Chapter 503: Tearing Each Other

In the upscale neighborhood of Beverly Hills, Stuart Townsend answered the door to greet the woman who had come by. Knowing that it was the final day of the Cannes Film Festival, he hurriedly began packing up his house with meticulous care. He gathered all the trash into a bag and headed for the side door.

Outside on the street, two trash bins stood opposite each other. Stuart tossed the garbage bag into his relatively new bin and was about to turn back when a burst of fireworks erupted in the sky above.

He followed the fiery display to its source, spotting his rather unpleasant neighbor next door setting off the fireworks. The loud crackling and dazzling colors lit up the sky.

The reason for Stuart's interest in this year's Cannes Film Festival was none other than Charlize Theron. He had been following the festival events closely, trying to decipher what was happening.

"It must be that Martin Davies, the guy who won Cannes Best Actor!" Stuart muttered to himself, gazing up at his neighbor's extravagant celebration.

The media reports had been relentless about Martin's success, fueling Stuart's frustration. "Why do the undeserving always manage to succeed?" he grumbled. "A good guy like me, and yet I can't catch a break!"

Having a girlfriend, especially one who was still at the film festival, made it even more challenging for Stuart to connect with people.

As the fireworks continued to burst overhead, Stuart's annoyance reached its peak. He decided to take action. With a determined stride, he lifted his hefty foot and delivered a solid kick to Martin's trash bin.

But that wasn't enough. Stuart proceeded to deliver several more rapid kicks to the dumpster. In the midst of the exploding fireworks, he raised his middle finger defiantly towards Martin's property. "Don't mess with me!" he called out angrily.

There was no response from Martin's side, only the ongoing fireworks display.

Feeling some relief after venting his frustration, Stuart turned on his heel and headed back home. He had to double-check every nook and cranny of the villa's living room and bedroom in case Charlize discovered any flaws. He couldn't afford to jeopardize their comfortable life.

Next door, Lily and Elizabeth celebrated Martin's Cannes Best Actor win by lighting a box of fireworks in front of their villa. Their joy was evident.

Lily suddenly had a creative spark. "I want to create a new piece, inspired by Martin's Cannes Best Actor award," she exclaimed.

Elizabeth joined in the excitement. "Count me in!"

Inside the manor's basement, Elizabeth had arranged for a spacious room to be converted into Lily's special carving studio. As they made their way downstairs, they decided to call Martin once more to extend their congratulations for his Best Actor win.

...

After the awards ceremony, the film festival's organizing committee hosted a closing reception, inviting numerous winners and guests to attend. As the newly crowned Best Actor, Martin naturally became the center of attention.

Several members of the jury, including Isabelle Huppert, approached him to engage in conversation and share a drink. Among them, Hanif, a screenwriter from ****, revealed an interesting tidbit. He disclosed that the jury's vote for the Best Actor award had favored Martin with an overwhelming eight-to-one ratio, with the sole dissenting vote coming from an Indian jury member.

Martin remained silent, absorbing this information.

As they departed, Bruce, Martin's close associate, fixed a thoughtful gaze on the Indian actor and whispered, "Should I arrange a motorcycle for him?"

Thomas, puzzled by the comment, asked, "Why would you want to give him a motorcycle? He didn't support Martin, did he?"

Bruce chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the idea of the motorcycle. "I think the exhaust pipe of the motorcycle suits him perfectly!"

Thomas, understanding Bruce's unspoken thoughts, found himself at a loss for words.

Martin, always the voice of reason, chimed in, "Come on, guys, we're civilized people. We can't stoop to such levels."

He added, "Remember, there's a pet shop on the Corniche. I recall seeing lizards for sale there."

Bruce nodded, recollecting, "Next to it is an adult product store. They seem to sell Spanish fly powder."

Despite Martin not being particularly chatty, most of the people present were relatively pure European filmmakers, and there was limited potential for future collaboration.

However, the newly crowned Cannes Best Actor, a Hollywood star with substantial global box office appeal, was quite enticing to some European directors. The prospect of an artistic venture, lower pay, and high appeal was an attractive proposition.

As Martin mingled in the name of art, sipping on his drink, he noticed Russ von Trier approaching. Before Martin could say anything, Russ congratulated him, "Martin, congratulations on winning Best Actor."

Recognizing the Danish director, Martin replied, "Thank you. And congratulations to you on Best Actress for your new film."

Russ von Trier clapped his hands with enthusiasm. "You see, one of us wins Best Actor, and the other Best Actress. It's destiny."

He took a glass of wine from a passing waiter and clinked glasses with Martin. "Here's to our artistic destiny."

Martin raised his glass and they drank to it.

Russ von Trier continued, "Speaking of cinematic art, are you interested in joining a new artistic journey?"

Martin, curious about his plans since "The Female Hermit" in 2010, listened attentively.

Lars von Trier added, "I'm working on a new project here, an art film called 'Melancholia.' To sweeten the deal, I can mention another Hollywood star: 'Kirsten Dunst will be the lead actress.'"

Upon hearing it was another film, Martin's interest waned, and he directed his gaze at Thomas. 

Pointing at his agent, Martin said, "Russ, Hollywood has a rule. Work discussions need to go through my agent first."

"Damn the Entertainment Act!" Russ von Trier cursed. "Martin, listen to me. This is a pivotal step in your artistic career, a transformation of both your acting and spirituality."

He raised his voice passionately. "Forget about the damn entertainment bill. Let's collaborate in Europe and create a true masterpiece of cinematic art for the world."

Martin didn't bother to respond and turned his attention to Thomas.

Having worked with Martin for years, Thomas understood his unspoken message and took charge. "We can discuss collaboration slowly, Director Till. Let's talk about the terms first."

Without waiting for Lars von Trier to interject, Thomas continued, "Martin's salary is $20 million, and we won't consider anything less."

Russ von Trier expressed his dissatisfaction, saying, "Cinema is an art form, and it shouldn't be reduced to mere money."

Thomas replied firmly, "No matter how great the art of cinema is, it still requires financial support."

As the two engaged in a spirited debate, Martin and Bruce tactfully excused themselves and moved away.

Bruce, watching the exchange, couldn't help but comment, "I want to borrow your business appeal, but I don't want to pay for it."

Martin, shrugging, responded, "I'm not crazy. The 'art' label doesn't sit well with me."

After all, this was Cannes, not Los Angeles. Martin didn't need to be overly concerned about his reputation in the world of criticism. If the European media dared to criticize him, the North American media would defend him vigorously.

Bruce nudged Martin, directing his attention. "Look over there." Near the entrance of the ballroom, Isabelle Huppert was conversing with Mene as they strolled towards the exit.

Bruce couldn't help but comment, "Mene is going to have quite the story to tell in his memoirs."

Martin chuckled, "It's going to be a memorable one, that's for sure."

In the magnificent setting of the San Francisco Valley adaptation, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The allure of cinematic art and creativity surrounded the attendees at the banquet.

On one side, Isabelle Huppert engaged in a friendly chat with Monica Bellucci, their voices merging seamlessly amidst the vibrant ambiance.

Mene stood nearby, observing the evening unfold. The night was young, and there was ample time for a sumptuous supper. 

Yet, an unusual atmosphere began to envelop the room, attracting the attention of many guests, their eyes collectively gravitating toward the entrance of the grand hall.

Isabelle Huppert, deep in conversation with Monica Bellucci, remained oblivious to the growing commotion.

Mene, attuned to the shift in dynamics, turned his gaze towards the source of the disturbance. He spotted a woman swiftly approaching.

Isabelle Adjani had exerted considerable effort to gain entry to the soirée. Relying on her years of fame and seniority, she had finally succeeded, yet her presence was marked by tension.

As she entered the banquet hall, her eyes locked onto Huppert. The memories of her struggles at the entrance, the missed opportunity to be the guest of honor for the Palme d'Or this year, and the thirty-year-old grudges resurfaced. Adjani's once-angelic face now harbored a demonic temperament.

How different she had been in her youth—beautiful, yet tempestuous.

With determination, Adjani stopped by a nearby table, picked up two glasses of red Bordeaux wine, poured one and a half glasses into a single glass, and hastened towards Huppert.

Mene had sensed Adjani's intentions but hesitated to intervene. However, influenced by countless Hollywood movies and being an actor himself, he acted swiftly, stepping in to shield Huppert.

As a result, a full glass of red wine splashed onto Mene's face and clothes, eliciting gasps of surprise from the onlookers.

Realizing her mistake, Adjani, far from offering an apology or feeling embarrassed, reached for another glass of wine from a neighboring guest.

Meanwhile, Huppert, alerted by the commotion, turned her head to see Mene's wine-drenched face, instantly grasping the situation.

With deep-seated resentment accumulated over thirty years, she clenched her fists and decided she could no longer endure it.

In a swift and calculated move, Huppert seized a decanter from Monica Bellucci's table. She kicked off her heels and rushed towards Adjani, wielding the decanter like a weapon.

Without hesitation, Huppert poured the small amount of remaining red wine directly onto Adjani's head.

"Bitch!" Adjani, far from being a pushover, reacted angrily, ready to retaliate.

But Huppert had endured Adjani's provocations for far too long. Spotting a vulnerable spot on Adjani's head, she lifted the decanter high and brought it crashing down.

It was a moment of sheer astonishment as Adjani, eyes rolling, gradually succumbed.

The entire audience stood in stunned silence. After all, these two women, both named Isabel, stood at the pinnacle of the French film industry.

"Remove this disgraceful woman!" Huppert, as the jury president, shouted with authority. "Drag her out onto the street and let the dogs deal with her!"

Of course, no one heeded her call.

Jacob, the chairman of the organizing committee, raced over, nearly exhausting every ounce of his eighty-year-old self to reach the scene.

Huppert paid no attention to the men arriving to assist and turned back to Mene with genuine concern. "Are you alright?" she inquired, her voice filled with empathy.

Mene reassured her, "I'm fine."

Huppert retrieved a tissue and began to gently wipe the wine from Mene's face herself. "You didn't have to get involved in my dispute with Adjani."

Mene scratched his head, explaining, "She approached aggressively, and I didn't think twice about blocking her."

With a tender touch, Huppert continued to cleanse Mene's cheeks. After a brief silence, she spoke, "If your Hollywood career doesn't progress as expected, consider coming to Europe. I might be able to assist you."

Mene smiled, appreciating her offer. "I'll make sure to visit Europe often to see you."

Returning the smile, Huppert nodded warmly. "You should go change your clothes. I'll handle the situation here, and we can have supper later."