Chapter 782: Nomination Choices

Every North American awards season, the entertainment media generated a frenzy that eclipsed any other industry, creating the illusion that the entire world was obsessing over who would take home the Oscar Golden Statuettes. But an illusion was just an illusion. It would not become reality just because the media and the Film Academy willed it. Forget about those snooty European directors who would not even give the Oscars the time of day—even in North America, most moviegoers focused their attention on the actual films.

Gravity had entered its second weekend of wide release. Theater attendance across North America had dipped slightly, but buoyed by strong word-of-mouth, the film's second-weekend box office dropped a mere thirty percent from its opening, pulling in $57.37 million.

In its first ten days of release in North America, Gravity had already grossed $203.27 million.

Meanwhile, the film wrapped up its opening week across nearly seventy overseas markets, including Latin America, Europe, and Australia, with a haul of $142.66 million, pushing its cumulative global box office to $345.94 million.

As the film rolled out to even more international markets, that number was set for explosive growth.

At the same time, Penny Kalis and Warner Brothers were reaching a critical stage in their public relations campaign for Gravity.

Duke's only real concerns were Hollywood's anti-Semitic factions and its staunch conservatives. After all, no actress born in the 1980s had ever won Oscar Best Actress.

With those groups wielding influence, a sudden upset would not be out of the question—the Oscars were no stranger to shocking snubs.

The anti-Semitic crowd existed in Hollywood, but they were not the mainstream and thus were not a massive worry. As for the conservatives, while Frank Pierson could sway a certain demographic, Duke had prepared other methods to handle the rest.

The Film Academy had over six thousand voters. Logically speaking, membership was a symbol of status and prestige. These people were generally wealthy, meaning private gifts would not necessarily have much sway over them.

But this was Hollywood—a dizzying vanity fair of excess. Countless celebrities enjoyed boundless glory in their youth only to face bankruptcy and destitution in their old age. The most typical example was Marlon Brando; it was hardly news how tragic the influential Academy member's final years had been.

These voters might be conservative, but they were not fools, making them much easier to influence through public relations.

For example, two actors who had been massive stars decades ago were now struggling even to cover their medical bills. A certain charitable foundation provided them with interest-free loans, which they could slowly pay back using their monthly pensions.

Duke's team had compiled clear assessments and exhaustive dossiers on the majority of the key voters. These files detailed their personal preferences, ways of thinking, favorite film genres, and what easily influenced them.

Public relations was also a profound subject. One had to grasp the crucial points to deliver a fatal strike.

The Oscars were like a massive, glittering game. Games always had rules, but nowadays those rules were becoming less and less binding. If a studio still handled its public relations the way it did in the eighties and nineties, it could only watch as the awards slipped into someone else's hands.

Beyond Penny Kalis and the Warner Brothers public relations department, Duke had also brought in outside PR firms.

Currently, the most prestigious awards season publicist in Hollywood was Lisa Taback. Her previous job had been heading the public relations department at Miramax Pictures, where she employed a series of maneuvers to help Miramax win the Oscar for Best Picture with Shakespeare in Love—one of Lisa Taback's most typical achievements.

She used to be Harvey Weinstein's right-hand woman and direct enforcer for all public relations.

Later, due to her own career development needs and the escalating tensions between the Weinstein Brothers and Walt Disney, she left Miramax to establish her own PR firm dedicated exclusively to awards season campaigns. To date, she had helped various studios secure over thirty Oscar Golden Statuettes, making her incredibly experienced.

Lisa Taback and her PR firm could be considered another layer of insurance Duke had taken out for this Oscar race.

At Duke's instruction, the one hundred thousand premium promotional DVDs prepared by Warner Brothers were sent out early to Academy voters and anyone with ties to the Oscars. Accompanying the discs were various intricately crafted Gravity souvenirs. They did not appear very valuable on the surface, but they were entirely exclusive editions.

Naturally, small gifts like champagne, flowers, and other keepsakes were sent out in a never-ending stream.

Even so, there was no guarantee that the voters—many of whom liked to vote blindly, much like Duke himself did—would actually watch Gravity.

This was where Lisa Taback and her PR firm could step in.

Lisa was one of the pioneers of "phone banking" in Hollywood. She and her team called Academy members almost daily.

"Have you watched the Gravity DVD I sent you? You really need to check it out soon. The film is truly fantastic."

Once she confirmed a member had actually watched the movie, Lisa would follow up with another phone bombardment.

"Everyone thinks the film is incredible. Don't you agree Scarlett Johansson deserves an Oscar?"

Furthermore, Duke had hired a former White House director of communications to coordinate this branch of his PR campaign. They blasted emails out to non-Warner media outlets, filling them with glowing praise about Scarlett Johansson's phenomenal performance and brilliant everyday talent, all aimed at subtly "brainwashing" Academy members through the press.

According to statistics Duke had commissioned from a professional firm, the average age of the nearly six thousand Academy voters was sixty-five. Only twelve percent of the voters were under fifty. Nearly ninety-five percent were Caucasian, and seventy-seven percent were male.

This also meant that to win an Oscar, one had to primarily cater to the tastes of that overwhelming majority: older white male voters.

Earning Oscar eligibility for a film was easy. Aside from the routine declarations, the movie only needed to play in a commercial theater in Los Angeles County for one week before the relevant documents were submitted to the Film Academy.

Beyond the customary tactic of mailing out film DVDs to voters, sending gifts, making non-stop phone calls, and hosting private screening receptions were all excellent ways to secure votes. Even though the Film Academy had explicitly banned gifts and phone bombardments, the rules were impossible to enforce. Almost every ambitious studio—Duke's included—still utilized these methods.

Duke had recognized the media's influence on the public and even Academy members very early on. From the beginning, he had carefully cultivated the word-of-mouth surrounding the film and Scarlett's performance. His team not only actively countered critical views; they also relentlessly smeared their main competitors.

But doing just that was far from enough. Funded by Duke spending money like water, film breakdown sessions were continuously hosted across Los Angeles. These were incredibly high-end, luxurious parties, and most importantly, they were completely free for Film Academy members. As Gravity's advertisements blanketed the city, Duke's team invited voters to attend a slew of fully comped, opulent cocktail receptions, hosted a variety of star-studded private screenings, and bought out numerous entertainment columns to guarantee intensive coverage of their film.

Lisa Taback's firm sent "For Your Consideration" emails to subscribers of the Hollywood Reporter, quoting a senior Film Academy figure: "Actors born in the 1980s have been ignored for far too long. Scarlett Johansson's performance in Gravity absolutely warrants a win!"

These tactics heavily skirted the edges of the rules, but most of Hollywood was doing the exact same thing. Even if the Film Academy wanted to make an example out of someone, they would not target a high-profile project—otherwise, The Hurt Locker could never have won Best Picture the previous year.

John Erickson was a retired actor living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and a veteran member of the Film Academy. Early one morning, just after waking up and before he even had time to eat breakfast, he received a phone call from Los Angeles.

"Is this Mr. John Erickson?"

The female voice on the line was crisp and melodious, easily soothing John Erickson's initial annoyance. After he gave a brief reply, the caller offered a few routine pleasantries before cutting straight to the point.

"Have you received your DVD copy of Gravity?"

The question jogged John Erickson's memory of a package he had received a little while ago. There had been a disc inside, but his attention had been completely captured by the exquisite gifts that came with it, leaving the disc entirely ignored.

"Yes, I received it," he answered.

The caller immediately asked, "Have you watched the disc?"

"I'm sorry, I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Could you please watch it as soon as possible?"

Hearing the sweet, gentle urging, and recalling those seemingly modest but intricately crafted gifts, John Erickson made his decision.

"I'll watch it today," he immediately agreed.

John Erickson did not have anything important going on anyway. Hanging up the phone, he went to the storage room, dug out the elegantly crafted disc, slid it into his DVD player, and patiently sat down to watch.

That same afternoon, the Los Angeles number called again. Hearing that John Erickson had already watched the disc, the caller asked for a few of his thoughts before immediately pivoting to heavily promote Scarlett Johansson's outstanding performance in the film.

"A strong woman who overcomes immense difficulties to deliver such an outstanding character. Mr. Erickson, don't you think she was incredible? I certainly hope this earns an Oscar nomination."

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or perhaps it was inevitable. The very next day, Mr. John Erickson pulled out his Oscar ballot and began filling it out like a routine chore. When he reached the Best Actress nomination, he did not hesitate to choose the name Scarlett Johansson. For the Best Director nomination, he chose Duke Rosenberg—even though he had barely heard of the film Gravity before that phone call, and had initially assumed it was a Stallone movie.