[Chapter 177: The Film Critics]
To ensure comprehensive and flawless promotion for Speed, Universal organized an exclusive screening event for film critics, inviting them to watch the movie and spending a hefty budget on public relations to rally their support.
After all, it was the 1990s, the peak of film critics' influence. Unless a movie was purely fan-service or targeted solely at teenagers, their recommendations greatly affected the choices of general moviegoers.
But with the rise of the internet era, audiences gained more channels to access movie information. The influence of film critics on the general public gradually faded, leaving only a slight impact on older viewers. Their true influence remained mostly during awards season.
Universal naturally couldn't miss involving critics to ensure Speed's success. They held exclusive critics' screenings and lavish dinners, with PR budgets reaching into the seven figures. Linton had to cut short his afternoon music video shoot by an hour to head to the Hilton Hotel for the critics' banquet after their screening.
...
"Linton, this is Roger Ebert, Pulitzer Prize-winning film critic," Levitt introduced him to a bespectacled, balding middle-aged man.
"Hello, Mr. Ebert! I'm Linton Anderson," Linton said, shaking his hand.
"Linton, this is Kenneth Turan, a well-known critic."
"Linton, this is Todd McCarthy, another famous critic."
...
Under Levitt's introductions, Linton greeted the professional critics. Except for a few big names, most were unfamiliar to him, but that didn't stop him from offering them smiles and warmth. After all, he needed these industry parasites to promote Speed.
As for their reviews, Linton didn't care. Since they accepted Universal's invitation and PR perks, any review - positive or negative - must draw audience interest to the film.
Take this critics' PR event as an example: aside from travel expenses and accommodations at the Hilton, Universal prepared checks or gifts for critics based on their industry status, totaling over a million dollars. Roger Ebert alone received a six-figure sum.
This was a PR extravaganza organized by Universal. Both the studio and critics understood the unwritten rules: accepting a movie company's PR means managing one's pen to speak favorably.
Naturally, any review written before publication had to be vetted by Universal's distribution department. Random negative reviews without studio approval would result in a blackout - no more free screenings or PR privileges from Universal and its partners. Other studios would question the critic's credibility. Two breaches and the critic would be blacklisted, cutting off all future studio freebies. This was a self-imposed rule between critics and studios.
No one broke it easily. Studios didn't force critics to write glowing reviews; even negative critiques were permissible, but only if they sparked audience interest.
For example, if a critic wrote: "The film is nothing but explosions, car chases, and fights with no substance," Universal would accept it. Most viewers liked those elements. Though a criticism on the surface, it actually highlighted the movie's selling points, drawing viewers in.
This was Hollywood insider knowledge. The relationship between movie studios and critics was both cooperative and adversarial. Studios needed critics to rally support, while critics needed studios for handouts.
...
Having lived through the internet era, Linton knew how to handle critics: neither disregard nor overvalue them; treat them as just promotional tools.
At the hotel lobby, glasses clinked, and Linton, guided by Levitt, shook hands and made small talk.
"Director Anderson," Roger Ebert found him, holding a glass.
"You can call me Linton, Mr. Ebert."
"Alright, Linton. Your film shows unique strengths in narrative through visuals, quick editing, and thrilling explosion scenes," Roger said, fixing his gaze on the tall, handsome young director, his tone oddly patronizing.
"However, you shouldn't overemphasize sensory thrills. You need to invest more in meaningful elements -- like exploring why Payne, a cop, becomes a vengeful villain, or Jack's internal struggles facing danger."
Under Roger's earnest advice, Linton's expression darkened. If he shot the film as suggested, what distinguished it from those damn arty films? Who'd want to watch?
"If you did as I say, your film would have significant artistic and cultural value," Roger insisted.
Linton was done listening. This man's famous name meant little; he was too detached from the market and audience. Maybe he had ulterior motives, digging a pit under the guise of art.
It wasn't easy to secretly try out Soul Induction on him with so many eyes watching, but it didn't matter. Ignoring him outright was enough.
"Mr. Ebert, I'm new to the film biz and focus on commercial movies," Linton started but got cut off.
"Trust me, Linton, if you follow my advice, you'll earn excellent critical acclaim," Roger interrupted.
Critical acclaim? That's just critics' call. Can it help box office numbers?
Everyone in the biz knew these critics were out of touch with the market. Without PR, they opposed popular tastes, flaunting their unique artistic sensibilities.
Audiences loved commercial films, but critics opposed them. They praised slow, confusing, sleep-inducing arthouse films as sophisticated art.
Yet, Hollywood studios rarely risk massive investments in such "high art" films, except for award-targeted projects. Most arthouse films stayed under $3 million budgets.
Like now, Universal had paid them well. Regardless of Speed's quality, critics would heap praise in media, driven by PR cash, not artistic sincerity.
Linton couldn't stand it anymore. After a few words to the boastful Pulitzer winner, he turned away, fearing he'd snap if he stayed longer.
Unbeknownst to Linton, Roger's face soured as he watched him leave, seeing him as an immature, disrespectful kid unworthy of mentorship.
But Linton didn't care; he had no obsession with snagging an Oscar.
*****
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