Chapter 886: Kicked out of the Crew.

Alexander Rogers, a representative from DC Films and DC Comics, had flown across the country from Los Angeles to New York on urgent business. Tasked with monitoring the progress of an important film, Rogers followed his usual routine: informing the production team of his arrival, catching a brief night's sleep, and then heading straight to the Brooklyn studio the next morning.

As a representative of the copyright owner, it was standard for him to visit productions like this, ensuring everything aligned with the company's vision. He wasn't here to micromanage, but to observe and report back. He knew that Martin, the film's director, would likely be too busy with the day's shoot to entertain him, and sure enough, Louise, one of the crew members, was the one to welcome him.

Rogers stepped into the open-air studio, the New York skyline looming in the background as the crew hustled around him, busy constructing the set. He lingered on the edge of the bustling scene, taking in the methodical chaos. Rogers wasn't in any rush to make his presence known. If there were obvious problems with the crew's workflow, they'd reveal themselves soon enough without him saying a word.

However, what he witnessed over the course of the morning was unexpected. The crew filmed over twenty scenes before lunch, each executed with precision. Rogers had anticipated a level of disorganization or a lack of control on Martin's part, but what he observed was the opposite. Martin, dressed in his director's cap as well as the film's lead actor, was calling the shots. The production moved like a well-oiled machine, every department working seamlessly together. Every decision passed through Martin, and the crew responded with flawless cooperation. It was the hallmark of a seasoned director in control of his set, exactly the kind of smooth operation expected in Hollywood, yet something about it unnerved Rogers.

As the morning wore on, Rogers' initial suspicions shifted. His boss, Hamada, had warned him that Martin's film might stray too far from DC's established canon. "The Shallows" had been a surprise hit, but many in Hollywood speculated that Martin hadn't really directed it, rumor had it he merely put his name on the credits while his assistant did the heavy lifting. Rogers had come to see if the same would happen here. But now, seeing Martin's absolute control over every aspect of the production, Rogers knew that wasn't the case. Martin was not a figurehead; he was the driving force behind the movie.

And yet, Hamada's larger fears were coming to life right before Rogers' eyes. The more Rogers watched, the clearer it became: this "Joker" film had almost no connection to the source material aside from the title. The Joker in this movie wasn't the chaotic, unpredictable villain of DC Comics lore. Instead, it felt like a different character entirely, one draped in the Joker's image but telling a radically different story. Rogers couldn't help but think of the consequences. If the film failed, it would fade into obscurity, but if it succeeded, if it became a cultural phenomenon like "The Dark Knight", it could create havoc for the broader DC cinematic universe.

He could imagine the backlash. Hardcore fans would revolt if they saw future Justice League films contradicting what this movie had established. Just as fans worldwide had come to believe Batman's moral code barred him from using guns or killing, this new Joker could redefine expectations. What would happen when those same fans saw a gun-toting, violent Batman in Justice League? It could lead to a backlash, bad reviews, and a devastating hit to the franchise's reputation.

By the afternoon, Rogers had made up his mind. He had a job to do, and no matter how smooth the production was going, DC's future was more important than the crew's. He would need to step in.

Later that day, Martin, still in his Joker costume, was filming an intense action scene in a narrow alleyway. The scene required him to fight off a group of thugs, and after over an hour of grueling takes, Martin finally called for a break. Sweat-drenched and visibly exhausted, he made his way to a shaded rest area, grabbing a bottle of water.

Rogers saw his chance. He started towards Martin, but before he could get close, two bodyguards intercepted him, eyeing him cautiously. Unfazed, Rogers raised his hand in a gesture of peace. "Hello, I'm Alexander Rogers, the copyright representative from DC," he said in a firm yet polite tone. "I'd like a moment to talk with Mr. Martin."

Martin, catching sight of the exchange, signaled for the bodyguards to stand down. He had expected this conversation sooner or later and was curious to hear what Warner Bros. and DC had to say about his film. As Rogers approached, Martin extended his hand, a grin still lingering from the morning's intense filming. "Louise told me you'd be here. Welcome to the set."

"Thank you," Rogers replied, shaking Martin's hand. Despite his smile, Rogers quickly cut to the chase. "I wanted to remind you that DC owns the copyright to the Joker, and we need to keep an eye on the direction of this project."

Martin, unfazed by the implied pressure, met Rogers' gaze. "Rest assured," he said calmly, "everything is on track. We'll wrap filming by July, and I'm confident we're delivering something special."

Rogers nodded, but inside, he was more certain than ever that this "special" film could spell trouble for DC's cinematic future.

Rogers wasn't worried about the actual progress of filming. Over the past few years, it had become standard practice for Warner Bros. to send executives directly to their film sets to oversee and often meddle with, the production. This strategy, created by Jon Berg, was meant to ensure that Warner's films stayed on track with the studio's broader vision, but it had been widely mocked both inside and outside the industry. Despite the ridicule, Warner hadn't fully abandoned the practice. They had, however, refined it by reducing the number of executives on set at any given time to avoid the power struggles that had once plagued productions.

Now, instead of multiple executives clashing over decisions, Warner focused on sending one key person to handle things. This time, that person was Rogers.

"I get it, Martin," Rogers began, watching the director-turned-actor with careful precision. "You're a creative guy; actor, director, full of ideas. But as DC's representative, it's my job to remind the crew that this is a superhero movie based on established comic book characters. The story needs to align with DC's larger strategy." His tone was firm, laced with the authority of someone who had been through this routine countless times before.

Martin barely glanced at him, nodding absentmindedly. Rogers' words went in one ear and out the other, just as expected.

Undeterred, Rogers pressed on, stepping deeper into the role of the unwelcome overseer. "I'm not here to disrupt your process, but based on what I've seen, your current direction risks seriously damaging the Joker character and the entire copyright. This could have long-term repercussions for DC."

His voice gained an air of self-righteousness as he delivered his next line. "I'm going to need you to stop filming immediately and make necessary revisions to both the script and the character portrayal."

Martin, still not bothering to engage directly, spotted Louise approaching swiftly. Without missing a beat, he turned to her and said, "That's all for now, Mr. Rogers. I've got work to do."

Rogers, sensing his grip slipping, called out in a raised voice, "Director Martin Davis!" but it was too late. Martin's two towering bodyguards were already moving into position, stepping between Rogers and the director as he turned back toward the set, walking away without so much as a second glance.

Martin now had a clearer understanding of Warner Bros. and DC's game plan, they weren't going to derail the project outright, but they were sending people like Rogers to stir up trouble, hoping to throw the production off balance. It was a tactic designed to frustrate, not to fix.

Back on set, Martin called a group of actors together, giving them notes on how to approach the next scene. Meanwhile, Rogers fumed, standing just off to the side, plotting his next move. He wasn't done yet, not by a long shot.

But Louise, ever observant, was already one step ahead. She strode up to Rogers, flanked by several security guards. Without preamble, she spoke, her voice calm but firm. "Let's take this conversation elsewhere."

Surrounded by a squad of burly security personnel, Rogers had no choice but to maintain a semblance of dignity. He sighed and nodded. "Sure."

Louise led him off the set, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the crew, she made her decision clear. "Revoke Mr. Rogers' temporary credentials," she instructed the head of security.

Originally, Louise hadn't planned on severing ties with DC this abruptly, but Martin's shoot needed to stay on schedule, and Rogers was clearly a disruption. The quickest, most effective solution was to remove the problem entirely.

The security chief approached Rogers, extending a hand. "Sir, I'm going to need your crew ID."

Rogers glanced at the muscle surrounding him. There was no way out of this without causing an even bigger scene, so he reluctantly unclipped the badge from his chest and handed it over. Still, he wasn't going to go quietly. "I represent DC Films and DC Comics," he reminded Louise sharply. "If you treat a copyright holder this way—"

But Louise wasn't interested in his bluster. She cut him off, voice crisp and final. "If you have any concerns, tell Hamada to call me. There's no point in discussing it further."

Rogers handed over his badge and shot Louise a hard look before turning and heading out of the studio lot. As he made his way to the parking area, Louise turned to the security team. "Make sure you remember his face," she said flatly. "I don't want him anywhere near the set again."

The head of security nodded. "Understood."

As far as the crew was concerned, DC's internal politics had nothing to do with them. They were there to follow the director's vision, not cater to outside interference. Their paycheck came from the production, and that was all that mattered.

Rogers reached the parking lot, seething as he climbed into his rented car. He sat there for a moment, staring back at the distant set, gathering his thoughts. His next move was already clear in his mind.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number in Los Angeles. When the line connected, he spoke in a calm but clipped tone. "Tell the boss that Martin Davis and Louise Mieyer had me removed from the set. I'm going to implement Plan B."

The reply came quickly: "Understood."

Before Rogers had even arrived on set, he had meticulously prepared multiple strategies, knowing full well his role as Warner's designated troublemaker might get him kicked out. Still, even with all his contingency plans in place, he hadn't anticipated that Martin and Louise would act so swiftly and decisively. On his very first day, he barely had a chance to speak before being unceremoniously thrown off the set.

Frustrated but not deterred, Rogers hung up his call with the home office and immediately dialed another number, a close friend of his, an entertainment reporter. His voice was calm but laced with the excitement of someone about to drop a bombshell. "Got time for a chat? I've got some explosive news for you, and trust me, it's big. It's about Martin Davis' new film, *Joker*."

On the other end of the line, the reporter perked up. "Explosive, huh? Sounds perfect! Where are you? Lunch is on me."

They arranged to meet at a trendy restaurant in Manhattan. By the time Rogers arrived, his mind was already buzzing with ways to spin the events of the day. Over lunch, and in front of the reporter's tape recorder, Rogers let loose with a scathing commentary about the *Joker* production. His tone was calculated, his words sharp.

"Martin Davis is a dictator on set," Rogers declared, leaning in for dramatic effect. "He completely disregards any suggestions from DC, dismissing the copyright holders like they don't exist. It's outrageous, like something out of a fascist playbook. He had me thrown off the set without so much as a conversation. Can you believe it?"

The reporter nodded, scribbling furiously. Rogers continued, embellishing the tale further, "And don't get me started on Warner Bros. They've always had this genius ability to make the most baffling moves, shocking the entire industry, and not in a good way. It's like they're in the business of creating chaos."

Meanwhile, back at the Brooklyn studio, Martin Davis was completely unaware of the storm Rogers was brewing. The production was running like clockwork, with more extras joining the set as the day went on. But managing the chaos wasn't a problem for Martin. His crew of twelve assistant directors, each with the experience of handling at least three major films, kept everything moving smoothly. Martin only needed to focus on the lead actors and the crucial details of the scene.

Today's sequence was particularly important. Before shooting commenced, Martin called for a quick meeting with his key team members: assistant director Steve Downton, director of photography Jeff Kronweiss, editor Joel Negron, and, of course, the legendary Robert De Niro, who was playing a pivotal supporting role.

Martin surveyed the set, ensuring everything was in order. "Steve," he began, "is the garbage in place?"

Downton, ever efficient, nodded. "Yes, everything's been brought in, but we're holding off until the lighting team finishes setting up before we bring it on set."

"Good," Martin replied. "And make sure the extras keep their emotions controlled. They're upset, but we don't want them at the point of full-blown rioting yet. This is the beginning of the social unrest."

"Got it. I'll handle the extras," Downton assured him.

Turning to Kronweiss, Martin gave his next instruction. "We'll start with wide close-ups, focus on the trash piling up in the streets, the expressions of the extras. Capture the decay."

Kronweiss, already setting up his camera, gave a thumbs up. "We're ready on my end."

With his team in place, Martin called over the actors for one final note. His tone became more intense as he spoke, clearly passionate about this pivotal moment in the film. "When I first read this script, it was obvious: the cruelty of society is what creates the Joker. This scene is where we see the beginnings of that social unraveling."

He pointed to the set, his words becoming more vivid. "The garbage truck workers have been on strike for weeks now. Their demand? Fair wages and better benefits. But Gotham City's government is ignoring them. Instead, they've declared a state of emergency. The trash keeps piling up, spilling into every corner, and now the city's overrun with super rats. This isn't just a backdrop; it's the rot that starts the whole story."

The crew and cast listened intently, nodding in agreement. The setting was more than a visual, it was a metaphor for the decay of the entire system, something all too familiar in the real world.

Martin turned his focus to De Niro, who was portraying a charismatic but morally questionable talk show host, a key figure in Gotham's crumbling society. "Bob, this is where your character comes in. The government and the elite need a way to shift focus. What better way than through entertainment?"

De Niro, a seasoned actor with years of experience playing complex characters, immediately grasped the subtext. "So, my character," he mused, "is part of the machine, right? He's there to distract the public from the real problems by making light of the garbage strike, turning it into a joke for ratings. The people in power don't want to solve the problem, they just want to divert attention."

Martin nodded, his intensity growing. "Exactly. Your character turns this livelihood issue into entertainment. He manipulates the narrative, giving the elite an excuse to distract the masses while the situation spirals out of control. This scene sets the stage for the eventual riot, which elevates the Joker into something more, a symbol of rebellion."

The room was silent for a beat as everyone absorbed the gravity of the scene they were about to shoot. It was more than just a film moment; it was a reflection of societal dynamics, how power uses distraction to control unrest.

Meanwhile, Rogers, still in Manhattan, was wrapping up his interview. His face was a mask of satisfaction as he delivered his final zinger. "You can bet that once the public hears about this, they'll think twice about supporting a movie that undermines the very essence of the Joker character."

As the reporter shut off the recorder, Rogers leaned back in his chair, knowing full well that his smear campaign was now in motion. While Martin was busy creating art, Rogers had just unleashed his own brand of chaos, hoping to cause ripples that would reach all the way back to the studio lot.

The reasoning behind Martin's approach to *Joker* was clear. He knew that the majority of moviegoers were ordinary people, working-class individuals who lived paycheck to paycheck. Naturally, their sympathies would lie with the underdog, with those struggling to make ends meet, not with the elites. Martin understood that for this film to resonate, the Joker had to be a character that represented the frustrations and anger of the lower class.

Hollywood had long leaned into anti-elitism. Countless films painted the powerful as incompetent or corrupt. From Washington politicians portrayed as clueless bureaucrats to the CIA always turning on its own, even high school quarterbacks were stereotyped as brutish fools. Martin knew this formula worked. He also knew that the audience for *Joker* would expect the same: a villain who rises up not just against Batman, but against the entrenched elites of Gotham City.

In this film, it wasn't just random chance that created the Joker, it was Gotham's own powerful figures. They gave birth to the Joker, inadvertently turning him into a symbol of resistance, a hero for the poor. And this symbol wasn't just limited to the fictional city of Gotham. The widening gap between rich and poor in real-life North America made the Joker's struggle even more relevant. The character became an emotional outlet for people frustrated by growing inequality and the failures of the system.

As the crew prepped for the day's shoot, truckloads of garbage were hauled onto the street set. The next series of scenes would take place against the backdrop of piles of trash, visual reminders of the government's negligence and the anger simmering beneath the surface. Martin stepped onto the chaotic set, ready to begin filming. The extras, dressed in tattered clothes, played their parts as frustrated citizens, and the atmosphere was charged with tension, as if a protest were about to erupt at any moment.

However, things didn't go smoothly. Problems cropped up throughout the shoot, timing issues, technical difficulties, extras out of sync with the scene's emotional demands. Whenever a particularly thorny issue arose, Martin would huddle with the department heads to hash out solutions. He may not have been an expert in every technical aspect of filmmaking, but he had a natural instinct for decision-making. He could listen to multiple opinions and quickly choose the most effective course of action, a skill that made all the difference in high-pressure moments.

As the days went on, Martin grew more comfortable with the large-scale, complex scenes. What had felt overwhelming at first became second nature as he learned how to manage the chaos. But the relentless pace of filming took a toll on everyone, including Martin. The crew was under pressure, shooting take after take, trying to capture the perfect shot.

Recognizing the mounting stress, Martin decided to give everyone a break. That weekend, he rented out a well-known Manhattan nightclub and invited the entire crew to relax and blow off steam. It was exactly what they needed. By the time Monday rolled around, the atmosphere on set had completely shifted. The crew returned energized, their mental states refreshed, and the day's filming flowed much more smoothly.

Martin knew that, in this business, many problems could be solved with money. Motivation, commitment, and focus often followed when people were properly compensated. Grand promises about "artistic vision" or "changing the industry" might sound good, but when it came down to it, paying people what they were worth and treating them to a good time worked wonders. It wasn't just about words, it was about action, about making the crew feel valued. The result? They gave their all without needing constant reminders.

While the film chugged along, rumors in the media began to swirl. Headlines blared accusations that Martin was running the set like a dictator, throwing his weight around and forcing DC's representatives out in a fit of rage. Other stories claimed that Martin wasn't really directing at all, that he was just a figurehead while the real work was being done by more experienced crew members.

Martin and Louise saw these reports coming from a mile away. They were prepared for this kind of media circus. In response, they ramped up their public relations efforts. They held regular press conferences and arranged interviews with key members of the crew, including Robert De Niro, to showcase the harmony and professionalism on set. They even organized two media open days, inviting journalists to the studio to see the production firsthand. Reporters were able to witness the intricate work that went into each scene and observe Martin's direct involvement in every aspect of the film.

After these efforts, the rumors quickly died down. Journalists who had once speculated about chaos on set began singing a different tune. Articles shifted from criticism to praise, with many outlets even comparing Martin to other great actor-turned-directors like Clint Eastwood and Kevin Costner. The narrative had changed. Now, instead of being seen as a tyrant or a fraud, Martin was being touted as Hollywood's next big director, a man with the potential to leave a lasting mark on the industry.

For Martin, the noise from the outside world had always been secondary to the work in front of him. But now, with the public firmly back on his side, he could focus even more intently on what truly mattered: making a film that would challenge, provoke, and resonate with audiences everywhere.