Chapter 851: Director Martin!

Martin arrived on Rosarito Beach in Baja California, Mexico, just days before the Oscars, ready to dive into his next big project. The location, home to the largest Hollywood studio complex in Mexico, buzzed with a rich history of cinematic endeavors. The sprawling set had hosted numerous blockbuster productions, including the likes of "Pirates of the Caribbean" and "Master and Commander," famous for their epic sea battles and daring voyages. Central to these films was a massive, seemingly boundless pool, the largest of its kind in the world, originally constructed by James Cameron. This artificial lake, famously created for the filming of "Titanic," had since become a cornerstone of the studio, offering filmmakers a versatile and controlled environment for capturing dramatic maritime scenes.

The location team had initially suggested this very beach on Rosarito Island as an ideal shooting spot. Its clear, azure waters and expansive golden sands made it more than just a film set, it was a prime destination for water sports, drawing enthusiasts from all over. Standing high on a cliff that overlooked the beach and the bay, Martin held a viewfinder to his eye, surveying the picturesque scene before him. The sea stretched out into the horizon, where the waves gently caressed the shore. A few surfers and windsurfers danced with the waves, occasionally tumbling into the water but always climbing back up, undeterred.

"Dan, take a look over there," Martin said, lowering the viewfinder and pointing to a distant spot where the beach met a rugged outcrop of reefs. "That area would make a fantastic frame."

Dan Rostesin, the director of photography, had already discussed the location in detail with Martin back in Los Angeles. He nodded in agreement. "This bay is perfect. Let's head down and get a closer look."

With that, the two began their descent from the cliff, navigating a winding path that snaked through a grove of towering coconut trees. The scent of saltwater grew stronger as they approached the beach, the soft murmur of waves growing into a rhythmic melody. As they neared the shoreline, Martin heard someone calling out.

In the surf, Blake Lively, clad in a striking orange bikini, was riding a wave with effortless grace, balancing skillfully on her board. She attempted an ambitious spin in mid-air, but gravity got the better of her, and she tumbled into the water with a splash. Undeterred, she quickly climbed back onto her board, paddling with strong, confident strokes toward the shore.

Trailing behind her was a tall woman in a red bikini, her eyes fixed on Blake's every move. This was Bruna, the surfing coach the production had hired for Blake, who would also be serving as her stunt double for the more challenging scenes.

Blake emerged from the water, her surfboard tucked securely under her arm, glistening droplets of seawater tracing the contours of her toned physique. Months of rigorous swimming, fitness, and surfing training had honed her body, and she now exuded a confident athleticism that complemented her Hollywood glamour.

Spotting Martin, Blake jogged over, her surfboard thudding into the sand as she dropped it with a playful grin. She reached out as if to hug him, perhaps intending to share some of her wet exuberance, but caught herself just in time, noticing the viewfinder still in his hand.

"Feel like taking a dip?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Maybe later," Martin replied, his focus still on the task at hand. "We've got a lot of work to get through today."

Understanding his dedication, Blake simply smiled and wrapped an arm around him, giving him a quick squeeze before stepping back.

Dan and his team arrived, their camera equipment in tow. They began setting up, positioning the tripod for a series of wide-angle shots that would capture the breathtaking expanse of the bay.

Bruna, having followed Blake ashore, joined the group. Martin turned to her, curious about her expert opinion. "How's the surfing here?" he asked.

"It's excellent," Bruna responded, her enthusiasm evident. "The sea looks calm at first glance, but every so often, you'll get these perfect surges. The waves aren't too intimidating, just right for athletes who are transitioning out of the novice stage."

Martin nodded, satisfied. The location was proving to be as promising as he had hoped, a perfect blend of natural beauty and practical functionality for their shoot. The day had only just begun, but already, the possibilities seemed as endless as the horizon before them.

Martin stood on the beach, eyes narrowed as he carefully observed the rhythm of the waves. He noted the height, the interval between sets, and how they broke upon the shore. This was crucial information for the scenes he had in mind.

Blake Lively, standing beside him, shared his focus. After watching the waves for a few moments, she turned to him with a serious expression. "I can handle waves like these," she said, her tone resolute. Her confidence was hard-earned, the result of months of intense training.

Martin nodded in acknowledgment, moving to different spots along the beach to assess the location from various angles. Each new perspective seemed to solidify his satisfaction with the site. The beach offered everything he needed for the shoot, tnatural beauty, manageable wave conditions, and the right atmosphere.

He pulled out his phone and called one of the producers traveling with them. "Can you check if we have clearance to shoot here? I need to make sure it's convenient for the crew to set up."

The producer assured him they would handle it. Given that Hollywood crews had been filming on Rosarito Island for years, the island had developed a strong infrastructure to support such productions. The local public security was reliable by Mexican standards, largely due to the significant economic impact these film crews brought. Even the local gangs, notorious in other parts of the country, knew better than to interfere with the business of Hollywood. The consequences of crossing these well-connected outsiders were lessons learned the hard way by those who had come before.

With the beach scouted, the group headed to the nearby Infinity Pool Production Center, a short drive away. This was no ordinary studio, it was built around the colossal pool, which served as the heart of the facility. Surrounding it were large sound stages and production areas specifically designed for water-based filming.

Martin had already decided that most of the exterior shots would be filmed on the actual beach. However, the more delicate close-up scenes, particularly those involving the heroine and the sharks, would require a controlled environment. The open sea was too unpredictable for such shots, so Martin planned to transform one of the large studio pools into a replica of the beach. This would allow them to film with precision, minimizing the risks and complications that came with shooting on location.

After a quick walk around one of the studio pools, Martin was satisfied with its size and layout. He immediately called in a member of the production team to start negotiations for its use. Without wasting time, he gathered the art and set design teams. "We need to convert this pool into a beach set," he instructed them. "Get the contracts signed and start the work immediately."

The day had been long and filled with decisions, and by the time they returned to the hotel, darkness had settled in. After a quick dinner, Blake followed Martin into his room, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the sofa. She hugged a pillow to her chest, letting out a weary sigh. "I'm exhausted!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Martin walked over to her, standing behind the sofa, and began massaging her shoulders. "You've been working hard these past few months," he said, his hands kneading the tension from her muscles.

Blake tilted her head back, resting it against his arm. She gazed up at him with a mix of affection and fatigue. "Do you even know what I've been through?" she asked, her voice carrying a playful note of complaint. "Every morning, I was buried in research, reading interviews and reports from shark attack survivors, visiting marine biologists to understand great white sharks, and even talking to doctors and medical students to learn about basic trauma management."

Martin smiled, brushing his hand gently across her cheek, offering silent comfort. Blake continued, "And the afternoons were the worst. After grueling sessions at the gym, then swimming and surfing, I was so worn out I could barely stand."

Martin, fully aware of the dedication she had put into preparing for her role, said, "You've done an incredible job."

Blake responded by grabbing his hand, pulling him down until their faces were level. Then, without warning, she kissed him passionately. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless.

After a few moments, as her breathing steadied, Blake reached for her phone. She opened Twitter and Instagram, showing Martin the screens. "Look at this," she said with a grin. "The 'Gossip Girl' fan base is still one of the top five in Hollywood."

Martin glanced at the follower count, impressed but not surprised. "Your social media will be a key tool for promoting the film. Once we start filming, you'll need to post updates every few days. The publicity team will coordinate with you on the content."

Blake nodded, already mentally preparing for the next phase. The road ahead was still long, but they both knew that they were building something special, one scene at a time.

Blake responded with a playful grin, "No problem on my end."

With a quick, mischievous smile, Martin scooped her up into his arms. "Alright, enough about work," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Blake wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Hurry up, then! I've burned through so much energy these past few months, I need to replenish and fast."

Martin chuckled, leaning in close. "Well, since Taylor and the others aren't around this time, you've got me all to yourself."

Blake's eyes lit up with mischievous delight. "Perfect! I can have it all to myself. I can't wait to see how mad Taylor and Carly will be when they find out!"

The next morning, Martin was all business again, finalizing the lease agreement with the studio on behalf of the crew before heading back to Los Angeles. The team for "The Shallows" was still coming together, with Louise and the first assistant director, Steve Downton, handling the details. Given the small cast, fewer than ten roles there wasn't a need for large-scale auditions. Besides, with Blake Lively already secured as the lead, the other roles would be cast from within WMA.

As the Oscars approached, Martin's focus shifted from the new film to the awards season frenzy. With "La La Land" leading the pack as the favorite for multiple Oscars, both Davis Studio and Disney Pictures had thrown all their weight behind the Best Picture campaign.

The 86th Academy Awards ceremony kicked off at the Dolby Theatre on the first weekend of March. But it wasn't just the glamorous stars on the red carpet who drew attention that night. Outside the theater, a group of hundreds of women dressed in black had gathered, their presence impossible to ignore. They were decked out in striking outfits, but the somber black they wore was the true statement, an unmistakable symbol that demanded to be seen.

The media, sensing the gravity of the moment, cleared a path for them. Positioned near the red carpet, these women stood in silent protest, their message resonating powerfully.

Martin left the hustle of the interview area and made his way to the entrance of the Dolby Theatre, where he spotted Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson waiting.

Nicholson, always sharp, glanced around before leaning in and muttering to Martin, "Did you see the beast you unleashed?"

Martin gazed out the window, taking in the sight of the black-clad protestors again. "The more they dance in the spotlight now," he replied calmly, "the stronger the backlash will be later."

Leonardo, hands clasped behind his back, added, "The lack of a Best Picture nomination for '12 Years a Slave' has riled up a lot of people in the industry, especially within the Black community. I heard Will Smith and his wife were ready to stage a protest but were calmed down by the Academy and some unions. You can bet there'll be an acting award going to a Black actor tonight."

Nicholson, with his usual sharp insight, chimed in, "If I were to guess, it'll be Best Supporting Actress."

Martin shook his head, his expression one of mild disapproval. "If awards are handed out based on who makes the most noise, the Oscars will lose what little integrity they have left."

Leonardo sighed, "The social climate, especially here in California and Los Angeles, is so skewed to the left that it's become unstoppable."

Martin nodded slightly, a wry smile on his lips. "When my turn comes for Best Director, I'll just declare myself as an armed helicopter."

Nicholson raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Leonardo caught on and laughed. "Wait, can we do that now?"

Martin smirked. "Trust me, the games they're playing now are old news back in Atlanta. If they want to play this way, I could outmaneuver them in a heartbeat."

As someone approached, Nicholson gave a subtle nod, signaling the end of the conversation. "Let's head inside," he suggested, steering the group into the theater.

The three of them made their way through the hall, exchanging nods with familiar faces. On their path, they encountered several members of the "12 Years a Slave" crew, including the actress nominated for Best Supporting Actress; a black woman whose chances of winning tonight seemed almost guaranteed.

As they entered the grand main hall of the Dolby Theatre, the buzz of anticipation was palpable. They hadn't even reached their seats when Tom Hanks suddenly appeared, blocking Martin's path with a friendly grin.

"Tommy," Martin greeted him, sensing there was more than just a casual chat on Tom's mind. "What's up? Something important?"

Tom Hanks, looking genuinely puzzled, asked, "You've been on the Best Actor nomination list for years. Why not this time?"

Martin sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation in his tone. "Trust me, I wanted to be nominated again. The crew put my name forward, but when the votes came in, the judges didn't pick me."

He shrugged, shaking his head as if to brush off the disappointment. "Maybe they thought my performance was just average this time around. Honestly, I'm not exactly a natural when it comes to singing and dancing. I can manage the dancing, but the singing... well, that's a different story."

Tom Hanks chuckled, a glint of encouragement in his eyes. "Keep at it. I'm sure you'll be back next year, and who knows? Maybe you'll take home the Oscar."

Martin caught the underlying tone in Tom's words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the older actor's familiar, trustworthy face. Despite Tom's affable demeanor, Martin knew better than to take his words at face value.

With a serious nod, Martin replied, "The Oscar is the highest honor in our industry. I'm committed to working even harder next year to win it."

"Good luck with that," Tom said, still smiling, before the two parted ways.

As Martin walked toward his crew's seating area, he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom's words carried more weight than they initially seemed. Tom Hanks wasn't just a fellow actor, he was also the vice chairman of the Academy's executive committee. Martin mused to himself, "Was that a hint to step up my game for next year's competition?"

Arriving at his seat, he found himself next to the "Wolf of Wall Street" crew, with Leonardo DiCaprio already in place. Jack Nicholson, an Oscar fixture, took his seat beside Martin, forming their notorious trio for the evening.

Leaning in, Martin quietly relayed his conversation with Tom Hanks to Leonardo and Nicholson.

Nicholson, who knew the Academy inside and out, nodded thoughtfully. "It's obvious the PR efforts this year have been lackluster. There hasn't been enough buzz, and that could really hurt the ratings tonight."

Leonardo chimed in, frustration evident in his voice. "My PR strategy this year, playing the victim, didn't resonate like we hoped. The media wasn't biting, and the judges seemed indifferent."

Martin couldn't resist a blunt truth. "You can only play the pity card once, Leo. Think about it, if you already have a Best Actor award, who's going to fall for the pity act again?"

Leonardo scowled, his voice a low growl of annoyance. "Why didn't you tell me that back in December when I suggested it at the party?"

Martin smirked, leaning back in his seat with a confident air. "Leo, you need to understand something: we're competitors now. Both of us are gunning for an Oscar, and only one of us can win. The loser gets to spend the rest of his life wondering what went wrong. So, why would I help you?"

Leonardo clutched his chest dramatically, feigning a wounded expression. "I'm your brother, and you pull a stunt like this? Doesn't your conscience bother you at all?"

Without missing a beat, Martin replied, "Not one bit."