"Good morning, Steven," Martin greeted warmly as he stepped down from the sleek Escalade, spotting Spielberg in an instant amidst the bustling DreamWorks campus. With a firm stride, he approached the legendary filmmaker, extending his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "Feels like my first time here. DreamWorks," Martin remarked, a hint of nostalgia tinting his tone.
Spielberg reciprocated the handshake with a welcoming smile. "Shall I give you the grand tour?" he offered, his eyes twinkling with the prospect of sharing his creative kingdom.
With a nonchalant shrug, Martin replied, "Why not? It's still early."
Their footsteps echoed through the expansive halls of DreamWorks as they made their way to the exhibition hall, a shrine to cinematic history and innovation. Martin couldn't help but marvel at the sheer magnitude of the DreamWorks empire, once a titan encompassing film, television, music, and media, a true Hollywood juggernaut.
As they strolled, Spielberg offered insights into the rise and fall of DreamWorks, a cautionary tale of collaboration and conflict. Martin listened intently, recognizing the precarious balance between success and dissolution in the cutthroat world of entertainment conglomerates.
Exiting the exhibition hall, Martin followed Spielberg's lead, guided by the filmmaker's diligent assistant towards the DreamWorks Theater. Along the way, they were joined by familiar faces from rival studios, united by a shared love for the silver screen.
Seated amidst the plush confines of the theater, Martin exchanged pleasantries with Eriksson from Disney Pictures and Claude from 20th Century Fox. Eriksson's curiosity piqued, prompting him to inquire about Martin's unexpected presence. "Why are you here?" he asked, his tone laced with intrigue.
Martin's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Everyone in the industry knows the story," he began, recounting the saga of "Seventh Son," a passion project that slipped through his fingers due to unforeseen circumstances. The theft of his office safe, a twist of fate that altered the course of cinematic history. "Now that the project is realized," Martin continued, "I couldn't resist the chance to see it through, after all, it was once my dream project."
Claude chimed in, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Let's see if lightning strikes twice," he remarked, alluding to the mixed fortunes of Annapurna Pictures, the studio that had wrested Martin's other projects away, only to see them falter at the box office.
Another voice chimed in, injecting a note of skepticism into the conversation. "It still bombed. Any chance of salvaging even 20% of the investment?"
Erikson's demeanor turned solemn as he weighed the options. "Perhaps, given a decade of strategic offline maneuvers," he ventured cautiously, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.
Amidst the murmurings of disappointment, Claude directed his inquiry towards Martin, acknowledging the producer's knack for spotting cinematic gold. "Martin, your track record speaks for itself. Are these choices deliberate?" he probed, his curiosity tinged with admiration.
Martin chuckled softly, shaking his head in response. "Who can predict a film's fate before it hits the screen?" he mused philosophically. "A great script is just the beginning. How many gems are tarnished in the process? My approach to filmmaking sets us apart."
Beside Claude, a whisper rippled through the crowd, drawing attention to Martin's keen interest in the project. The notion of his potential involvement sparked intrigue, prompting clandestine discussions among the assembled industry insiders.
In the theater's second-floor box, Megan Ellison's gaze narrowed as she observed Martin's presence below. "Who invited him?" she inquired, her tone betraying a hint of annoyance.
Derrett, seated beside her, consulted the guest list, confirming Martin's unauthorized attendance. "He was brought in by the DreamWorks team," he relayed, his voice tinged with frustration.
Despite her displeasure, Megan Ellison recognized the futility of ejecting Martin from DreamWorks'. Resigned to the situation, she instructed her team to proceed with the preview and ensuing negotiations, her resolve unyielding.
As Derrett departed to oversee the adjacent screening room, Megan Ellison remained in her seat, reflecting on her initial aspirations upon entering Hollywood. The allure of artistic acclaim, embodied by "The Hurt Locker," had given way to the allure of commercial success epitomized by projects like "Seventh Son" and "Transcendence." Now, faced with the consequences of her strategic shift, she pondered the road not taken—the path of artistic integrity versus the pursuit of profit.
Down on the first floor, Bruce's voice cut through the anticipation. "Martin, Megan Ellison's eyeing us from the second floor," he cautioned quietly.
Martin's response was resolute. "It's fine. This time, she'll get a surprise," he reassured Bruce, determination flashing in his eyes.
With a sense of duty to his industry peers, Martin resolved to take a stand against the subpar offerings that threatened to tarnish Hollywood's reputation. "Boycott 'Seventh Son'!" he declared, his voice carrying a note of defiance.
As the lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life, Martin's anticipation mingled with apprehension. The film unfolded before him, diverging from the script he had glimpsed, adding layers of darkness and romance in a bid to captivate audiences.
Yet, despite the spectacle of fantastical creatures and spellbinding visuals, the movie fell short of expectations. It was a by-the-numbers epic, relying heavily on dazzling special effects to mask its shortcomings.
In the hushed aftermath of the screening, Erikson turned to Martin, seeking his assessment. "What are your thoughts?" he inquired, his tone laden with curiosity.
Martin's critique was candid. "It falls short of the mark," he admitted. "In an industry dominated by 'lord of the ring' and 'King' franchises, it's hard for a magical epic to truly resonate."
His words reverberated through the theater, drawing the attention of those gathered. Before Wilson could take the stage, Claude seized the moment, offering a bid on behalf of Twentieth Century Fox.
With a knowing glance exchanged between Martin and Bruce, the stage was set for a bidding war. Bruce's bold offer of $30 million sparked a flurry of interest, signaling the potential for lucrative deals to come.
Martin's eyes gleamed with anticipation as the auction unfolded, recognizing the opportunity to turn a profit and salvage Hollywood's reputation from the clutches of mediocrity.
The tension in the room was palpable as Martin's decision reverberated through the theater. All eyes were fixed on him, silently pleading for a decisive move.
With the film's potential profitability hovering between $30 to $40 million, the stakes were high. Yet, Martin remained steadfast in his resolve, declining to engage in the bidding war unfolding before him.
Turning to Bruce, Martin issued a terse command. "Let's go," he murmured, his tone decisive as he rose from his seat and made his way towards the exit.
Eriksson, ever the loyal ally, fell into step behind them, his loyalty unwavering in the face of uncertainty.
Claude, recognizing the futility of further negotiation, followed suit, his departure signaling the unraveling of the auction.
As the trio departed, others in the theater hesitated for a moment before succumbing to the allure of their lead, filing out one by one until only a handful remained.
Meanwhile, the representative from Lionsgate Pictures made a final offer, his gaze flickering towards Megan Ellison's perch on the second floor. "$40 million, today," he urged, his tone tinged with urgency.
Wilson, undeterred by the pressure, stood his ground. "$40 million is a pipe dream," he countered, his resolve unshaken by the dwindling prospects.
With the departure of the major players, the remaining bidders dispersed, leaving Wilson to contemplate the missed opportunity.
A lone bidder, undeterred by the silence that hung heavy in the air, stepped forward with a modest offer of $30 million. Wilson bristled at the audacity of the bid, but the reality of the situation was undeniable.
As the bidder retreated, Wilson was left to grapple with the harsh reality of Hollywood economics. The theater now barren, he cast a solitary glance towards Megan Ellison's solitary figure, a silent testament to the failed preview and the dashed hopes of a lucrative deal.