Chapter 723: Heart of a Demon

Under normal circumstances, Duke rarely did anything rude in public. Seeing the actress surnamed Fan, he had initially planned to let his bodyguards wave her through. Then he noticed several photographers—also from the East—aiming their cameras this way from a short distance off, clearly waiting to snap pictures of him talking with her.

She had come to Cannes solely to walk the red carpet. In Duke's limited impression of her, the woman was practically the poster child for gatecrashing red carpets at various film festivals.

While he didn't particularly mind the media using his name to generate hype, he certainly didn't like it either. Perhaps out of a habit developed over the years of viewing the world through a cynical lens, he turned to Tina Fey.

"Send her away," he said.

Maybe he really was overthinking it, but he had no desire to become fodder for this controversial actress's publicity stunts.

In his estimation, if the photographers she hired took pictures of her talking to him and sent them back to her home country, they would very likely turn into headlines like "Actress X Earns the Admiration of Duke Rosenberg and Will Star in His New Film," or even "Duke Rosenberg Pursuing Actress X."

Given her past behavior, that could easily become a reality.

Tina Fey walked over and sent the actress away with a casual excuse about Duke not wanting to be disturbed.

"She seemed a bit reluctant," Tina Fey said upon her return.

Duke shook his head. "Ignore her."

With that, he continued walking. He didn't take the matter to heart, nor was there any need to.

Following the Coastal Road, Duke arrived at the Yacht Marina District in Cannes. This was just a small, shallow-water marina, and the vessels moored here were all small yachts. A massive ship like The Duke could only drop anchor in the open sea if it sailed over.

Since he was already here, Duke decided to take a look around the marina. Just as he stepped onto the long pier, a tall woman walking toward him slowed her pace. On that face—one that wouldn't even blush at a wardrobe malfunction on the red carpet—a hint of awkwardness and fear surprisingly appeared.

She stopped and stood to one side of the pier, somewhat at a loss. She wanted to turn back, but hesitated. She wanted to ignore Duke and walk right past him, but simply couldn't do it.

Duke naturally saw all of this. He couldn't help but sigh to himself. 'Since when did I become a demon in other people's eyes?'

"Hey, Sophie," he said, walking over and stopping four feet away. He took the initiative to extend a hand. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Hi, Duke," Sophie Marceau greeted him cautiously, giving his hand a fleeting shake. "I... I just didn't expect to see you here."

Not far ahead was a small bar converted from a yacht. Sophie Marceau seemed to have just walked over from there.

Duke glanced at the now-empty yacht bar, pointed at it, and asked, "Want to go sit over there?"

Sophie Marceau hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I can't stay too long."

Perhaps the whole world was buzzing about this director's talent and fame, praising his kind heart and active participation in charity and social welfare. But Sophie Marceau knew very well that beneath his peaceful exterior hid the heart of an absolute demon!

Sitting at a table on the yacht, she ordered only a glass of club soda. She looked at Duke across from her. It was this highly renowned director who had single-handedly severed her path to Hollywood.

Sophie Marceau took small sips of her soda without saying a word. Even though this was France, she still felt no sense of security.

He hadn't done anything else to her after she left Hollywood back then. Over the years, she had gradually faded those memories and completely abandoned any thought of developing a career in Hollywood. Yet, sitting across from him now, she still felt a lingering sense of terror.

After all, he still held onto something that could utterly ruin her reputation.

At that thought, Sophie Marceau set down her soda and asked in a low voice, "Duke, it's been many years since those things happened. I don't think there are any remaining ties between us."

"I told you before..." Duke tapped the oak table lightly. "As long as you don't come to Hollywood, there's no bad blood between us. You've kept your promise all this time, and that's good."

Sophie Marceau gritted her teeth and asked, "Then can you give the Videotape back to me?"

"The Videotape?" Duke was stunned for a moment before remembering. He couldn't help but shake his head. "Sophie, I'm a man of my word too. In all these years, have you seen anything related to it leak out?"

Frankly, he had long forgotten about the Videotape. If Sophie Marceau hadn't reminded him, who knew when he would have remembered the absurd things he had done back then.

"It's just... it's just..." Sophie Marceau still wasn't reassured.

After all, she would only have true peace of mind holding that kind of thing in her own hands.

Duke had never been the obsessively vindictive type. Otherwise, after Sophie Marceau had turned on her allies to help him deal with Mel Gibson, he wouldn't have just let the matter end with her leaving Hollywood. By the same token, he wasn't a boundless saint, nor was he foolish enough to believe that someone like Sophie Marceau would keep her promise without leverage holding her back.

"You keep your promise..." Duke picked up his club soda and raised it toward her, "...and I'll keep mine."

After taking a sip, Duke signaled for Tina Fey to settle the bill and stood up, ready to leave.

Sophie Marceau still hadn't given up. She looked up at him and asked, "What if I can help you win the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival?"

Duke looked down, stared right at her, and replied, "I appreciate it, but there's no need!"

Despite her popularity among audiences, Sophie Marceau wasn't very well-received within the European Film Circle. Her path had only grown narrower over the years.

After stepping off the yacht, Duke waited a moment for Tina Fey to catch up.

The two walked back along the long pier the way they had come. As they walked, Duke asked, "Do you remember the tape I gave you over a decade ago?"

"I put it away." Tina Fey frowned, thinking back for a moment. "I put it in the estate's underground vault that night and never touched it again. It should still be in there."

"Do you need me to dig it out after we go back?" she asked.

Duke shook his head. "Leave it in there."

While he was no moral purist, he didn't want to do anything completely classless unless it was absolutely necessary.

Certain people in the North American film industry had always wanted to bring Mel Gibson back to Hollywood. Maybe when the time came, he could bring Sophie Marceau back as well and put on another good show?

Using the darling of French men to deal with an Australian savage might just be a good idea.

Since he was staying in Cannes for the time being, Duke naturally attended several screening ceremonies for Hollywood productions. In this world, cultural products—including films—certainly shared commonalities, but regional differences were an objective reality.

To some extent, unless there was something wrong with their heads, Hollywood filmmakers naturally banded together to defend the reputation and interests of their overarching community against outsiders.

Take Martin Scorsese; no matter how much the European media flattered him, he still firmly called himself a Hollywood director.

Duke was no exception. So, upon receiving an invitation from Quentin Tarantino, he appeared at the Cannes Premiere of Inglourious Basterds.

The screening of Inglourious Basterds set multiple firsts during the film festival. During the first press screening, people started applauding the moment the iconic "Quentin" title card appeared on screen. When Quentin and Pitt's names appeared, another round of enthusiastic applause broke out. And fifteen minutes before the movie ended, people began leaving one after another—not because the film was bad, but to rush to the press conference to grab good seats.

It was a deeply fascinating movie about a group of scoundrels killing off a bunch of bastards.

For Quentin's fans, Inglourious Basterds was an incredibly delightful film.

The film carried on Quentin's usual dark humor. Sudden slaughter scenes and the gory shots he favored could all be found throughout the movie.

Interestingly, the movie's story was entirely fictionalized by Quentin himself. To that end, he even arranged a very special ending for Hitler—letting him die under the machine guns of furious Jewish soldiers.

Aside from Brad Pitt and the main villain, Quentin had arranged for every other character to play a role destined to "die."

In the film, the theater fire scene left a deep impression. The Germans were locked inside like lambs to the slaughter, enduring the dual torment of the inferno and machine-gun fire before finally being blown away by a series of bombs.

Such a scene was the complete opposite of the massacre scenes in previous "World War II" movies. Quentin's humor was fully evident here.

The journalists who insisted on watching the movie to the end ended up blocked at the doors of the press center, unable to get in. This time, all the photojournalists swarmed to the aisle side of the press center. When Pitt and Quentin walked past, the entire press center erupted into a frenzy. Aside from Fury Road, this was the grandest spectacle since the opening of the Cannes Film Festival.

The European Film Circle strongly ostracized Hollywood movies. Yet, they had to face reality: during the top three film festivals, whether it was the media or the audience, the films chased after the most—and with the most madness—were still Hollywood productions.

There were certain realities in this world that simply wouldn't shift according to personal will or the ideas of some small group. To put it nicely, European cinema focused on core themes; to put it bluntly, it was just baffling.

It was common knowledge that a good story was one of the foundations of a film. Yet, among the "good movies" the European Film Circle so narcissistically praised, how many could actually tell a good story?

Furthermore, a good story could draw people into theaters, while profound core themes never could. The reason wasn't that audiences disliked thinking, but rather that if they wanted to think, there were far more suitable options than movies—philosophy, history, psychology, sociology...

Thus, a very strange phenomenon emerged. European filmmakers considered themselves exceptionally high-end and looked down on other types of films. Yet, the reach of their movies was incredibly narrow. This led the entire European film industry into a steady decline, causing them to lose their former position as the center of world cinema early on.

Every movie had its reason to exist. These people could dislike commercial films with wider reach, greater influence, and larger audiences; they could even hate them. But it was precisely because of those commercial films that the movie industry was able to grow, become a leader among numerous cultural industries, survive, and continue to expand its influence.