"Duke, this is Nancy Collins' novel Love of Monsters, published in 1994. The story I mentioned originates from this book. It elaborates on the origins of werewolves and vampires and narrates their millennia-long entangled love and hatred."
Listening to Wallace Lee's words, Duke's gaze quickly skimmed over the novella placed on the table. A sense of familiarity surged in his heart, especially the plot where a female vampire falls in love with a special human. It seemed remarkably similar to a movie he had once seen.
Wallace Lee continued, "I've met the original author, but the price they're asking for is beyond what I can afford personally. Moreover, someone named Len Wiseman from Lakeshore Entertainment is also in contact with Nancy Collins, competing for the adaptation rights."
Duke closed the manuscript Wallace Lee had brought, thought for a moment, and said, "Lee, you know that scripts mean nothing in Hollywood."
Just like the struggles he faced back in the day, the idea of impressing Hollywood with a script or a story alone was purely a fantasy.
Many people believe that as long as you have talent, you'll shine in Hollywood. A good story or film will definitely conquer Hollywood and even the world. But after spending ten years in Hollywood—initially facing countless rejections and gradually climbing to the upper echelons of this industry—Duke deeply understood the reality.
Hollywood is indeed a place where art and talent converge. However, the truth is that making films is a business, not an art.
That's why the associated industries in Hollywood are called the "entertainment business" and not the "entertainment arts."
Some might think Hollywood is constantly searching for geniuses. Watching various television programs, you'll often hear Hollywood agents or film companies saying to the audience, "We're looking for geniuses in filmmaking." But this is one of Hollywood's biggest lies.
If someone truly believed those words and called one of Hollywood's major agencies to claim they were the genius being sought, they would receive no response—at best, the call would simply be hung up.
What Hollywood actually needs isn't a brilliant mind but a marketable brand. Names like James Cameron, Duke Rosenberg, Tom Cruise, and Tom Hanks are examples.
Whether it's producers, writers, actors, or directors, what Hollywood values isn't talent but profit potential. Often, what impresses Hollywood companies isn't the artistic value of someone's work but its potential to generate revenue.
When someone's name can attract audiences—or, more importantly, their wallets—that's when they become what Hollywood calls a "genius."
Not everyone in Hollywood is extraordinarily talented, but they or their teams know how to market themselves, turning their names into a brand. In a way, that's a form of talent too.
In this business-centric paradise, creativity and stories are needed, but everyone knows they're the least valued assets. Hollywood blockbusters often have very simple stories. Films like Independence Day or Titanic, to name a few, are essentially works of second- or even third-rate screenwriters when judged solely on their storylines.
It's no exaggeration to say such stories lack originality. If a newcomer brought these plots to a film company, they wouldn't even get a meeting.
Is Hollywood desperate for talent? Is Hollywood a place where talent will always be recognized and shine? Don't be naive.
When most people hear "Hollywood," their first thought is that it's a place where films are made.
It's true that Hollywood produces a vast number of films every year. Major companies, as well as directors and investors like Duke, want the public to think of Hollywood as a place where great films are made.
But the truth is, filmmaking represents only a tiny fraction of what Hollywood does. Hollywood is a film marketing industry, not a haven for creative filmmaking.
Take so-called low-budget blockbusters, for instance. Are their budgets really low?
Their production costs might only be $10,000 or $20,000, but how much is spent on marketing?
In Hollywood, people spend more time on marketing than on filmmaking—two or three times longer, if not more.
In Hollywood, a movie isn't just what a director captures on camera and edits in post-production. That's merely a "film." A "movie" is what results after a series of marketing activities and ends up on theater screens.
The key difference is that a "film" doesn't make money, while a "movie" does.
When a film gets media coverage and advertises to the public, it transitions from being a "film" to a "movie."
Just like Duke's films, which always come with grand promotional campaigns, the story, creativity, and artistry become extremely cheap commodities in the process.
Of course, many artistic and idealistic directors choose to take the film festival route.
But in reality, even prestigious festivals like the European Big Three require more than just a good piece of art; you also need a significant amount of money.
For a film to participate in a festival, the production team must pay an entry fee—often a hefty sum. Then there are additional costs like promotional materials, transportation, staff salaries, screening fees, and public relations expenses.
If luck strikes and a distributor at the festival is interested in buying the film, the discussions will revolve entirely around profits, sales, and distribution, leaving no room for art.
Doesn't sound very "artistic," does it?
In essence, whether you're a person or a film, to gain recognition in Hollywood, you first need to prove your value and potential for profit.
Otherwise, no matter how much you talk, you'll end up being rejected again and again—just as Duke once was.
Can a story or an idea attract investors? Will talent alone be enough for recognition? It's a beautiful dream, sure.
But until you've proven yourself, all stories and ideas are intangible.
Thus, Duke closed the manuscript and slowly shook his head at Wallace Lee.
Just as Wallace Lee thought Duke would flat-out refuse, Duke spoke again, "I'll have someone acquire the adaptation rights. But, Lee, you'll need to prove you can direct this film."
"I will!"
Wallace Lee wasn't one of those idealistic youngsters. "Once I finish my current work, I'll prepare a detailed plan."
"I'll be waiting." Duke handed the manuscript to Tina Fey.
It's never easy for someone to go from assistant director to director.
As night fell, Duke invited Anna Prinz and Wallace Lee to stay for dinner. They avoided the afternoon's topic, focusing more on the post-production of The Two Towers.
Because of overlapping post-production work on the trilogy, The Two Towers was progressing much faster than The Fellowship of the Ring. According to Duke's plans, all post-production for the second film could be completed around the New Year.
Although there would inevitably be a long holiday in between, Duke didn't intend to wait for The Two Towers to release before starting work on the third installment. He planned to begin editing The Return of the King in February.
After dinner, Wallace Lee and Anna Prinz soon bid farewell and left.
"Tina, when will my mom be here?"
Back in the living room, Duke first inquired about his mother's schedule. Tina Fey immediately replied, "No later than next Monday. Mrs. Leah will meet Ms. Johnson in Tokyo, and they'll fly to Los Angeles together."
After calculating the time, Duke felt reassured that there wouldn't be any conflicts.
Sitting on the couch, he noticed Tina Fey reading the manuscript and reminded her, "Make sure the Duke Studio secures the adaptation rights as soon as possible."
"Understood." Tina Fey nodded.
Ivanka, curious, walked over to read along with Tina Fey. After a while, she asked Duke, "You seem to value this a lot?"
"Value?" Duke shook his head but didn't explain further.
Seeing this manuscript reminded him of the few werewolf and vampire films he had watched. He vaguely remembered that although the investment in the film was small and the box office wasn't high, the series continued. It must have been profitable enough; otherwise, the production company would have abandoned it long ago.
If Wallace Lee could prove his ability to direct commercial films, Duke would consider investing. If not, someone else could take over. Anna Prinz, for instance, was also a potential candidate.
Unlike Sofia Coppola, Anna Prinz didn't shy away from the immense pressure of directing a film alone.
Duke wouldn't greenlight a project for Wallace Lee just because they had been classmates. Running the Duke Studio that way would bankrupt him, no matter how many studios he had.
The lights in the Duke Manor shone brightly, while the night sky above grew increasingly dark. Under Beverly Hills' starlit sky, a yellow Chevrolet turned onto a side road and gracefully stopped in a parking spot. A strong-looking woman stepped out of the car.
Clearly of Latino descent, she shut the car door and strode toward a nearby café. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, though the high partitions blocked her view.
"I'm looking for Miss Jessica," she said to a waiter, who promptly led her to a booth.
"Hi, Jessica." She beamed brightly.
"Hi, Michelle."
Like best friends, Jessica Alba stood up to embrace Michelle Rodriguez.
But where Jessica couldn't see, a flash of disdain crossed Michelle Rodriguez's face.