Chapter 903: Without Popcorn, There Is No Movie

During the actual shoot, Duke gave the camera assistant a degree of autonomy. People weren't machines, after all; as long as the assistant followed his overarching directions, it was fine.

The temporary still photographer was smart, too. While adhering to Duke's requirements, he made sure never to shoot from the main camera's exact angle.

Movie stills could use different framing than the cinematic shots. A still didn't have to mirror the director's exact camera placement—it wasn't required, and in fact, it needed to be different. Film relied on dynamic motion to convey the story, whereas a still had to explain the plot through a single static frame. Plus, stills could always be modified and cropped in post.

As long as a still showcased the narrative, medium and close-up shots worked best. However, it had to share one crucial element with the film's visuals: the underlying emotion had to match. Whatever the movie emphasized, the still had to emphasize. If the film was light and refreshing, how could the promotional stills be cold, hard, and bitter?

Then there was the large-scale green screen work Duke employed. Many key scenes were shot on soundstages against bare green screens with no background whatsoever. How were they supposed to take stills then?

These were often pivotal scenes, so it was impossible to forgo promotional stills entirely. There was only one solution: pulling high-definition static frames during post-production. While these screen captures were generally sufficient for press releases, the image quality was noticeably worse than a true photograph.

Beyond movie stills, what other images could be used for film marketing? Behind-the-scenes crew photos were actually highly engaging and shareable, but they still required a bit of "design." Not every snapshot of a crew member in a heavy coat or a director staring at a monitor was visually compelling. The most important aspect of a photo was its content. It needed to contain something worth sharing.

By the time the final shot wrapped, it was time to clock out. However, after Charlize Theron and Daisy Ridley removed their makeup and changed into their everyday clothes, they didn't leave the studio. Instead, they returned to the set and stood with Duke, allowing the temporary still photographer to snap quite a few pictures—behind-the-scenes photos meant for marketing.

Though both were used for marketing, behind-the-scenes photos and promotional stills were fundamentally different. Promotional stills required the actors to be in character and actively performing. If an actor wasn't performing—especially in a modern-day film—the picture would look no different from a generic celebrity photoshoot. Any photo taken on set while the actors were out of character was classified as a working photo, because a true still had to be a "faithful reflection and record of the movie."

Furthermore, the production team's job was to promote the film, not the actors.

With the day's work finally at an end, Duke was packing up his workstation when Charlize Theron approached him.

"Do you have time?" she asked, standing across from him with a charming smile on her coolly glamorous face. "Dinner together?"

"Sorry..." Duke shook his head gently, glancing toward the studio entrance as Scarlett Johansson walked in. "I promised Scar I'd go with her tonight to check out the theater she invested in."

As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Charlize Theron turned around just in time to see Scarlett Johansson walking briskly toward them. Her bright eyes narrowed into thin slits, and she let out a soft sigh.

As she grew older, Charlize Theron increasingly felt that her past choices had been a massive mistake. Unfortunately, there was no longer any opportunity to fix it.

She knew very well that once you missed out on some things, they were gone for good. There was no getting them back.

Charlize Theron had no desire to deal with Scarlett Johansson. Before the younger actress could reach them, she said to Duke, "Let's meet up when you have time."

Duke didn't say anything, only giving a slight nod. As he withdrew his gaze, the departing Charlize Theron brushed past Scarlett Johansson. Neither woman made any move to greet the other, acting as if they were total strangers.

Behaving as if she hadn't even seen Charlize Theron, Scarlett Johansson stepped up to Duke's side. Without a single mention of the other woman, she hooked her arm through his, and together they walked out of the soundstage.

"This is our first large chain theater opening in Los Angeles."

Walking down the narrow paths of Warner Studios, Scarlett looked thrilled. "We're finally going to see a return on our investment."

"Darling," Duke corrected her, "this is your investment."

Under American law, someone in his position was prohibited from owning any stake in the theater chain industry.

Scarlett knew this and willingly changed the subject. "Have you heard? The North American Theater Alliance is getting ready for a new round of popcorn price hikes."

Nowadays, popcorn was practically synonymous with movies and movie theaters. As the undisputed king of cinema concessions, its profit margins were staggeringly high—far beyond what anyone outside the industry could imagine. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that humble little popcorn was the great hero keeping movie theaters alive.

There were generally two types of theater popcorn. One was the "butterfly" shape, which had irregular, wing-like protrusions; this variety was crunchier and by far the most common in cinemas. The other was the "mushroom" shape, which looked more like a sphere or an oval. It had a softer, chewier texture and was relatively rare.

Ever since the first popcorn machine was invented in 1885, its portability made popcorn the snack of choice for outdoor events and circuses. Its true convenience lay in the fact that it could be mass-produced without the need for a full kitchen. Potato chips—another popular snack—couldn't boast the same, placing them at a distinct disadvantage in the snack market.

However, there was one—and only one—entertainment venue at the time where popcorn was nowhere to be found: the movie theater.

Back then, theaters were highly formal, upscale establishments. A cheap street snack like popcorn was beneath the notice of discerning audiences, and theater operators refused to bring the associated mess and strong aroma into their pristine screening rooms. Furthermore, since films of that era were entirely silent, the distracting crunch of popcorn would have ruined the viewing experience.

But technological and economic advancements changed everything.

The most crucial cinematic innovation was the introduction of synchronized sound.

After 1927, audiences could finally hear characters speak instead of relying solely on title cards. This opened the film market to an entirely new demographic—many of whom were working-class, illiterate individuals, or young children.

This new audience cared little for the opulent designs of upscale theaters. They certainly weren't bothered by the prospect of dirtying a carpet over a tasty snack. At the same time, the advent of the talkies meant the crunching sounds of popcorn were no longer a glaring distraction.

Soon after, America was plunged into the Great Depression. Many theaters went out of business, and those that managed to scrape by faced a bleak future. Everyone involved in the film industry was suffering—everyone, that is, except the street vendors who proved that popcorn was a butter-coated gold mine.

Popcorn became the cheapest luxury available, as well as the first snack people began smuggling into theaters under their coats. In those dark days, people could actually make a living—and even strike it rich—just by selling popcorn on the street.

One theater chain on the East Coast decided to experiment. They began selling popcorn in their smaller venues, while their five premium theaters maintained a strict ban on all snacks to keep the premises immaculate.

The result? The theaters that sold popcorn raked in massive profits, while the five premium theaters bled money.

Ultimately, theater management realized that popcorn was the absolute key to profitability. It had genuinely saved the cinema business—so much so that one entrepreneur during the Great Depression offered this piece of advice: "Find a good place to sell popcorn, and build a movie theater right next to it."

Now, it could be said that we lived in an era where without popcorn, there is no movie.

Decades later, a trip to the movies felt incomplete to most people if it didn't involve popcorn. And for the theaters themselves, the snack was just as crucial to their survival as it had been back then.

Audiences frequently complained about the exorbitant concession prices, yet they still bought popcorn while completely ignoring its cost and pricing. The gross profit margin on concessions in most theaters exceeded eighty-five percent. Each year, concessions accounted for half of a theater's total overall profit, vastly outstripping their share of the box office revenue.

Because studios and distributors invested massive fortunes into producing and marketing films, they justifiably claimed more of the ticket sales. Theaters, meanwhile, were burdened with enormous operating expenses: exorbitant rent, massive air conditioning bills, and the constant need to upgrade surround sound systems, seating, and digital 3D systems—each of which was a huge expense.

Theaters could raise ticket prices to survive, but doing so would drive audiences away, so concessions were their only reliable lifeline. Although snacks and drinks made up just twenty percent of a theater's total revenue, they generated a staggering fifty percent of its actual profit.

Furthermore, theaters all utilized bundled sales. Popcorn naturally made people thirsty, meaning anyone who bought this cinematic "staple" was almost guaranteed to buy a drink as well.

Generally speaking, moviegoers didn't debate between buying no snacks or buying just a little. Their mindset usually boiled down to two options: buy nothing at all, or buy a huge armful of snacks.

Because of this, cinema customers also fell into two camps: those willing to splurge, and those who were highly sensitive to prices.

Once a theater set its concession prices at a level that the splurging demographic found acceptable, further discounts wouldn't attract more buyers. Price-sensitive consumers wouldn't consider buying anything unless the costs dropped below supermarket prices—and obviously, catering to that crowd wasn't profitable.

Therefore, theaters only had to tailor their pricing to what the big spenders were willing to pay.

This was an important reason why the North American Theater Alliance felt confident proposing a collective price hike on concessions.

Anyone investing in the theater business couldn't ignore the importance of concessions.

It was precisely because of these high-margin concessions that theaters could keep ticket prices relatively low. By profiting from food and services, they implemented a tiered pricing strategy that successfully lured more people into the cinema.

Ultimately, it could be said that this combination of air and starch was what kept theaters operating. Without popcorn, there would likely be no movie theaters—at least, not in the form we know today.