Chapter 72: Test Screening
Throughout the walk, Nina kept softly introducing each person they encountered to Wayne. It wasn't until they reached the second-floor lounge that he finally got a moment to sit down and catch his breath.
Just now, several representatives from three or four theater chains had greeted him—and nearly all of the attendees for tonight's test screening were from major cinema groups.
These theater chains were crucial players in any film's release strategy. The quality of films they chose to screen directly affected their profits. No movie could casually debut on thousands of screens nationwide—it had to earn its place.
Every chain had its own detailed, standardized procedures for evaluating films. Only after their internal reviewers gave the green light would they decide the scope of its theatrical release.
Fortunately for Wayne, the situation now was far better than when he debuted Happy Death Day. That first time, the release had to start with limited previews. But thanks to the box office performance of that earlier film, Wayne's reputation had begun influencing Warner Bros.' strategy—and the theater chains were now willing to consider a wide release.
How wide that release would be, however, would depend on the quality of the film and tonight's reactions from the reviewers and insiders.
Since Warner's internal screeners—including Jeff Robinov—had given highly positive feedback, the studio had invited a high-profile group of critics and media to tonight's event.
Even Nina, just walking into the venue, spotted The Hollywood Reporter's Todd McCarthy and Los Angeles Times' Kenneth Turan.
And more importantly, Wayne didn't even need Nina to point out the short, stocky man sitting in the middle of the auditorium. That was Roger Ebert—Pulitzer Prize winner and legendary critic from the Chicago Sun-Times.
Wayne did a quick mental calculation: the money Warner Bros. had spent just on PR for those few critics easily reached six figures.
Still, before the film began, Wayne had no intention of approaching any of them. He knew he was just a small-time director—these big-name critics were here because of Warner Bros., not him.
Meanwhile, Roger Ebert was already seated near the center of the auditorium. Looking around, he turned and greeted the man to his right.
"Good evening, Kenneth."
Kenneth Turan looked surprised to see him. "Roger? You came all the way to L.A.?"
"Of course. I'm quite curious about this young director," Roger replied with a warm smile, pointing at Wayne, who was sitting in the front row. "I only saw his last film, Happy Death Day, after it came out—but I thought it was imaginative, and he definitely has potential, don't you think?"
Kenneth managed a polite smile but inwardly rolled his eyes. Curious? Please. If not for Warner's six-figure PR push, there's no way you'd fly across the country just for a test screening...
In the front row, Wayne sat beside his assistant and Halle Berry, surrounded by the main cast and production crew. Nina kept glancing back, observing the audience.
"Boss," she whispered, "right behind us are two of Regal's lead acquisition specialists. On their left are AMC's film selectors. Those are the two biggest chains in North America right now."
Wayne turned his head slightly. The room was packed, and he couldn't clearly make out who was who.
Nina continued, "Warner's survey agents are seated toward the back with the fans—looks like they're collecting first-hand feedback."
Planting survey agents among fans was a common practice for Hollywood studios. It allowed them to immediately gauge audience reactions and gather firsthand data.
"Don't worry about them, Nina," Wayne said softly. "The film's about to start. Stop looking around."
As he spoke, the auditorium lights began to dim. A beam of light shot out from the projection room in the back, casting onto the big screen.
The screen slowly lit up, and the previously noisy room quieted down. There were no commercials—just the Warner Bros. logo, followed by a bold title card:
A Wayne Garfield Film.
"Hmm. Grabs your attention," Todd McCarthy muttered to himself from the middle rows. He pulled out a pencil and flipped open a notebook—an old habit. Many veteran critics preferred to jot down notes during screenings to aid their later reviews.
The bright, clean opening directly established the central theme: a Black boy and a white girl. In this era, that contrast was inherently provocative—enough to spark audience curiosity and pull them in for the ride.
"Solid visual storytelling," Todd scribbled. "Warm tones layered over a pale backdrop—subtle dissonance."
Out of everyone present tonight, Todd might've been the one who understood this director best. He had watched Happy Death Day and been genuinely intrigued by its dystopian style. That small, indie film had delivered an unexpectedly fresh take on its genre.
And now, just a few minutes into Get Out, Todd could already tell—this was another dystopian thriller.
The director had clearly grown. Compared to the more amateurish visual language of his debut, this film was noticeably more polished and confident.
As the story gradually unfolded, the room fell completely silent. No one whispered. No one moved. Todd shifted his focus fully to the screen.
By the time the film was halfway through, Todd's dominant impression was this: the director had used cinematic language to turn what should've been a bright, hopeful love story into something eerie and menacing.
From the moment the protagonist arrived in the small town, every element—from the suspenseful pacing to the performances—was executed with such precision that even a seasoned viewer like Todd found himself captivated.
Then came the final act. The big reveal.
When it was shown that the protagonist hadn't been hypnotized after all—but had stuffed cotton in his ears to block it out—Todd sat up, thrilled.
A Black protagonist pulling tufts of cotton from the armchair and using it to save himself—what a brilliant reversal. And the symbolism? Incredibly pointed. Cotton-picking had always been the ultimate representation of slavery. That simple act flipped the entire power dynamic.
Even the deer—symbolizing resilience and marginalization—was a subtle, effective metaphor.
This young director's attention to detail was nothing short of masterful.
A twisted kind of film, Todd noted. That was his working label for it now. The cold humor that had the audience chuckling in the beginning had gradually accumulated into something deeply unsettling. By the end, the atmosphere had shifted so thoroughly that many in the room were visibly tense, backs stiff, skin crawling.
Everyone in the theater had been holding their breath alongside the young Black protagonist. And when he finally turned the tables and fought back, the entire audience felt an exhilarating, cathartic release.
"He still relies too much on graphic violence," Todd McCarthy mused, shaking his head slightly in disappointment as the ending played out. "It's like exploring the darker sides of humanity has become second nature to him—or perhaps it's the only thing that truly excites him."
Todd had caught a glimpse of Wayne Garfield earlier—so young, fresh-faced, full of energy. And yet, his work always delved into the twisted, the unsettling, the morally gray. Was it possible he couldn't make a film outside this bleak view of human nature?
Still, this wouldn't be Wayne Garfield's last film. Nor would it be the last in which he tackled the demons lurking within society. Todd had seen other directors with similar obsessions, but none who managed to blend their personal style with mass appeal quite like Wayne did.
There were no end credits or music after the final scene. The screen cut to black immediately, and the house lights slowly came on. Many in the audience were still lost in thought, unsure whether the film had actually ended until nearly thirty seconds passed.
It wasn't just the fans in the back who sat in stunned silence—the media professionals and critics at the front were just as quiet, all eyes shifting toward the front row, where the director sat. It felt as if something important was about to happen.
Then, suddenly, from somewhere in the room, a clap rang out.
And like a wave crashing ashore, thunderous applause erupted. It rolled through the auditorium like a tidal wave, even reaching the theater lobby. In the back rows, the general audience joined in with cheers and loud calls of "Amazing!"
The applause didn't stop.
John came over, head lowered slightly, and gave Wayne a big thumbs-up.
Typically, a few polite claps were standard at a test screening—Wayne had expected that much. But he hadn't anticipated this: a roaring ovation that lasted so long.
Audience members in the back were beginning to line up to exit. Near the doors, Warner Bros.' survey agents were busy collecting response cards from people still buzzing with conversation.
"I'm definitely coming back to watch it again when it's officially out," said one excited viewer.
"Same here. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen—every little detail mattered."
The agents jotted down feedback and gathered responses:
"A"
"A+"
"A+"
"A – This is a perfect horror thriller!"
"…"
Warner's team had specifically invited young adults—exactly the film's target demographic. But even they were taken aback by the overwhelming wave of praise.
These bold, enthusiastic ratings lit up the page. And based on the buzz in the room, Warner's staff now truly believed Get Out had a strong chance of becoming a box office phenomenon.
Wayne stayed seated, quietly watching as the crowd slowly trickled out. Meanwhile, the critics Warner had invited had already left the screening room, heading to the reception in the adjacent hotel banquet hall.
The film's three lead actors had gone upstairs to the second floor of the theater for press interviews.
Just as Wayne stood there, still a bit dazed, Warner Bros. production manager John came rushing over.
"Oh my god, Wayne!" John grabbed him in a bear hug. "We've got a real shot at this. Did you hear that applause? Did you feel that?"
"Yes! John, I heard it loud and clear," Wayne laughed, the hug snapping him out of his daze. That nonstop ovation had made every ounce of effort feel completely worth it.
"Oh—and we've gotta go. Jeff sent me to grab you. He wants to introduce you to some people."
John slapped his forehead, then led Wayne—along with Halle and Nina—over to the banquet hall.