Chapter 633: Martin’s Leonardo Oscar Strategy

"The Harvey debacle is finally behind us," Nicholson remarked from his perch on the sofa, motioning for Lorraine to pour some tea as he turned to Martin and Leonardo. "So, what's our first order of business?"

Martin seized the opportunity to respond, his tone resolute. "Our top priority is to secure an Oscar win for Leo."

Nicholson nodded in agreement. "Indeed, it's crucial for our collective reputation."

Leonardo, ever the modest one, rubbed his increasingly portly face. "Do you really think I stand a chance?"

Martin's conviction was unwavering. "Absolutely. I've rallied all our actor friends to vote for you this year."

Nicholson chimed in, affirming Martin's efforts. "And I've reached out to our esteemed colleagues as well."

Curiosity piqued, Leonardo turned to Martin. "What was the pivotal moment that won you the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for a comic book adaptation role?"

Martin didn't mince words. "During the Santa Monica Pier incident, I thwarted a potential terrorist attack. That sealed the deal for me."

He maintained a pragmatic outlook. "All the hype about method acting and character immersion was secondary. This award is more about perception than performance."

Nicholson concurred. "Exactly. It's a recognition of your commitment to the craft and to our country."

Leonardo sighed, feeling daunted by the prospect. "I can't exactly don a mask and fight crime. That'd be a disaster."

Just as Lorraine approached with the tea, Nicholson reiterated his point. "What matters most is your dedication. Marrying Lorraine would send the right message to the judges."

Lorraine offered a warm smile. "Leo, I'm more than willing to support you."

Leonardo chuckled helplessly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Nicholson persisted. "No, seriously. Your commitment is what counts."

Martin interjected, revealing a strategic insight. "There's a void in Oscar power this year. Harvey's project, targeting the Oscars, has fallen through. That's your opening."

He continued, "You need to show the Academy the sacrifices you've made for your craft."

Leonardo was taken aback. "But I haven't made any sacrifices. I've lived life on my own terms."

Martin reached out, patting Leonardo's ample belly. "From heartthrob to middle-aged everyman—all for the sake of evolving your craft. That's sacrifice enough."

Nicholson added, "People still see you as Jack Dawson. It's time to shatter that perception."

Taking a sip of tea, Nicholson remarked, "The excessively handsome rarely win awards."

Martin concluded, "Our immediate goal is to reshape your image in the minds of the judges and showcase your dedication to your craft."

Leonardo turned to Martin, eager for guidance. "How do we do that?"

Martin smirked, envisioning a bold move. "Simple. We leverage your stunt skills. But forget about three-strike combos; we're talking water guns this time."

Leonardo furrowed his brow. "Are you suggesting we round up a bunch of models to splash around with water guns?"

Martin interjected, deadpan. "Certainly not. Although it's chilly, Malibu's been blessed with some great midday sunshine lately, perfect for a beachside water fight."

Nicholson chimed in. "Leo, you've got a beach house there, don't you?"

Martin turned to Lorraine with a smirk. "Looking to earn some extra cash?"

Lorraine's eyes lit up. "Count me in!"

Suddenly wary, Leonardo crossed his arms, eyeing Martin and Nicholson suspiciously. "What's your angle? You know I've got my guard up."

Martin reassured him. "We're not out to get you, Leo. Just focus on bagging that Best Actor Oscar."

He'd recently checked the New Year's North American theater schedule, and there wasn't a King of England or a black-and-white silent film in sight.

...

Malibu, on the sunny stretch of a private villa's beach.

Nicholson, sporting shades, called out to Lorraine as she set up the camera. "Hurry it up, Leo and Martin will be out any minute now!"

Lorraine adjusted the camera and grabbed a camcorder. "All set."

Nicholson hollered towards the villa. "You two ready?"

Martin emerged barefoot, water gun slung over his shoulder. "Ready as ever."

Leonardo followed suit, wielding a hefty water gun of his own. "No mercy today!"

Lorraine aimed the camera, capturing the moment.

Nicholson took over behind the lens, framing the shot.

The contrast between the two men was stark.

Martin, in snug swim trunks, cut the figure of a super athlete with his sculpted physique.

Meanwhile, Leonardo sported billowing, colorful pants, complete with a paunch and chubby limbs—the Jack Dawson of yesteryear.

Martin flexed his fingers. "Let's get started—"

But before he could finish, Leonardo ambushed him, unleashing a deluge of water.

Martin was drenched, caught off guard.

Leonardo bolted, Martin hot on his heels, landing a playful smack on Leonardo's back.

The water sprayed, Leonardo's pants sagged, but he soldiered on, reveling in the joy of the chase.

In that moment, Leonardo found clarity—he was living life to the fullest.

Nicholson trained the camera solely on Leonardo, while Lorraine snapped away.

As Leonardo ran, a sense of unease crept over him. Glancing back, he spotted Martin, phone in hand, snapping photos of his rear.

Leonardo shielded his posterior, indignant. "What the hell, Martin? Why're you snapping shots of my butt?"

Martin's grin was unrepentant. "Gonna turn it into wallpaper for a gay bar!"

Leonardo rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress a chuckle.

He said with a smirk, "Rest assured, your image rights are safe. I'll only use your backside, nothing else."

Leonardo charged towards Martin, but before he could utter a word, Martin wielded his water gun.

A stream of water hit Leonardo square in the face, some even finding its way into his open mouth.

"Stop it! Stop!" Leonardo protested, shielding his face with his hands.

Martin stowed away the water gun, declaring, "You lose, Leo."

Fuming, Leonardo ignored Martin and called out to the villa, "Ready, everyone?"

Nicholson, now in director mode, called out, "Cut! That's a wrap. Time for post-production."

Leonardo wiped the water from his face, trudging towards the villa.

As Martin caught up, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

Martin's tone turned serious. "Your role in 'Shutter Island' holds its own against any other this year. This stunt is about showing the judges that sacrificing your image for art, even in real life, is nothing short of commitment. You, Leonardo, are embodying that."

He glanced at Leonardo's belly. "And nothing's more convincing than this, right?"

Leonardo frowned. "As much as I hate to admit it, the logic's starting to make sense."

Martin shrugged. "Because you greenlit the plan, and because, well, you really are a fat, greasy middle-aged man."

After changing, they rejoined Nicholson and Lorraine, who were reviewing the footage.

Nicholson asked, "Which ones?"

Martin peered over his shoulder. "Pick the ugliest, fattest ones."

Leonardo gritted his teeth, saying nothing.

Risking it all for that Best Actor Oscar.

And what's a few unflattering photos? As long as he had wealth, fame, and status, leggy models would still flock to him.

Nicholson clicked through the photos. "This one's a winner. Shows Leo's greasy side perfectly."

Taken at the onset of the water gun battle, it depicted Leonardo holding the gun in one hand, hitching up his floral pants with the other, belly proudly on display as he sprinted.

Leonardo buried his face in his hands, unable to look.

Lorraine approached, whispering, "Leo, I don't mind the fat and grease. You're charming just the way you are."

Leonardo leaped back, suddenly wary. "Too close for comfort. She might seem sweet, but she's out for my body..."

Martin continued selecting photos. "These ones too. All the ugly ones. Copy them and have Lorraine sell them to different papers."

Lorraine's eyes gleamed. "Cha-ching!"

Martin turned to Leonardo, who was still reeling. "Got any photos from your Jack days? Get the electronic versions, we'll send them to the media alongside these. A little comparison to shatter those stereotypes."

Leonardo called his assistant, swiftly arranging for the photos to be sent over.

In no time, the damning evidence landed in Leonardo's inbox.