Under the warm, diffused lighting of the Brooklyn Studio, the air buzzed with the quiet energy of a paused film set. Nicholson, his gaze lingering on the empty stage, turned to Martin with a look of concern. "If things keep going this way, Leo's shot at Best Actor will remain just a dream."
Martin, leaning against a nearby prop, offered a slice of harsh reality. "Everyone's aware of Leonardo's Oscars ambitions. He's set such a high bar for himself that the judges' expectations have skyrocketed. It's a different standard than for most actors."
Nicholson nodded in agreement. "Same role, same talent, same PR game – anyone else could snag Best Actor. But not Leo."
In their vicinity, Jennifer Lawrence stood silently, her presence steady but unobtrusive.
Nearby, three crew assistants eyed Martin and Nicholson with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, as if safeguarding a precious secret.
These were Scorsese's trusted insiders.
Scorsese himself, seated in his director's chair, cast occasional, uneasy glances their way, clearly wary of Martin and Nicholson's potential for mischief.
Martin, noticing the director's gaze, chuckled. "Scorsese seems worried about us."
"I don't blame him!" Nicholson exclaimed, half-joking. "Did you have anything to do with the butter incident?"
Martin feigned shock. "What butter are you talking about?"
Nicholson pointed accusingly. "The butter on my pants and Leo's backside."
Martin's mouth dropped open in mock horror. "Jack, did you really use butter on Leo? That's low, even for you. Leo looks up to you!"
Their performance was convincing enough to catch Jennifer Lawrence's attention. She turned towards Nicholson, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and intrigue.
Nicholson, frustration evident in his voice, retorted, "I swear, you and Leo will be the death of me."
"Don't stress," Martin said soothingly, his demeanor shifting to one of reassurance. "I'm sure Leo will take good care of Lorraine."
Nicholson, unable to suppress a grin, shot back, "You're quite the talker. Can you ever stop?"
Martin gestured zipping his mouth and checked his watch. "I've got a meeting. I should head out."
Nicholson, eager to see him go, waved him off.
After Martin's departure, Jennifer Lawrence approached. Nicholson, still sensitive about his reputation, quickly clarified, "I've never even thought about using butter for... anything."
Jennifer nodded, her response automatic. "I believe you." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But if you ever want to experiment with butter, I'm available."
Nicholson, caught off guard, could only wave off the suggestion. His mind was elsewhere, haunted by memories of someone who had once brought him that unique state of mind but was no longer around.
On set, Martin's unconventional intervention had remarkably revived Leonardo's spirits. Perhaps spurred on by the bizarre butter incident, he was performing with renewed vigor. Most of today's scenes were nailed in just one or two takes, allowing him extra time to rest.
As Michelle Williams walked by, Leonardo, his thoughts briefly turning to Martin's antics, approached her. "Michelle, your performance just now was spot on."
"Thank you," Michelle replied graciously. "But it's mostly because you've rediscovered your form."
Leonardo smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You might have heard – Martin used fear to cure my fear." His tone shifted, becoming more earnest. "I've heard there's been some misunderstanding between you and Martin."
Michelle didn't deny it, pausing for a moment before admitting, "Just a little bit." Her response left an open door, suggesting there might be more to the story than just a simple miscommunication.
On the bustling film set, Leonardo, concerned yet tactful, broached the subject with Michelle, "I've always valued our friendship, both with you and Martin. There shouldn't be misunderstandings among friends. What if I arrange a meet-up with Martin to clear the air?"
Michelle paused, her gaze reflecting a mix of contemplation and resignation. "No need to stir old memories. The misunderstanding stemmed from my past with Heath Ledger. Now that we've parted ways, it's irrelevant."
Leonardo, ever the mediator, persisted gently, "We should still seize the opportunity to clear things up when we can."
Michelle's smile, tinged with appreciation, acknowledged his effort.
...
Leaving the energy of Brooklyn Studio behind, Martin found himself in the quieter ambiance of a Manhattan hotel cafe, meeting with Bradt, the screenwriter from Davis Studio.
Recalling the connections formed during "John Wick", Martin reminisced about being introduced to novelist Chuck Hogan by Scorsese's producer, Graham. He had acquired the adaptation rights for "Prince of Thieves" from Hogan.
Graham and Hogan had since immersed themselves in Boston's life to reshape the novel's script based on their experiences.
Bradt handed Martin the first draft, explaining the creative tug-of-war behind it. "Chuck wanted to delve deep into Charleston's roots, the underlying societal issues, and the complexities of human nature. I, however, believed we needed to prioritize the story's entertainment value."
Martin, his brow furrowing slightly, remembered the novel's more lighthearted tone. "The original work was quite engaging on its own."
Bradt shrugged. "Artistic depth and story should outweigh mere entertainment. I managed to balance both, keeping Charleston merely as a backdrop and focusing more on the bank heist to maintain narrative intrigue."
Martin nodded in approval. "You've struck the right chord. It's a commercial film first and foremost."
Discussing potential directors, Bradt suggested, "We have connections with directors in Boston. Perhaps someone like Scott Seth..."
Martin, however, was pragmatic. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't have the budget for high-profile names."
He thought of Scorsese's "The Departed", a film with great commercial appeal yet budgetary constraints. Engaging someone like Scorsese required substantial financial backing.
Opening the script, Martin scanned the opening scenes. A bank robbery set the stage intriguingly. Bradt's growth as a screenwriter was evident, particularly compared to "John Wick", where his role was more confined.
Despite considering himself an amateur in script evaluation, Martin recognized the inherent quality in the script. It was an intriguing blend of various elements.
After a brief review, he set the script aside. "The story holds up well. I'll delve deeper before giving detailed feedback. We have time to refine it before next year."
Bradt, motivated, planned to return to Boston. "Immersing myself there fuels my creativity. I've met locals with firsthand experiences from that tumultuous era. Their stories could enrich the script further."
Martin, pointing to the script, asked, "So, you've incorporated some of their tales?"
"Yes, particularly in shaping the male protagonist," Bradt confirmed.
"Stay in Boston then," Martin encouraged. "Keep finding those gems."
After Bradt's departure, Martin delved into the script, pondering which director could best bring this unique blend of crime, drama, and character study to life.
The notion of appointing a director with a radically different style for a project was akin to courting disaster. Martin contemplated this as he left the coffee shop, his thoughts meandering through the possibilities. He mused about David Fincher, known for his dark, meticulous storytelling. The idea of Fincher directing a film bursting with warmth and positivity was almost unthinkable, likely to result in a film unrecognizable as his work.
In the cinematic landscape of the 1990s, a director like Michael Mann, with his deliberate pacing and intense focus on character, would have been ideal. But in the current, fast-paced era of filmmaking, Mann's methodical approach might be perceived as too lethargic.
Shaking off these reflections, Martin made a call to Nicholson. They agreed to catch an early flight back to Los Angeles the next morning. Their mission in New York – aiding Leonardo – was accomplished, and with Scorsese's vigilant oversight, there was no further reason for them to linger.
...
In Burbank, Los Angeles, Christopher Nolan returned to Warner Studio, fresh from the filming block. As he settled into his director's office, a female assistant promptly knocked and entered.
"Director Nolan, David Goyer is here, waiting for you in the lounge," she informed him.
Goyer, a notable Hollywood figure, had previously collaborated with Nolan as the screenwriter and producer for the "Dark Knight" series.
Greeting Goyer, Nolan extended a hand. "David, what brings you to the studio today?"
Goyer, seated comfortably on the sofa, replied casually, "I was in the neighborhood. Heard you were back from Morocco, so I thought I'd drop by."
Nolan's gaze inadvertently drifted to Goyer's prominent nose, a reminder of his Jewish heritage. Remaining composed, Nolan steered the conversation away from any immediate discussions about Batman Part 3, suggesting they wait until his current film project was completed.
Goyer cut straight to the point. "I came to talk about something else. The media was abuzz about your crew's kidnapping ordeal in Morocco. It's a relief that everyone is safe."
Nolan, emphasizing his fortune in the situation, shared, "It was a close call. We apprehended them on the spot. They had kidnapped a key scientist. The situation could have been dire."
Goyer, showing genuine concern, noted, "I'm just glad you're okay. I heard Morocco is handling the kidnappers, planning to deport them back to their country for imprisonment."
Nolan feigned confusion. "Are they French?"
Goyer, undeterred, continued. "Regardless of their nationality, your consent is crucial in this matter."
Nolan, while appearing unaffected on the surface, felt a stir of unease. He had instructed the Moroccan authorities to follow standard protocol, expecting mild repercussions for the kidnappers. However, the prospect of their deportation and imprisonment in their home country seemed excessive to him.
Goyer, observing Nolan, smiled. "You apprehended four criminals, averting an international incident. They owe you a great debt of gratitude."
Nolan, though outwardly composed, internally grappled with the ramifications of the situation and the unwarranted hero status being thrust upon him.