Chapter 113: The Birth of Kevin's Sycophantic Film Critic

The old Caucasian man stood in front of his seat, incessantly criticizing every aspect of The Dark Knight, considering it a terrible film with nothing worthy of praise.

Unbeknownst to him, the other film critics had already left his side.

Two burly security guards slowly approached the old man, and when he was unaware, they firmly restrained his hands.

Then, they escorted him out.

Only at that moment did the old man suddenly wake up, panicking as he exclaimed, "What are you doing? I am a renowned film critic from The New York Times. How dare you treat me like this? I will expose your behavior in the newspaper!"

"Fellow colleagues, are you just going to stand there and allow them to treat me this way? Warner Bros. has gone too far! Are we not allowed to express our opinions?"

The old man's shouting fell on deaf ears.

His lack of understanding didn't mean others didn't know the rules. Most film critics who made it to such events had some status in the outside world. Those who kept a low profile had experienced this kind of situation a few times and understood what should be done after gaining fame.

However, this old man, clearly new to fame, didn't grasp the rules and held his status too high.

Being kicked out of a screening hosted by a major company like Warner Bros. was actually quite normal.

Seeing that no one paid any attention to him, the old man became even more enraged.

As a middle-aged man in his forties, after becoming unemployed, he had finally gained some fame by expressing sharp opinions in his film reviews, which earned him the adoration of some fans.

He thought he would receive recognition from all film companies.

He never expected that he would be escorted out by security guards at his first major studio screening.

Instantly, anger surged within him, and the old man once again roared, "I will expose Warner Bros.' disrespectful attitude towards renowned film critics in the newspaper. I will give The Dark Knight the harshest review in the media!"

The Warner Bros. executive initially had no intention of paying him any mind, planning to let the security guards drag him out as a lesson.

However, this person was so clueless.

The chubby executive approached the old man, his face filled with a chilling air, and bluntly said, "If you don't want every newspaper to reject your articles in the future, I advise you not to do that."

"After all, we are Warner Bros., and I hope you understand this."

After hearing these words, the old man, who was previously filled with extreme anger, displayed a range of expressions on his face.

In the end, it seemed like he understood Warner Bros.' position.

He stopped struggling and allowed the security guards to drag him out obediently.

The chubby executive turned to the crowd, smiling as he applauded, capturing everyone's attention. Then he spoke up, "Everyone, the movie has ended. You can now collect your respective gifts. As a representative of Warner Bros., I also hope that each of you will make an effort to express your truest opinions about The Dark Knight in major newspapers and media outlets."

Some film critics readily agreed.

"The Dark Knight is an absolute masterpiece among masterpieces. Warner Bros. has once again produced a great film. I will provide the most fair evaluation in the newspapers."

"This is undoubtedly the best film in the past decade. I will certainly express my truest thoughts in the newspapers."

"..."

The first batch of around 80 relatively less famous film critics left one after another.

They received public relations fees ranging from $10,000 to $20,000, depending on the critic's own reputation and the fame and sales of the publications where their reviews were published.

After arranging for these people, the chubby executive instructed his assistant to deliver $10,000 to the old Caucasian man.

Then, he turned back and engaged in discussions with the top 20 or so film critics.

Although being a film critic was considered a parasitic profession, reaching the top tier still carried a respectable status.

The fees for these top-tier film critics were not merely $10,000 to $20,000.

It ranged from $50,000 to $100,000.

A single film review could earn them tens of thousands of dollars, and when encountering invitations from major film studios several times a year to write multiple reviews, their income could easily reach hundreds of thousands of dollars.

In this era, that was absolute affluence.

Of course, film studios wouldn't invest such large sums of money if the film wasn't actually good.

Just the fees for these film critics would amount to over $2 million in public relations expenses.

That was definitely not a small amount and could fund the production of a low-budget film.

...

Outside the theater, the old Caucasian man walked away with a troubled expression on his face.

Just as he had gained fame, he became swollen-headed and was immediately educated by Warner Bros.

It was only at this moment that he understood the path to survival for a renowned film critic. If he wanted to make money, groveling to these Hollywood giants was the best choice.

Unfortunately, it seemed he realized this a bit too late.

He didn't know what actions Warner Bros. might take against him in the future.

Just as he was leaving with a troubled expression on his face, someone who had been standing next to the chubby executive quickly approached him.

With a stiff tone, the person said, "This is a gift for you as a renowned film critic attending the premiere of The Dark Knight. Take it, and also be mindful of the opinions you express in the publications."

"Warner Bros. will continue to keep an eye on you."

After speaking, the person handed an envelope to the old Caucasian man and walked away.

The old Caucasian man, wearing a baffled expression, took the envelope and opened it. He exclaimed, "Ten thousand dollars!"

The troubled expression on his face instantly disappeared, replaced by joy.

This was the first time he, as a renowned film critic, had attended a premiere organized by a major film studio. No one had ever told him about the so-called "gifts" from major studios.

And it turned out they directly gave money, and it was ten thousand dollars.

You see, when he was still employed before being laid off, his monthly salary was only around two thousand dollars, and he had to spend several hundred dollars on commercial health insurance.

Moreover, it was an essential expense because healthcare in America was never cheap. Without commercial health insurance, a serious illness could completely devastate a family.

As a result, his family never had any surplus in U.S. dollars.

The job of being a film critic only brought in a few hundred dollars a month, which made it difficult to make ends meet for his family.

This sudden influx of income completely shattered his psychological defense line.

Any sense of literary self-esteem was insignificant in the face of a few measly bucks.

He picked up the money and put it in his pocket, then pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. With an air of grandeur, he waved it, flagging down a taxi driver on the side of the road.

With a smug expression, the old Caucasian man, Vic, said generously, "Go to 13 Rick Street. This hundred dollars is all yours."

The driver's face lit up with joy. Looking at Vic as if he were a big spender, the driver showed a hint of envy.