Chapter 891: Trembling of Fear

The crew of 'Split' selected a historic and iconic venue for the world premiere, the prestigious Dolby Theatre, a landmark in Los Angeles known for hosting countless grand events.

The theater's entrance was nothing short of spectacular. Eight towering posters flanked both sides of the main doors, each one portraying a different personality of the film's male protagonist. The vivid artwork captured the essence of each character, so distinct that movie fans could immediately recognize who was who just by glancing at the posture, clothing, and expressions. There was the imposing figure of a fashion-forward character, a menacing villain built like a tank, a childlike persona full of innocence, and even a cross-dressing personality, each one more lifelike than the next, as if they might leap out from the posters at any moment.

The air buzzed with excitement as the red carpet filled with the excited cheers of fans. The last to make his entrance was none other than Martin, the film's lead star. He stepped forward, beaming under the flash of the cameras, making his way to the media area where he was joined by some of the biggest names involved in 'Split', including director David Fincher, co-star Anya Taylor-Joy, and writer Jonathan Nolan. They posed for photos in front of the striking backdrop, the air thick with anticipation for the film's debut.

This premiere was a particularly significant moment for Martin. October had been a relatively slow month for Hollywood, with no major commercial films hitting the North American box office. 'Split' had the stage to itself, and the pressure was on to perform, not just at the box office, but during the fast-approaching awards season. Martin's ambition for the night was clear: this wasn't just about selling tickets, it was about securing an Oscar. His public relations campaign for the Academy Awards officially kicked off tonight.

As the group made their way inside the Dolby Theatre, Bruce, Martin's trusted associate, approached from a side entrance. Martin slowed down, catching Bruce's eye.

"Has everything been taken care of?" Martin asked in a low voice, casting a quick glance around to ensure no one was listening.

Bruce gave a curt nod. "Lily personally escorted it and handed it over to Robert."

Martin let out a breath, relieved. "Good. I trust Robert to handle it."

Although Bruce remained outwardly calm, internally, he couldn't help but wonder. Was Martin seriously planning on holding a mock ceremony for his previous Best Actor Oscar, believing it would somehow manifest a second one? The thought amused and baffled him, but he knew better than to question Martin's eccentricities.

---

Meanwhile, in Atlanta, far from the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, a sleek Cadillac CT6 rolled to a stop in front of a towering building, the headquarters of the mysterious Coca-Cola Cult, a place as enigmatic as its name suggested. Two female bodyguards stepped out, their movements precise and professional. One opened the back door, allowing Lily to emerge, clutching a secure password box.

Inside, Robert and Elena waited in the front hall. Lily made a quick comment to her sister before walking over to Robert. She opened the box, revealing Martin's prized Oscar statuette. Handing it to Robert, she said, "Martin's given you clear instructions. It's all in your hands now."

Robert, with an air of seriousness, took the golden statuette carefully. "I've already got a ceremony planned. Simple, but effective."

Lily gave a slight nod, unsure what to make of Martin's strange rituals. "I trust you'll make it work," she said, though inwardly, she wondered why Martin always had such unusual ways of ensuring success.

As Robert headed upstairs with the Oscar in tow, Lily started to follow him, but before she could take more than a few steps, a figure stepped in front of her, Elena.

With a raised eyebrow, Elena crossed her arms. "So, tell me, have you finally decided to stay in Atlanta, or are you just visiting?"

Lily's face softened as she grabbed her sister's hand. "I missed you, okay? Can't a girl come back without getting interrogated?" She tried her best to sound sweet, her eyes pleading for leniency. "Don't be so harsh, we haven't seen each other in ages."

Elena's stern expression didn't waver. "Come with me," she said, her tone giving no room for argument. "We need to talk, just the two of us."

As they walked towards Elena's office, Lily couldn't help but shrink a little, worried about what was coming next. Elena's sharp gaze didn't miss a beat. "What's with the hesitation?" she asked. "You weren't scared when you pulled that stunt."

Lily straightened up, trying to gather what little dignity she had left. "I wasn't scared then, and I'm not scared now," she said, attempting to sound confident. But before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Honestly, you can't blame me for everything! You and Martin don't think about anyone else, you just do whatever you want at home, no consideration for how it affects me! Did you even stop to think about how awkward that made things?"

Elena stopped, staring hard at her sister. A moment of silence passed before she cracked a small smile. "You're still full of excuses, aren't you?"

Lily, feeling a flicker of relief, realized she wasn't about to get chewed out, at least not yet.

Elena chuckled darkly as she grabbed Lily by the arm and pulled her into the office, the door slamming shut behind them with a decisive thud.

"Blaming me, are you?" Elena asked, a playful but dangerous glint in her eyes.

Lily, determined not to be bullied her entire life, took a seat on the plush sofa, crossing her arms defiantly. "Don't act like you're innocent! You're just as responsible for all this mess, and I—"

Before she could finish, Elena's fist, large and imposing like a sandbag, dropped from nowhere, landing squarely on Lily's head with a dull thud. It didn't hurt, not really, but the message was clear: enough.

This was the unique kind of affection only a sibling could deliver, a mix of love, frustration, and absolute domination by virtue of blood and genetics. Lily knew this kind of "discipline" all too well. The punch, while gentle, was enough to make her sit up straight, her rebellious stance quickly deflating. She wasn't about to challenge her sister's authority any further.

Elena leaned back, crossing her arms in return, clearly satisfied. "You're an adult now. I can't control your choices anymore," she said with a sigh, though her tone carried more weight than the words themselves. It was less about giving up control and more about acknowledging Lily's need to grow up.

Lily, suddenly quiet, dropped her head, too smart to talk back. In that silence, an understanding passed between them, an unspoken agreement that though they might clash, they'd always have each other's backs.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the peculiar world of the Coca-Cola Cult, Robert had changed into a bright red ceremonial robe, matching the exact hue of the iconic brand. Following an old ritual, he placed a vintage 2003 glass bottle of Coke, now slick with olive oil, on a wooden altar table. The room was dimly lit, and the bottle gleamed faintly under the soft glow of a nearby lamp. It was an odd sight, but for Robert, it held great significance.

With a quiet reverence, he carefully positioned Martin's Oscar statuette next to the bottle of Coke, as if the two items were connected in some arcane way. The high priest of the cult stood beside him, muttering fervent prayers under his breath. "A box-office smash... another Best Actor Oscar..."

The priest's words echoed softly through the room, filling it with a strange sense of power. As Robert joined in the silent worship, he felt a calming peace wash over him, as if the years of following this peculiar practice had finally grounded him. For reasons he couldn't fully explain, he felt that these rituals had provided him with a deep, spiritual foundation, odd though it may seem to others.

---

Back in Hollywood, the Dolby Theatre was buzzing with life. In the exclusive VIP lounge, Martin was the star of the evening, warmly greeting the elite guests who had come to celebrate the premiere. Many of them were influential members of the Academy and the Screen Actors Guild, people whose votes could mean the difference between walking away with an Oscar or leaving empty-handed.

Martin knew the stakes. He had done his homework. There were around 1,200 Academy members eligible to vote on the acting awards, and Martin had meticulously studied the voting patterns of the past five years. He knew that if he could secure just a third of those votes, his chances of winning the Best Actor Oscar would be nearly guaranteed. It was a numbers game, but more importantly, it was a game of relationships.

Of those 1,200, about 60 were true power players, judges whose influence could sway the opinions of entire groups. Membership in the Academy was a lifelong honor, and the older members held more sway than most. Legends like Jack Nicholson, Warren Beatty, Robert De Niro, and Tom Hanks all had their own circles of influence. Martin, never one to miss an opportunity, had forged strong bonds with many of them over the years, making his awards campaign smoother than most.

Nicholson, who had become something of an Oscar mascot over the years, was chatting with Martin near the bar. The old actor, notorious for his wicked sense of humor, smiled as he sipped his drink.

"I've invited everyone who could make it tonight," Nicholson said, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of amusement. "For those who couldn't, just wait until the screenings in November and December."

"I appreciate all the help, Jack," Martin replied, always gracious.

Nicholson grinned. "You bastard, you keep things interesting around here. Life's been a hell of a lot more entertaining since I got to know you. More fun than it ever was when Malone was around."

Martin couldn't resist a jab. "You should save the butter you bought for Malone, old man. You might need it again someday."

Nicholson's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Sometimes, Martin, I wanna shove your head so far up my ass..."

Laughing, Martin excused himself and moved over to chat with Warren Beatty. Though Beatty had stepped down from the Academy's executive committee, his name still carried weight. His influence remained, and Martin knew that securing the support of legends like Beatty and Nicholson could be a decisive factor in the months ahead.

With the night in full swing, Martin's charm was on full display, and his eyes were fixed on the ultimate prize, an Oscar statuette of his own to add to the one currently resting at the altar in Atlanta, under Robert's watchful eye. The game had begun, and Martin was playing to win.

Tom Hanks approached Martin with his signature warm smile, exuding the effortless charm that made him beloved in the industry. "Have you heard the latest?" he asked. "Three Korean productions have applied for this year's Oscars."

Martin nodded, already aware of the growing international interest. "Yeah, Catherine mentioned that. I think they're aiming for Best Foreign Language Film and Best Documentary, right?"

"That's right," Tom confirmed, leaning in slightly as if sharing an insider's secret. "I've seen two of them. I have to say, the Koreans are really stepping up their game. Their films are compelling, and on top of that, they've got deep pockets. They're not afraid to spend big."

Martin understood what Tom was getting at. "So, you think the Academy might throw them a few bones? Maybe some minor awards to keep them in the game?"

Tom grinned knowingly. "Exactly. It's smart. They'll give them a taste of victory to encourage more investment. After all, money keeps the Oscars lively."

Martin chuckled. He knew the politics behind the glamorous façade of the Academy all too well. Money, influence, and the right connections were the keys to keeping the Oscar machine well-oiled.

Tom clapped a hand on Martin's shoulder, his tone shifting slightly. "By the way, I caught the internal preview of 'Split'. You've got a fantastic role this year. Keep it up, you're in a good position."

It wasn't just a compliment. It was a subtle nod of encouragement, a quiet acknowledgment that Martin was in the running for another Oscar. Martin smiled appreciatively. "Winning another Oscar would be incredible. I'm doing everything I can to make that happen."

After a few more pleasantries, Tom excused himself and moved toward Kathleen Kennedy, who was standing off to the side, watching the room with a keen eye. As the vice president of the Academy, Kathleen was someone who took the Oscars very seriously. When Tom reached her, she leaned in and asked quietly, "What's Martin's strategy this year?"

Tom lowered his voice as well, their conversation meant to be discreet. "From what I gathered, he's investing heavily in the awards season. He's playing the long game."

Kathleen smiled, visibly more relaxed. "Good. We need that kind of investment to keep the Oscars relevant and exciting. The more competition, the better for the show's prestige."

She glanced around before asking, "And what about the Koreans? Are they really a serious contender this year?"

Tom nodded. "Three crews have already submitted their materials. It's going to be an exciting race."

Kathleen couldn't help but admire Martin's foresight. "You know, Martin always seems to be one step ahead. We might not fully realize the international market's demand for something like the Olympics for a few more years, but Martin's already helping us navigate that space."

Tom leaned in even closer, lowering his voice. "Most of the Executive Committee members are quite fond of Martin. He's built a good reputation."

Kathleen's mind drifted to this year's Best Actor Oscar. She realized that Martin had been laying the groundwork for this moment since last year. It was no accident. His relentless dedication and strategic planning were starting to pay off. She thought back to her former boss, the legendary Steven Spielberg, and how even he had leaned on his Jewish heritage when pushing for his first Oscar win as Best Director.

It wasn't shameful to use every tool at your disposal. In fact, it was expected.

As the premiere screening drew near, the guests began making their way into the theater. Martin, accompanied by the core creative team of 'Split', gathered near the entrance. David Fincher took the lead as they slipped inside through a side door, avoiding the growing throng of fans and media.

Inside the Dolby Theatre, the air was electric with anticipation. Hundreds of industry insiders, media critics, and special guests packed the venue, while the buzz of whispered conversations and camera clicks filled the room. The premiere was a massive event, meticulously planned to generate excitement for 'Split' and Martin's Oscar campaign.

The lights dimmed, and the opening scene immediately grabbed the audience's attention. The film began with a jarring and intense sequence: a brutal kidnapping of a young girl. The tension in the theater was palpable as the story unfolded.

The plot wasn't overly complex, but its power lay in the psychological depth. The protagonist, a seemingly gentle fashion designer, suffered from dissociative identity disorder. As he sought treatment for his mental illness, one of his more sinister personalities began to assert control, leading to a meticulously planned kidnapping of three high school girls.

The film kept the audience on edge as the girls desperately tried to escape their captor. At the same time, the protagonist's multiple personalities waged war against each other. The true horror came as a new, terrifying personality emerged, one far darker and more violent than the others.

In a climactic series of events, the protagonist not only murdered the psychiatrist who had been trying to help him but also subjected the kidnapped girls to unspeakable torment. The film's ending left the audience stunned, grappling with the implications of the protagonist's fractured psyche and the horrors that had unfolded.

As the credits began to roll, the packed theater erupted into applause. The movie had delivered on its promise; intense, gripping, and disturbingly brilliant. Martin, seated in the front row with the creative team, allowed himself a small smile. The premiere was a resounding success, and now, the real game for the Oscars was on.

In this climactic section of the film, David Fincher's directorial touch was unmistakable, evoking a haunting, almost religious atmosphere. The scene unfolded like a dark ritual. The male protagonist, played by Martin, invited the female lead to a twisted version of the Last Supper, a disturbing event he referred to as "soul cooking." The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, casting an eerie, suffocating tension over the scene.

Martin's character sat at the head of the table, perfectly composed on the surface, his eyes cold and calculating. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, the audience could feel the malevolent energy seeping from him. His expression, though subtle, spoke volumes. The cruelty, madness, and evil that brewed just under the surface of his calm demeanor were enough to send shivers down the audience's spine. Every slight twitch of his mouth, every flicker in his eyes, hinted at the dark storm raging inside him.

The crowd in the fan section of the theater was visibly rattled. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others clung to the arms of their chairs as the scene intensified. The fear was palpable, the horror dialed to its maximum. It wasn't just a cinematic experience anymore, it was a psychological assault.

As the film reached its final act, Tom Hanks, seated beside Kathleen Kennedy, leaned over, unable to contain his amazement. "This is incredible! The standout of this entire film is Martin. He's playing eight different characters, and even though this is my second time watching it, it's still mind-blowing. His performance is on another level!"

Kathleen nodded in agreement, equally mesmerized. "From his eyes to the way he moves his body, to each distinct personality trait, Martin is a genius. He completely disappears into these characters."

On the other side, Annette Bening, who had been watching intently, chimed in. "Each of the personalities is so different, but there's a thread that ties them together. Martin's ability to blend them into one cohesive, yet terrifying character is astonishing. I can't remember the last time I saw a role like this."

Turning to her husband, Warren Beatty, she asked, "Have you seen a better character portrayal in the past decade?"

Warren shrugged, his respect for the performance evident. "I'm not sure, but I do know one thing, at my peak, I couldn't do what Martin's doing here."

He gestured toward the screen as a close-up of Martin's character appeared. "Just look at him. He's not relying on flashy, exaggerated movements. It's all in the subtle changes, the slight tightening of his facial muscles, the flick of his eyes, the barely perceptible curve of his mouth. It's effortless, but it says so much."

William Dafoe, sitting a few seats down, nodded in admiration. "To pull off such a range of emotions so naturally... it's remarkable."

Up front, the film critics were no less captivated. Kenneth Turan, from the 'Los Angeles Times' and chair of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association, leaned over to his colleague, Todd McCarthy. "This has to be Martin's best role since he first hit Hollywood, don't you think?"

Todd slowly nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Not just Martin's best. I'd say it's the best role we've seen in Hollywood in the last decade. Better than Daniel Day-Lewis in 'Lincoln', better than McConaughey in 'Dallas Buyers Club'. It's... it's something else entirely."

After a brief pause, Todd added with conviction, "This performance deserves an Oscar. No question about it."

Kenneth, deep in thought, had already begun jotting down his impressions in the notebook he always carried. His pen scratched across the paper as he captured his raw emotions, knowing that now was the perfect moment to write. The intensity of the film was still fresh in his mind, the impact of Martin's performance undeniable.

His note read:

"Martin's performance in Split transcends the film itself, overpowering the story and elevating the film's emotional core. His portrayal becomes the film's defining feature."

He continued, the words flowing easily:

"One particularly outstanding moment comes when, in just 30 seconds, Martin transitions between seven completely different personalities. What's astonishing is that none of these transitions rely on makeup or prosthetics, just pure acting. Through subtle changes in body language and facial expressions, he transforms into each persona effortlessly, creating a seamless and convincing portrayal that is nothing short of brilliant."

As Kenneth finished scribbling down his thoughts, the film's end credits began to roll, and the audience erupted into applause. The clapping grew louder, spreading through the theater like a wave.

Everyone rose to their feet, the ovation long and heartfelt. Even Kenneth and Todd, usually reserved and analytical, stood up to join in. There was no doubt, 'Split', and Martin's performance in particular, had left an indelible mark on everyone in the room. The applause wasn't just for the film; it was for a performance that would be remembered for years to come.