Chapter 798: Cunning

As the nominees for the Oscars were announced, the usual cacophony of Oscar public relations seemed to settle, at least on the surface. This quietude was due to the eruption of the "email gate" scandal, prompting the Film Academy to reiterate its stringent prohibitions.

According to the Academy's regulations, publicity could continue after the nomination list was out, but lobbying the judges was strictly forbidden. In the past, these rules were often overlooked, but this year was different. The various award-winning crews suddenly started to behave much more cautiously.

The Academy's ongoing investigation into the email gate incident made it clear: any misstep now could lead to serious repercussions.

In the office of Davis Studio, Bruce put down the entertainment newspaper he had been reading. Martin, who was engrossed in David Fincher's director's notes, looked up and noticed Bruce's silence. He asked, "Is there no new Oscar news?"

Bruce shook his head, a bit disheartened. "The news involving the Oscars lacks any excitement. It's been dull since the nomination list came out."

Martin couldn't help but laugh. "Bruce, we have made outstanding contributions to the Oscars!"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, curious about what outrageous claim Martin was about to make.

Martin continued seriously, "You see, the Film Academy now has strict management of Oscar public relations, and all award-winning crews are also consciously abiding by the Academy's rules. Why do you think that is?"

Bruce's mouth began to twitch. "Because of what we do?"

"Exactly, because of our good deeds!" Martin declared with a grin. "Over the past twenty years, Harvey Weinstein continually lowered the bottom line of Oscar public relations, dragging the Oscars through the mud. But it took us only three years to lift the Oscars back up, making all crews respect the Academy's rules once more."

Bruce couldn't resist a sarcastic retort. "The Academy should really reward us with a special contribution award or even a lifetime achievement award!"

Martin nodded, as if deep in thought. "I think that's absolutely necessary."

Bruce muttered to himself, barely believing Martin's shamelessness. "Why don't I believe it?" he mused aloud, before suddenly exclaiming, "Oh, because I was actually involved and I know exactly what you did."

Martin wagged his finger. "Old Bruce, your perspective is too narrow. Even the lowest behaviors can be cloaked in a noble guise."

Bruce laughed and suggested, "You should run for chairman of the Screen Actors Guild! Or maybe even the Producers Guild."

Martin was taken aback. "Why?"

Bruce smirked. "Because you're shameless enough. Hollywood can't handle you."

Their banter was interrupted by a knock at the office door. Thomas walked in, carrying a thick file bag.

Martin gestured to the reception area. "Sit anywhere."

Ignoring the invitation, Thomas went straight to the desk, placing the bag down. "This script just came in from DreamWorks. Spielberg's project. I brought it over as soon as I got it."

At the recent Oscar nominees' luncheon, Martin had exchanged a few words with Spielberg about potential collaboration. He hadn't expected Spielberg to act so quickly.

Martin eagerly took the file bag and opened it, revealing a script and related reports. It was clear the movie was adapted from real events.

He began to read the reports, old newspapers from the 1960s recounting events from the Cold War era, sparking his curiosity and excitement for what was to come.

The Cold War was dominated by two superpowers. In 1960, Gary Powers, a US spy pilot carrying a trove of secret intelligence, was tasked with a highly classified mission. However, the state-of-the-art US reconnaissance plane, the U2 "Black Widow," he was piloting was shot down over Soviet territory, leading to his capture.

Simultaneously, the US military had detained a Soviet spy named Abel. Both nations were keen on a prisoner exchange. To negotiate this delicate transaction, the US selected a lawyer named James Donovan to mediate with the Soviet Union.

Martin scrutinized the script again. The screenwriter's names, Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, were prominently displayed under the title "Bridge of Spies." The Coen brothers were renowned in the industry.

Thomas interjected, "Spielberg's father was an engineer sent to Russia during the Cold War, so this subject really resonates with him."

Martin nodded thoughtfully and began leafing through the script. After skimming through a dozen pages, he frowned. "Wait a minute. James Donovan, the lead character, is an older lawyer. He's not a good fit for me."

Thomas replied, "You're cast as Gary Powers, the pilot. For the lead role, Spielberg picked his longtime collaborator, Tom Hanks. DreamWorks agreed to a base salary of $20 million for you and invited you to join with some capital investment."

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "As a supporting actor, I'm getting a base salary of $20 million? Plus, they want me to bring in money? The lead actor is making the same as me..."

He glanced at Thomas. "Does this seem right to you?"

Thomas hesitated. "Well, Spielberg's projects are usually a big draw and pretty dependable..."

He paused, realizing his mistake. "Actually, it's not dependable at all."

Martin remembered the commercial setup of "Saving Private Ryan." Spielberg made a fortune, Tom Hanks made a fortune, the producers also made a fortune. But then the producer lost money, and the investors got nothing.

Considering the budget for this spy thriller, including his own, Hanks', and Spielberg's salaries, how much would they need? Most of the budget would be devoured by their salaries.

In this scenario, how successful would the box office need to be to ensure his share?

If he accepted the role with a base salary of $20 million plus a share of the post-production profits, it would mean he'd be using his raised funds to pay himself...and also to pay Hanks and Spielberg...

Spielberg and Tom Hanks had reputations as the good guys of Hollywood, but believing in that would be as naive as the investors of "Saving Private Ryan."

Martin didn't trust Spielberg and Hanks, two of Hollywood's shrewdest figures. He closed the script decisively and turned to Thomas. "Call Spielberg tomorrow and decline this offer. Find a diplomatic reason."

Thomas nodded, having done this many times before. "Okay, I'll return the script to DreamWorks tomorrow."

Hollywood's Jewish power players were formidable. Martin knew better than to cross them recklessly, but he also knew to avoid stepping into obvious traps.

Jewish moguls in Hollywood were known for their ruthless business tactics, capable of stripping a person down to their bones. Vigilance was essential.

Thomas gathered the script and materials, stuffed them back into the file bag, and left quickly after bidding goodbye.

Martin resumed reading David Fincher's director's notebook, filled with Fincher's handwritten notes and experiences. If not for his close working relationship and personal friendship with Fincher, he would never have been able to borrow this invaluable resource.

In addition to David Fincher's notes, Martin also had some learning materials provided by Chad Stahelski. However, Chad's focus was more on action choreography. As many critics have noted, while Chad's literary prowess might be average, his ability to capture thrilling action scenes was unparalleled.

Martin was engrossed in his reading when his phone rang. It was David Fincher, asking if he was in the office.

Half an hour later, David Fincher arrived with Netflix's content director, Greg Peters. The two walked into the reception room, and Peters extended a hand to Martin.

"Thank you for the work on 'Seventh Son,'" Peters said with a warm smile.

Martin returned the smile, shaking Peters' hand firmly. "You're welcome. We're partners, after all. Just a phone call away."

Martin remembered how, after Annapurna Films went bankrupt, the bank holding the rights to "Seventh Son" wanted to sell the film to recoup funds. Martin had asked Harris to negotiate the deal, but the bank had refused to sell for $30 million, opting instead to spend on a large-scale advertisement campaign.

Seeing no profit in playing middleman, Martin had directly called Netflix. Greg Peters ended up buying the rights for $38 million. Despite "Seventh Son" being part of a series of failed projects by Annapurna Pictures and Megan Ellison, most movie fans were unaware of its troubled history.

Netflix's marketing and packaging transformed it into a $150 million epic, exclusive to their platform. The same film, when showcased differently, could yield vastly different results.

Just like in Martin's previous life, Netflix's big data-driven films often received poor critical reviews but set on-demand records due to targeted marketing aimed at paying and potential paying users.

"It's a pity you couldn't star in 'House of Cards,'" Peters said, still hopeful for future collaboration. "You and David would definitely create a hit together."

Martin sighed, "My schedule's been too tight these past few years. But we'll definitely find an opportunity to work together in the future."

Peters continued, "David is in the running for Best Director at the Oscars. Netflix has invested $3.5 million in media pages to support his campaign. The details are with David. You know more about Oscar campaigns than I do. Can you handle it?"

Martin nodded confidently, "We'll make the best use of these resources."

David Fincher chimed in, "Martin has a knack for Oscar campaigns."

Martin grinned, "We'll stick to tried-and-true methods to maintain strong publicity and exposure."

Peters said, "Netflix is counting on your expertise."

Martin and David Fincher knew Netflix's commercial interests. The streaming giant was leveraging media resources for an unrelated film because they had big plans. Post-Oscars, regardless of the outcome, Fincher would fully collaborate with Netflix, starting with the heavily funded political drama, "House of Cards."

For Netflix, the buzz generated by collaborating with Oscar-winning director David Fincher was invaluable.

The three of them chatted in the reception room for a long time, covering various topics, including Warner Bros.' new Justice League universe plan.

"DC and Warner are gearing up for a big press conference soon," Fincher mentioned, his eyes gleaming with interest.

"Should be interesting to see how that unfolds," Martin mused, already strategizing potential future moves.

The conversation was rich with industry insights, strategies, and the unmistakable buzz of upcoming collaborations, setting the stage for another round of Hollywood maneuvers.