Chapter 75: Opening Night
Pat Kingsley wasn't nearly as optimistic—she still saw that director as a real threat.
"Tom, all the other films you mentioned are scheduled at least two weeks apart from Far and Away. The only one releasing close to us is Get Out."
"I've heard from my contacts at Warner Bros. that they're planning a mid-May premiere. At this point, it's basically confirmed—it's going to collide directly with our release."
Tom Cruise thought his agent was being overly dramatic. Why focus so much on a low-budget thriller that barely cost a few million to make?
"Pat," Nicole Kidman chimed in, setting her magazine down and looking at Tom with pride. "Tom's name alone guarantees box office success. Honestly, I hope that film does release on the same weekend as Far and Away."
Pat Kingsley didn't press the issue further. She knew they weren't entirely wrong. In this era, box office success was driven by big-name stars—and Tom Cruise was the gold standard.
Universal Pictures had invested far more in Far and Away than Warner Bros. had in that little horror flick. Along with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, they'd brought in a seasoned veteran like Ron Howard to direct. The studio had every reason to be optimistic.
Since Top Gun, Tom had been a consistent box office magnet. Up to this point, there hadn't been a single major flop under his name.
The kind of star power that Hollywood A-listers wielded in the '90s was on a level that future generations of moviegoers probably wouldn't even be able to comprehend.
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After a long, sun-scorched day in the City of Angels, the cool night breeze finally brought some relief. Outside the TCL Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, a crowd of reporters had gathered, armed with long-lens cameras and press badges.
It was Friday, May 14, 1992—the second weekend of the month. That morning, Get Out had officially opened in 2,088 theaters across the U.S.
Warner Bros. had arranged a modest premiere event for the film.
There were no celebrity guests, no superstar red carpet appearances. Just a few media outlets and journalists. No throngs of screaming fans, either—only a simple stretch of red carpet lining the entrance.
Warner Bros. had already spent nearly as much on the film's marketing as they did on the production itself. Whether the studio would invest in a second wave of promotional efforts depended entirely on how the opening weekend went.
To make matters worse for Warner, Universal had just held a glitzy, high-profile premiere for Far and Away the day before, on Thursday. The event featured Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, along with a host of other A-list celebrities, drawing massive media attention.
Rescheduling was out of the question—summer blockbuster season was just around the corner. Schools would soon be out, and teenagers, the primary audience for summer movies, would flood the theaters.
Starting this weekend, Warner had a new film lined up to release every other week. The entire schedule had been locked in months ago—there was no room to shift things around.
---
A silver Rolls-Royce pulled up slowly in front of the red carpet. Wayne stepped out, holding Halle Berry's hand, and together they walked toward the entrance.
Flashbulbs erupted like fireworks. Photographers lined up outside the theater aimed their cameras at the pair, bathing the red carpet in brilliant white light.
"I just got off the phone with the office," said Bella, holding a voice recorder and speaking to one of the photographers beside her. "Apparently, ticket sales for Far and Away haven't been all that great. James went to the premiere and said it wasn't as exciting as expected—it didn't feel like a typical Tom Cruise movie."
"That's good news for us," the photographer said, nodding. "As long as Get Out doesn't get crushed on its opening weekend, it still has a real shot. The audiences for both films aren't even the same. If Warner hits their numbers, this little film might actually surprise everyone."
The photographer, a veteran in the biz, knew how to read the scene better than most.
"Come on, Bella, that young director is about to head in. Let's grab an interview before he disappears."
Bella quickened her pace and stopped Wayne just before he entered the interview area at the cinema's entrance.
"Hello, Director Garfield! I'm Bella Grant from the Los Angeles Times. I've interviewed you before."
Wayne glanced at the voice recorder extended toward him, then took a brief look at the reporter.
Long blonde hair, long legs, a trim waist—and a crisp white blouse stretched tight across her chest. Honestly, this woman probably picked the wrong profession. She looked more suited for modeling or acting.
"Hello, Bella."
Wayne wasn't opposed to interviews. Nina was right behind him—if any sensitive question came up, she'd jump in immediately.
"Director Garfield, Far and Away, starring Tom Cruise, also premieres today. With such a strong competitor, do you think Get Out can meet box office expectations for its opening weekend?"
As soon as she finished her question, Nina subtly nudged Wayne's side, reminding him to tread carefully—don't let the reporter spin this into a rivalry narrative.
"Of course. I have full confidence in my film," Wayne replied with a calm smile.
"Do you think Get Out has a chance of surpassing Far and Away at the box office and taking the weekend's top spot? We all remember your last film pulling off a miracle and topping the charts."
Before Wayne could craft a diplomatic response, Nina gave him another sharp poke in the ribs. But Wayne wasn't afraid of stepping on toes. Hollywood was a battlefield—studios, stars, extras—everyone competed. If you were scared of competition, you'd never make it.
"This weekend's box office winner will be Get Out," he said without hesitation. "The other films don't stand a chance."
With that, Wayne didn't give Bella a chance for a follow-up. He took Halle Berry's hand—who was flashing a polite smile for the cameras—and walked directly into the theater.
The small-scale premiere wasn't attended by any celebrities other than the cast and crew. No fancy backers or star-studded support, just journalists and a full house of regular moviegoers. Wayne avoided the usual social obligations and headed straight for his seat—center of the first row.
Soon, the rest of the cast and crew filtered in. Will Smith, Naomi Watts, and other lead actors all took their seats at the front, waiting for the screening to begin.
"Wayne," Will Smith called out over Naomi, "I gotta say, this premiere is way tamer than I imagined."
Wayne just shrugged helplessly. What was he supposed to say? That aside from Warner Bros., nobody really gave a damn about their little indie horror film? No one else wanted to lend it support?
"Be patient, Will. In the end, it's the box office that determines a film's success—not how flashy the premiere is."
Will leaned back, adjusting his suit. He'd expected a glitzy night with fans, media, and stars—so he'd even gone full formalwear.
Meanwhile, Naomi had been eyeing Halle Berry since they walked in. The Black actress had been sitting quietly, not greeting anyone. Only when Wayne turned to look at her did Naomi shift closer and whisper:
"I heard something that might interest you—Far and Away had a low turnout today. Even with Tom Cruise and Ron Howard, the movie might not hit Universal's expectations."
"How do you know that?" Wayne asked, eyeing her with mild curiosity, before quietly adding, "Don't worry about what others are doing. Focus on our work. Trust my instincts."
Naomi leaned in again, voice low and teasing. "I also heard Pat Kingsley—Tom Cruise's agent—is planning to pull some strings behind the scenes to ensure their film wins the box office."
Wayne gently pushed her head away and gave her a look to back off. "That's not your concern. Warner Bros. will handle anything shady. You think one of the Big Six studios will just roll over? Worry about the upcoming press tour—you'll need all your energy for that."
Naomi rolled her eyes and slumped back in her seat.
On Wayne's other side, Halle Berry, still quiet, glanced at the blonde next to him and mouthed a single word with no sound:
"Bitch."
As the lights began to dim, Wayne glanced around once more. The giant screening hall was packed with real fans—ordinary moviegoers, not industry plants. Only once he confirmed that, did he fully turn his focus to the film.
Meanwhile, Bella—who had just finished interviewing outside—slipped into a rear seat quietly. She was a longtime film buff, and her job as a journalist gave her easy access to screenings. Whenever possible, she stayed after work to watch a new release.
Just as she settled in, the massive screen lit up.
The Warner Bros. logo appeared—bright and classic. No opening credits, no fanfare. As soon as the director's name flashed by, the story began immediately.
It was a sunny, cheerful start. A young Black man with a warm smile, a beautiful white girl with charm and grace—it immediately drew the audience's full attention.
Bella knew instantly this wasn't a common pairing. After all, America's history was a long, tangled record of Black and white division. Different cultures, different lives—often coexisting, but rarely intersecting.
The story moved on: 26-year-old Chris, an ambitious Black photographer who lost his parents young, was now professionally successful and in love with a gentle, beautiful white girlfriend named Rose. After four months of dating, she invited him to meet her family.
As her first Black boyfriend, Chris felt nervous. But Rose reassured him—her parents weren't racist, and neither was the suburban town they lived in.
So, the young couple set off to her hometown. On the way, they hit a deer.
"...A deer?"
Bella suddenly caught the subtext. She may have missed some subtle foreshadowing earlier, but now it was clear.
This was definitely a film about race.