It was the day after the Academy Awards, a time when most of Hollywood nursed hangovers but Duke was already at work in his office.
Duke, leaned over an array of vibrant drawings spread across his table while wearing a simple white shirt, dressed casual for today. Batman and Green Lantern concept art.
Hal Jordan soaring through space with his power ring glowing with a bat themed spaceship beside him.
"Look at the colors here, Barry," Duke said, tapping a finger against an illustration. "We want characters that will look good animated. What are the superheroes that Jack Kirby said we should focus on? Did you ask him"
Diller nodded. "Shazam and the Justice Society of America," Diller said, adjusting his cuffs. "And the best part? Animated characters don't cause scenes at the Oscars."
Duke smiled at that.
Just as he was about to suggest bringing in a specialized writer for a concept, the oak door burst open slammed inward.
Marlon Brando stood in the doorway, face flushed.
"You!" Brando bellowed, he stormed into the center of the room, ignoring Diller entirely, locking his gaze onto Duke. "You and your corporate cronies! You interrupted my moment to shine a light on injustice on the biggest platform in the world! You have no respect for the artist, Hauser. No respect for the message!"
Duke didn't flinch. He didn't even stand up right away. He just placed his palms flat on the desk.
"Settle down, Marlon." Duke's voice was even, "Take a breath and lower your voice. Remember where you are. This is a place of busines-."
"Don't you dare patronize me!" Brando stepped closer to the desk, his glare menacing. "My voice is the only thing that matters! You think you own me because you sign the checks? You think you can silence a movement?"
Duke finally rose up. "I said, settle the fuck down." He leaned forward, knuckles braced on the desk. "Let's get a few things straight. This studio took a massive risk hiring you. You were box office poison. Everyone in Hollywood hates you, including me."
"When we brought you on for The Godfather, against the desperate advice of every executive in this building, we expected professionalism. And you were planning this activist bullshit all along? You were going to screw us over while we handed you the comeback of a lifetime?"
Brando scoffed, waving a dismissive hand around. "That doesn't matter. The trivialities of your box office receipts pale when compared to the truth."
"It was my award. I wanted to reject it to make a point." His eyes darted around the room and landed on the Best Actor trophy on a display shelf behind Duke's desk. "And I'm taking it with me to do exactly that."
He marched toward the shelf.
Duke moved faster than expected, he stepped out from behind the desk, planting his frame between Brando and the trophy.
"That award," Duke said, "belongs to the crew of The Godfather. Every person whose hard work made you look good on that screen. You rejected it. Now, you don't get to claim it."
Brando sneered. Maybe the rumors about Duke's bad leg had reached him, and maybe the old, bloated actor thought he could just brush past Duke's six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-thirty-pound frame like he was an inconvenience in a hallway.
Brando lunged, trying to shoulder-check Duke.
Duke didn't even think twice. He just planted his feet and shoved Brando back with everything he had.
It was a shove that sent the actor staggering back across the office carpet, as he tried to regain his footing.
Brando's didn't back down. Instead, he swung, a haymaker that caught Duke square on the side of the jaw.
The impact snapped Duke's head to the side. The taste of copper flooding his mouth.
Before Brando could hit him again, Duke had grabbed him by the side of his body and body slam him on the ground.
The air rushed out of Brando's lungs. Duke got on top of him, landing heavy blows. His knuckles going deep into Brando's soft, mid-section, then into his face.
Suddenly, Brando's hand shot up, his fingers locking onto Duke's throat.
His grip was surprisingly powerful, squeezing his windpipe, making Duke's eyes water.
Then, Brando did the unthinkable. He lunged his head forward and sank his teeth into Duke's forearm through his shirt.
Duke yelled, his free hand pulling at Brando's wrist, trying to force the grip off his throat.
In the corner, Barry Diller stood paralyzed, white as a sheet, eyes wide, not knowing what to do.
The fight was a chaotic mess on the ground. Duke was screaming something, unintelligible through the choking on his throat.
He finally managed to pry Brando's hand from his neck, and he started battering hard on Brando's temple who was still biting him and seem to give no signs of stopping.
Just as Duke was winding up for another hit, the office door opened again.
Evans burst in, his eyes wide, taking in the scene.
He saw Brando fighting his boss, Duke. Evans didn't hesitate.
He sprinted over, and without saying a word, he started hitting kicks on Brando's face.
The impact of Evans shoe send Brando's head whipped back, and he finally let go of Duke's arm.
Brando collapsed and curled up to protect his head, his hands shielding his face.
Duke got up on his feet, his chest heaving, his tie hanging loose and looked at Diller who was stuck to the corner and just decided to ignore him.
Duke started kicking into Brando's body. Evans joined in. It went on for a few minutes.
Finally, breathless and sweat-drenched, Duke stepped back.
"Ge-get him out of here," Duke gasped, pointing to the door. "Can we sue for this or can he sue me?"
Evans looked down at the whimpering Brando on the ground, then back at Duke. He straightened his own jacket, smoothed his hair, and nodded.
"Security," Evans called out.
The guards, who had been listening to the groans for the last three minutes, finally dared to step inside.
They looked at the scene, the battered actor and then at Duke breathing hard and decided to not ask questions. They grabbed Brando by the arms and dragged him out.
Evans left with them, putting his jacket back on, that he had taken off when they were beating Brando.
Duke looked at Diller, who was still in the corner, and then back to the window. Still confused about what just happened. He had hear rumours about Brando's difficulty to work with, but he though people were exagerating. It seems not.
Duke adjusted his suit jacket, rolled his shoulders to release the tension, and walked calmly back to his desk. He looked at Diller, who hadn't moved from his spot near the desk.
"Anyway," Duke said, seamlessly shifting back into corporate rhythm. "Where were we?"
Diller let out a short nervous laugh, "We were moving on to international distribution margins. But I think we should celebrate, Five Fingers of Death which is officially our first success of the year. We're already pulling four million at the domestic box office."
Duke's eyes lit up. "Four million. And remind me, what did we pay the Shaw Brothers for the U.S. rights?"
"Five hundred thousand." Diller grinned, but still nervous. "Flat half-million. No backend, just a clean buyout."
"That," Duke said, tapping the desk enthusiastically, "that is good. You know we should avoid hiring people like Brando, just normal people from now on."
___
Same day, March 30, 1973, Beverly Hills Theater
Duke stepped out of a sleek black limousine, tonight was the premiere of Annie Hall, a film he had directed himself.
He reached back into the car and offered his hand to Lynda. She emerged in an navy evening gown. Duke wore a tailored tuxedo.
He squeezed Lynda's hand, offering a smile.
Duke stopped to greet the carefully curated list of guests he'd personally invited.
"Bruce! It's an honor." Duke extended his hand to Bruce Lee, they exchanged enthusiastic words about Way of the Dragon, and the rising tide of martial arts cinema, Duke also invited him to do a cameo on his next movie.
Inside the opulent lobby, the crowd was filled with celebrities, Mel Brooks chatted with Gene Wilder, the protagonist of Annie Hall near the stands.
The lobby buzzed with energy. Richard Pryor laughed at a joke from Jack Nicholson, who wore his sunglasses despite the evening hour.
Al Pacino gave Duke a subtle nod from across the room, before smiling and turning his head.
Dustin Hoffman spoke with Ryan and Tatum O'Neal. Barbra Streisand and Liza Minnelli were near the grand staircase.
Diane Keaton, the female lead of Annie Hall walked through the crowd wearing her character's signature menswear, a vest, tie, wide-brimmed hat.
"Diane, you look great." Duke embraced her warmly.
Clint Eastwood and Robert De Niro brushed past, offering low murmurs of congratulations as ushers signaled it was time to take their seats.
Duke and Lynda made their way down the center aisle.
As the opening credits rolled, Duke focused on the story.
The story begins with Alvy Singer, a successful but dissatisfied comedian from Brooklyn, talking directly to the audience.
He is obsessed with why his relationship with Annie Hall failed, and he spends the film trying to piece together the chronology of his relationship to find the moment the spark died.
Alvy and Annie meet through mutual friends. Their first encounter is awkward yet flirtatious. Annie is a struggling nightclub singer, and insecure.
They bond over a shared sense of otherness. In the beginning, their differences are complementary, Alvy provides intellectual stimulation, while Annie provides a breath of fresh energy.
They go through an early love phase, shared jokes, comfortable silences, and a feeling that they have found the one person who truly understands them.
There is a sense of discovery here, as they navigate each other's worlds, Alvy's intellectual New York versus Annie's warmer, albeit superficial, environment.
As the film progresses, the "magic" begins to wear thin, replaced by the friction of two people who are fundamentally growing in different directions.
The relationship begins to falter under the weight of their conflicting temperaments.
Alvy is an East Coast pessimist who is suspicious of joy, while Annie, through her time with Alvy, begins to find her own voice and confidence, which ironically makes her less dependent on him.
A pivotal turning point occurs when Annie spends time in Los Angeles.
Alvy views LA with profound disdain, he sees it as a superficial wasteland of sunshine and cocaine.
Annie, however, thrives there. She finds a freedom in California that she could never find in New York.
The breakup is a slow realization that they have outgrown each other.
Alvy ends up writing a play that serves as a re-imagining of his relationship with Annie. In the play, he gives the couple a happy ending they get back together. But in reality, they don't.
They do, however meet one last time as friends.
The romance is over, but there is no animosity. They recognize that, while the relationship didn't "work" in the traditional sense, it was an part of their personal development.
The film concludes with Alvy recounting a joke about his brother, who thinks he is a chicken. His family takes the brother to a psychiatrist, but they don't turn him in because they need the eggs.
Alvy uses this as his final summation of love, irrational, and often absurd.
It makes no sense to be in a relationship, and it leads to inevitable heartbreak. And yet, we keep doing it, because like the family in the joke, we need the eggs.
____
Thoughs on the chapter
I wanted to write a fight scene since i been reading a douluo dalu fanfic that i quite enjoyed