The test screenings were a home run, so Fox kicked everything into high gear for the big premiere.
It gave Joey and the studio a serious confidence boost; the early buzz and word-of-mouth were actually solid.
The premiere rolled out globally on the same day: U.S., UK, Canada, Australia, the whole deal.
Joey and the main cast sat with critics, reporters, and hardcore fans for the first official screening.
When the credits rolled, reactions were all over the map. It basically came down to two camps:
- Were you watching it through a teenage girl's eyes?
- Or were you a grown man who'd never had a single daydream about sparkly vampires?
Guess which group dominated the critic pool.
Most of the older male reviewers just didn't get it. At all.
"Why does Bella look like she's having a stroke the first time she sees Edward?"
"How is sniffing someone once supposed to turn you into Mr. Perfect Gentleman?"
"When the hell did these two even fall in love? There was zero buildup!"
They were genuinely baffled. The romance felt random to them, Bella moped the whole time, and nobody acted like real people in love.
One dude in the back literally muttered, "Is this that 'love at first sight' nonsense?"
Yeah. That's exactly what it was. And teenage love hits different.
Teenagers and women, on the other hand, were losing their minds in the best way. They saw an epic, swoony fantasy about a lonely century-old vampire who finally finds the one girl whose soul smells like heaven. Obstacles? Sure. But love conquers all. Classic.
Rose from The Hollywood Reporter summed it up perfectly on her blog that night:
"An elegant, deeply feminine fairy tale; an achingly romantic supernatural journey. A hundred-year-old vampire falls for a quiet human girl, and against all odds, love wins."
Of course, even the haters wrote something polite afterward; nobody wants to bite the hand that just fed them an open bar.
After the screening came the after-party.
The second Joey walked in, she got mobbed: reporters, critics, die-hard Twi-hards. Microphones everywhere.
Interviewing the genius director who pulled this off? Way juicier than talking to the actors.
Joey kept circling back to one word: heart.
"Look, I keep saying it because it's true; I made this movie with nothing but heart. A director without heart can't make anything great. This whole film came from that giddy teenage fantasy every girl has about perfect, earth-shattering first love. I just put my pink, sparkly teenage soul on screen. That's the heart of it."
Every girl dreams of her prince, even if the details are different. Joey wanted to hand that feeling back to every woman who'd ever been young or was still young.
The reporters scribbled furiously, dying to ask a hundred follow-ups, but Joey was done talking.
She finally escaped the swarm, planning to hide in a corner with a plate of food and a drink… only to get cornered again, this time by execs and producers sniffing around for her next project.
Her social battery was at 1%. And she was starving.
Over by the smoking area, Hugh was leaning against the wall like a damn panther: cigar in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket, watching Joey drown with quiet amusement.
He knew she hated this part. Joey was pure technician: artist, director, wizard behind the camera. Small talk with suits? Zero skill points.
She needed someone smooth to run interference.
Hugh was great at that. He could clear a room full of execs in five minutes flat.
But he didn't move. He just waited, smirking, cigar glowing.
He knew she'd come looking for rescue eventually.
And sure enough: after ten more minutes of fake smiles and fidgeting fingers, Joey started scanning the room. When her eyes landed on him lounging like he owned the place, she scowled and marched straight over.
He stubbed out the cigar the second he saw her coming.
Joey stopped in front of him, exhausted. "My mouth is literally dry from talking. Go deal with those producers for me. I need water and food, like, yesterday."
Hugh's smile was pure cat-that-got-the-cream. "On it. Stay out of sight or they'll just grab you again."
"Thank you. Seriously, I suck at this. And it's the premiere; I can't just blow them off."
"I got you," he said, already turning. "But fair warning: I'm definitely drinking tonight. You're driving me home."
"Deal. You're taking one for the team." She winked and bolted for the buffet.
Meanwhile, outside the Kodak Theatre, a sleek black sedan had been idling at the curb for a while.
Tom had the radio on low, flipping through stations, not liking anything. Finally he just killed it.
He knew tonight was Joey's big night. She'd poured everything into this movie, convinced it was going to be a phenomenon.
Tom wasn't as blindly optimistic, but he was genuinely happy for her.
He'd wanted to show up, walk the carpet, cheer her on in person.
But Tom Cruise showing up unannounced at a teen vampire premiere? The internet would explode. Plus he'd had other plans tonight.
Still… after wrapping his thing, he'd found himself driving here anyway. Parked across the street. Just… waiting.
He wasn't even sure why.
He didn't want to text her and distract her mid-premiere; Joey was too polite. She'd feel obligated to reply.
So he waited. Planned to catch her when it was all over and tell her congrats in person.
A little after 9, people started trickling out.
Cast left first. Then crew.
Finally, Joey walked out.
But she wasn't alone.
She and Hugh came out together: laughing, relaxed, perfectly in sync. Gorgeous couple vibes. Same wavelength, same league.
Hugh slid into the passenger seat of her car. Joey hopped behind the wheel.
And just like that, they pulled away.
Tom sat there for a second, staring at the empty space where her car had been.
He'd come to congratulate her… and suddenly didn't want to anymore.
He turned the key, stepped on the gas, and drove off in the opposite direction.
The whole way home he kept replaying one thing Joey had told him a few days ago:
"Hugh and I are ancient history. There's nothing there anymore."
He'd believed her.
Now… he wasn't so sure.
Not that he was mad. If she'd lied, women sometimes lie for gentle reasons.
He just felt… calm. Cold. Like someone had flipped a switch.
Maybe he'd misread the whole thing. Maybe he'd let a moment of attraction cloud his judgment.
He pulled over on a quiet street, killed the engine, and sat in the silence.
A few late-night pedestrians wandered by. Streetlights flickered.
He checked the time.
Then he started the car again and drove home.