Chapter 74: A Rival?
While Wayne and Kenneth Turan were enjoying a pleasant conversation, Roger Ebert was already quietly labeling him as an impudent, unteachable kid.
To Roger, this kind of young director—who didn't show proper deference to authority—wasn't worth wasting any more effort on. Let him stumble and fall; maybe then he'd regret not taking the advice of someone more experienced.
Meanwhile, Wayne and Kenneth were having a surprisingly good chat. Kenneth Turan, a well-known Los Angeles film critic, was one of the rare few who evaluated films through the lens of the general moviegoer, rather than from an ivory tower.
As they were wrapping up and exchanging contact information, another familiar face joined them—Todd McCarthy, a prominent critic from The Hollywood Reporter.
"Hey Kenneth, good evening. And hello, Director Garfield," Todd greeted as he took a seat beside them.
"Hey Todd. Wayne, this is Todd McCarthy, contributing critic for The Hollywood Reporter," Kenneth said warmly, clearly familiar and comfortable with him. There was no sign of animosity between the two.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. McCarthy," Wayne said with a smile. Something clicked in his mind—both these critics, compared to Roger Ebert, were relatively young. And perhaps that generational difference explained why they seemed far more open-minded.
Todd raised his glass of champagne and clinked it lightly with Wayne's. After taking a sip, he said, "I've seen your first film—not just once, mind you. And I have to say, in some areas, you're nothing short of a genius."
"Thank you. I still have a lot to learn," Wayne replied modestly, although his expression remained confident.
"What I'm about to say, you might not like. But I hope you won't let pride cloud your vision." Todd leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together on the table. "Compared to your first film, Get Out is a major leap forward. Your camera language has matured incredibly. But those damn comedic scenes—why even bother including them?"
"I heard you wrote the screenplay yourself. If that's the case, then don't write what you're not good at. Craft compelling stories from the darker, twisted parts of human nature. That's your strength. That's where you shine."
Wayne nodded. The critic was absolutely right—and it aligned with the direction he had already decided to take in the future. He'd long realized that his own sense of humor didn't quite mesh with modern audiences. Many of the American-style jokes that people found funny just didn't land for him at all.
Looking at Todd's serious expression, Wayne appreciated that—at the very least—he wasn't being lectured. "You're right, Mr. McCarthy. Moving forward, I plan to remove all comedic elements from my work. With these first two films, I wasn't sure if the audience would accept my voice, so I tried to balance it out."
"Smart decision." Todd smiled approvingly. In his view, this young director had a rare clarity of mind. "The audience will tell you soon enough. From what I've seen—and given how low your production costs were—you're about to bring Warner Bros. a very big return."
"Thank you!" Wayne replied.
Just then, Jeff Robinov walked over and smiled. "Todd, I hope your prediction comes true. But I need to borrow Wayne for a moment—something's come up."
With a polite nod to the critics, Jeff led Wayne to a nearby private lounge. Inside were John and Kevin Tsujihara, CEO of Warner Bros.
"Well, Wayne," Kevin greeted him with a grin. "I hear you made quite the impression on those critics. Nicely done."
He gestured to the table beside them.
"The audience survey results from the screening are in. Over 95% of respondents gave the film an A or higher."
He paused, then added, "Of course, there's some demographic bias. All the viewers we invited were between 18 and 30."
Wayne glanced down at the table. The Warner team had worked efficiently—everything was tabulated and summarized neatly.
"That's exactly the audience we were targeting," Wayne said with a smile. "And judging by the response, I think we did pretty well."
This part of the battle was already won. Now, all that was left… was Warner's marketing machine.
Jeff grinned as he spoke:
"That's right. Our distribution team has been in talks with the theater chains. They've mostly agreed to our strategy—focusing more on cinemas near African-American communities.
Starting tomorrow, the film will enter its intensive promotional phase. We've tentatively set the release date for May 15th. Make sure you and Halle Berry show up in front of the media often once the film launches."
"Don't worry. I've got it covered on my end."
After the brief meeting, Wayne returned to the banquet hall. He was ready to call it a night and head home with Halle. He'd done all the networking he could manage—something he still wasn't entirely comfortable with.
"Halle, how's it going? We should be heading back."
He spotted Halle Berry on the balcony with Nina, holding a glass of champagne. Wayne walked over and gathered the two of them to leave.
Halle clung to his arm, looking a bit distracted. After a moment, she spoke up:
"I saw Harvey Weinstein earlier. I overheard him chatting with someone as I passed by… sounded like he had some opinions about you."
"Let him be," Wayne replied without a second thought. He knew exactly what it was about. He'd turned down Weinstein twice already, and to that bloated pig, it probably looked like he didn't know how to respect the industry food chain.
As soon as they exited the hotel, a group of media reporters swarmed them. Halle Berry flashed her signature smile.
"Director Garfield! I'm Bella from the L.A. Times. Your new film is receiving overwhelming praise from audiences. Do you think it'll surpass Happy Death Day at the box office?"
"Hi, Bella." Wayne turned toward the cameras with a warm smile. "I'm confident in the film. Get Out will definitely outperform my first movie."
He was more than happy to do these interviews—they were good for publicity, and ultimately, for the film's box office.
"Ms. Halle Berry! Is your relationship with Director Garfield still going strong? Any plans for an engagement?"
With practiced ease, Halle flashed a sweeter smile and gazed at Wayne with adoration.
"We're doing great. As you know, Wayne's been incredibly busy, so we haven't really talked about engagement yet."
"Director Garfield—!"
The night in Los Angeles sparkled with glitz and glamour. But far from the lights, in a dimly lit suburban villa, only a desk lamp shone, casting its glow on a small corner of the room.
"I heard Wayne's new film had its media screening tonight?"
Adam Goodman looked nothing like his former self—a man once brimming with confidence. Now unshaven, disheveled, and visibly hollowed out, he nursed a glass of whiskey.
His agent, Gaia, glanced at him with concern. "Yeah, Warner Bros. invited a large number of media and critics. They're clearly building buzz for the release."
Adam didn't react much, just kept drinking in silence.
"Don't overthink it, Adam," Gaia said cautiously, afraid he'd spiral again.
"I'm not overthinking anything," Adam suddenly grinned. "Wayne Garfield is doomed this time. My father used his last favor to keep me on Far and Away's crew. I won't let him down."
"This time, his opponent isn't me—it's Tom Cruise and Universal Pictures. That film may not have any breakout stars, but we've got Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman!"
Adam had absolute faith in the film he was now part of. Even if Ron Howard was the director and not him, just beating Wayne once would be enough.
Besides, he believed Universal would never allow some low-budget film to threaten Far and Away. Certain things would be taken care of without him lifting a finger. Unfortunately, he had come to understand all this a little too late.
Meanwhile, not far from the Garfield estate, in another Mulholland Drive mansion, a few others were discussing Wayne's new film as well.
A middle-aged woman walked up to Tom Cruise with a fax in hand and placed it on the coffee table.
"Tom, here are the audience survey results for Get Out," said Pat Kingsley, tapping the page with a manicured finger.
Among the Hollywood big six, secrets were rare. Warner Bros. wasn't even trying to hide these numbers—they were practically begging for others to help spread the hype.
Pat, knowing Tom's habits, didn't expect him to read the data himself—his dyslexia was mostly under control, but he still disliked scanning fine print.
"Warner Bros. collected 407 surveys," she summarized. "Over 95% of viewers gave the film an A or higher. That kind of reception usually translates to strong box office numbers."
Tom gently traced the rim of his teacup. He understood what she was saying—audience buzz, unlike critical acclaim, could drive major ticket sales.
"Nicole, if I remember correctly, the female lead in this movie is from your home country?" Pat suddenly turned to Tom's wife.
Nicole Kidman nodded. "Yes, Naomi Watts. We're on friendly terms. I remember she attended one of our Aussie gatherings back when she first arrived in L.A."
"Think there's a way we can use her as leverage—"
"Pat," Tom interrupted her sharply. "That's not necessary."
"It's just a low-budget thriller. Let's not stoop to under-the-table tactics. That young director has Warner Bros. and Time Warner behind him. Besides, Universal will do what needs to be done—we don't have to get involved."
Even among the major Hollywood studios—who often competed fiercely—there remained a certain unspoken code. There were lines no one crossed.
"Let's focus on the upcoming release from Paramount and the family comedy from Disney," Tom continued. "Especially the Disney one—Chris Columbus may not be a household name yet, but he's very good at directing that kind of film.