The film's publicity team didn't sit idle—they jumped on the buzz and immediately ramped up promotional efforts. They made sure the world knew that there was a new comedy in theaters and that both Laila and Roy had seen it and found it hilarious.
Laila and Roy didn't mind. The movie was funny, and it gave them a great time. If the marketing team wanted to use their names to help boost the film's success, that was understandable. If it were them in that position, they probably would've done the same.
Hollywood isn't that big—but it's not small either. No one knows when they might need someone's help down the road.
As the saying goes: "More friends, more paths." No one would make a fuss over something this minor.
And to top it off, Laila had every reason to be pleased this summer. Transformers 3 had already locked down a massive global box office haul of nearly $900 million, giving her studio a strong claim to the year's top box office spot.
Looking back at the summer season as a whole, she was undoubtedly the last one laughing. One single studio had taken a lion's share of the box office pie. But Laila knew—this was not the time to relax. Because even as the summer season's smoke was still clearing, another giant beast had begun to bear its fangs: Avatar had kicked off its full-scale promotional campaign.
When it came to promotion, Laila had proven time and again that she could achieve more with less. But James Cameron was no slouch either. He was someone willing to spend heavily when it came to marketing—and that had always been the case. Just look at Titanic—the money he dumped into that film's promotion had been unheard of at the time.
But that film, and that infamous ship, had ushered in a new era of "super blockbusters" with "super campaigns." Some succeeded, some failed—but most saw profits. Investors had taken note, and more and more money started pouring into Hollywood's big-budget ecosystem.
To be fair, the money had paid off. A lot of high-octane, crowd-pleasing films had emerged from that model, and box office records kept climbing.
Laila was reminded of Avatar's imminent arrival when Robert Downey Jr. dropped by to personally invite her and Roy to the premiere of his new film.
"You sure that's a good release date? Christmas?" Laila raised an eyebrow. She didn't think Christmas was the kind of day people would be keen to go out. Or maybe she was just a homebody. Either way, she wouldn't want to go out and see a movie on that day.
"What choice do I have? I'm not the distributor," Downey said with a shrug as he plopped down across from her, playfully teasing baby Eli with a toy. "If it were up to me, I'd stay home and hang out with my son."
Laila shot him a glare. "And yet here you are bringing the invitation yourself?"
"Heh." Downey chuckled. "Isn't there an old Eastern saying—'Share the joy and the hardship'? We're friends, right? That means we should suffer together!"
Thanks to Roy's influence, Downey had picked up quite a few Eastern sayings.
"You sure it's not just the hardship part?" Laila quipped. She grumbled but ultimately agreed to attend. After all, he was one of her company's artists—if she didn't even show him that much support, what kind of boss would she be?
Downey leaned in a little closer. "Boss… tell me straight—how's Cameron's new movie looking? You know that apart from Avatar, there's not much real competition in the Christmas release window. Not to brag, but I think I did a solid job in Sherlock Holmes. My acting was on point."
At that, Laila's smile faded. She looked at him seriously. "Honestly? Don't even think about beating him."
Just seeing the mischievous look on his face, she could tell he was itching to challenge the man behind the highest-grossing film of all time. Unfortunately, that ambition was completely out of reach.
"It's that good?" Downey blinked, visibly taken aback by how serious she was. "Not even a chance?"
"Not even a sliver. It's not about whether your film is good or not. It's that Avatar is simply too strong. You're not in the same weight class—it's not even a fair fight."
"Come on, that's a bit dramatic, isn't it?" Downey frowned, clearly not convinced.
Ever since Iron Man catapulted him back to Hollywood's A-list, he'd become much pickier with his scripts. He eventually chose Sherlock Holmes—a great director, a solid supporting cast, and a story he genuinely liked. He thought the script was sharp, the performances strong, and most importantly, he believed his acting was the best it had ever been.
Before asking Laila, he truly thought that even if his film wasn't better than Avatar, it wouldn't be that far behind.
So Cameron dumped a few hundred million into his movie—so what? These days, if your film didn't cost at least $100–200 million, you were barely in the game. And it wasn't like smaller-budget films hadn't crushed blockbusters before. The woman in front of him—Laila herself—was proof of that. Hadn't she made a $100,000 indie film that grossed $300 million worldwide? She'd slapped countless faces with that one.
And now here she was, treating him like a guaranteed loser?
As much as she didn't want to crush his hopes, Laila figured it was better to prepare him in advance than let the disappointment hit him like a truck later.
"I'm sorry, but yeah—it's that good," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't forget, parts of its post-production were done at our studio. I've seen it. I'm telling you, it's going to blow the world away."
Hearing that made Downey frown even more. "You mean… Do you think it could beat Titanic at the box office?"
Laila smiled faintly but said nothing.
She knew that even if she did tell him the truth now, he wouldn't believe her. After all, how could anyone believe a movie could make $2.7 billion worldwide?
Titanic's $1.8 billion record had stood unshaken for over a decade. Nobody believed it could be surpassed.
Ironically, Laila's films had helped solidify that belief. Many of her releases had come close—some even reached into the billion-dollar range—but they all fell just short of that last few hundred million needed to truly take the crown.
The result? Audiences had given up hope. After so many letdowns, they'd concluded that maybe the record just wasn't meant to be broken.
Downey scratched his head, growing more anxious. He'd liked this script. If his performance ended up being completely overshadowed, it'd be such a waste. He truly believed his interpretation of Sherlock was fresh and would connect with audiences.
After Downey left, Roy turned to Laila. "Avatar… is it going to break the all-time box office record?"
He, too, was shocked. Though Laila had hinted at this before, he hadn't paid it much attention. After all, even if it was a record-breaker, it didn't concern them—none of their company's films were scheduled for that release window.
But now it was different. Downey had become a close friend—the kind forged through bickering and rivalry. If he got steamrolled at the box office, Roy couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated on his behalf.