcased an entirely different approach to cinematography. Throughout the entire sequence, barely a single shot lingered past five seconds, with almost all cutting between two and three seconds. The camera setups were incredibly diverse: aside from the lack of overhead shots, there were tracking shots, parallel pans, and head-on angles. Cameras had even been strapped directly to the front of the cars Goodspeed and Mason were driving. The entire sequence left the audience overwhelmed and buzzing with adrenaline.

Unlike typical Hollywood car chases that relied on post-production enhancements, Duke Rosenberg's style was decidedly practical. The roar of the engines was deafeningly clear, and the screeching torsion of metal upon impact sounded incredibly authentic!

"The car chase in The Rock completely outclasses the one in Speed!"

Kenneth Turan jotted the sentence down in his notepad.

Jossman and his evaluation team from the Regal Entertainment Group focused entirely on the film's selling points. Whether the picture was crass or sophisticated didn't factor into the theater chain's considerations at all. They judged a movie by a single metric: whether it could turn a profit.

"This is a masterpiece through and through. Its entertainment value and thrilling pacing are in no way inferior to Speed."

Even as he watched, Jossman was jotting down his immediate impressions in his notebook.

"There isn't a single minute in this film that gives the audience time for a bathroom break, a sip of water, or a snack. From the very beginning, your eyes are glued to the screen, unwilling to let a single scene slip by."

"Highly watchable. If you want tension, there are crazy car chases; if you want depth, there's the underlying theme of 'whether a nation should honor the individuals who sacrificed for it'; if you want entertainment, the humorous dialogue sprinkled throughout feels authentic and grounded; if you want eye candy, Goodspeed's fiancée and Mason's daughter serve as two stunning pieces of eye candy..."

As The Rock drew to a close, Jossman scribbled down his final summary.

"This is the best macho flick I've seen all year. The overall tone is unapologetically masculine and the atmosphere is deeply intense. There is no female lead—it's a men's movie through and through. There is an explosive action climax roughly every ten to fifteen minutes, and while the set pieces are massive, they never spiral out of control. They are long without dragging, diverse in presentation, and technically precise..."

Since the end credits hadn't been added yet, the film's conclusion felt a bit abrupt. Many in the audience failed to react until the picture on the big screen vanished entirely and the overhead lights flickered on. Only then did the viewers in the back rows snap out of their daze, realizing that this incredibly thrilling ride had just come to an end.

The theater suddenly plunged into a dead silence, as if a storm were brewing.

Then, applause erupted—touching down like a hurricane sweeping across Louisiana. The ovation was so fervent it threatened to blow the roof off the theater, accompanied by a deafening chorus of cheers...

"Once it officially hits theaters, I'm absolutely watching it again!"

The Warner Brothers observers seated among the fans diligently recorded the authentic chatter and reactions of the surrounding crowd.

"I didn't blink the whole time! I'm only just now realizing how tired my eyes are, but man, it was totally worth it."

"The casting was spot-on, too. Christopher Lee's Mason was incredibly badass. I bet that scandal-ridden Sean Connery could never have pulled that off."

Buzzing with discussion, the audience filed out of the theater one by one, handing their completed survey questionnaires to the Warner staff at the exit.

"A+!"

"A+!"

"A!"

"..."

These stellar scores invigorated the Warner staff. If word-of-mouth among audiences exploded, it meant the movie was highly likely to become a massive hit. Everyone directly involved in the project would be looking at a handsome bonus.

While the staff at the exit were still collecting and tallying the questionnaires, a large crowd of film critics and media reporters had already filed into a nearby hotel's banquet hall. The film's lead actors had headed up to the rooms on the upper floors for press interviews, while Duke, accompanied by Robin Grande, mingled with the film critics on the banquet floor.

With several top-tier film critics in attendance, this could easily be considered a premier gathering in the film industry.

To put it bluntly, this was nothing more than a PR party. The Rock was a textbook commercial production. Neither Duke nor Warner Brothers was foolish enough to solicit artistic advice from film critics on a summer season popcorn flick, much less ask for their predictions regarding the market or the box office.

Everyone knew that professional film critics operated completely detached from the mass market. Whenever they weren't being swayed by PR campaigns, they went out of their way to highlight their artistic refinement and unique tastes—meaning this demographic vehemently opposed whatever the general public loved, and passionately praised whatever the masses couldn't stand.

In their eyes, popular inherently meant vulgar, while unique meant sophisticated.

Even the most incompetent film studio in Hollywood wouldn't rely on a group so utterly disconnected from the general moviegoing market—whose tastes ran entirely counter to the mainstream—to forecast the commercial prospects of a summer season blockbuster.

If a summer season film actually followed the suggestions and expectations of film critics, it would be doomed to catastrophic failure at the box office.

Duke understood this perfectly well, as did a deeply entrenched studio like Warner. Entertaining film critics was strictly about generating lip service and drumming up publicity. Providing actionable advice and forecasting market trends required highly specialized professional expertise—something film critics clearly lacked.

The only place film critics could truly flex their influence was during the awards season, when championing the prestige films gunning for the various school faction trophies.

"Director Rosenberg..."

When Duke walked up to a slightly balding, bespectacled middle-aged man, the man took the initiative to extend his hand. Duke quickly shook it, flashing a perfectly measured smile. "Duke. Just call me Duke."

"Alright then, Duke. And you can call me Kenneth."

As a fellow Los Angeles native of Jewish descent, Kenneth Turan clearly had a decent impression of Duke, and his critique was notably measured. "There are still some issues with the narrative details and logical structure, but I can see your progress here. Compared to your last film, you've shown marked improvement in your camerawork, color application, handling of emotional conflicts, and a few other areas."

"Thank you!"

Since the other man was extending genuine goodwill, Duke's response carried an equal measure of sincerity.

"Hey, Duke."

Charles Roven strolled over alongside another bespectacled middle-aged man and introduced him to Duke. "This is Mr. Roger Ebert..."