In the dimly lit conference room, Daniel stood before a large, vibrant poster of 'Joker', his gaze fixed on the brooding face of the film's iconic protagonist. His expression was thoughtful, as if the character's dark complexity mirrored his own thoughts.
The door creaked open, and Louise entered with a warm smile, her footsteps light. "Martin's still tied up with post-editing," she said, walking toward Daniel. "He'll join us soon."
Daniel nodded, still studying the poster. "No rush," he replied. After a pause, he shifted gears, asking, "How's the post-production coming along for 'Joker'?"
Louise handed him a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room. "We're almost there. The soundtrack and special effects are locked in. We're in the final stages of editing now. Martin's aiming to cut it down from 185 minutes to about 120. It's a bit tight, but he's confident."
Daniel took a sip of his coffee and sighed, his thoughts wandering. "Funny how both 'Joker' and 'Justice League' are around two hours long. Yet somehow, Martin's 'Joker' feels so much more... substantial. More reliable."
Louise chuckled softly. "Well, Martin's been in the game for over a decade now. Twelve years of solid, reliable work. He knows how to bring a vision to life."
Daniel considered this, reflecting on his past collaborations with Martin. It was true, every project they worked on had been marked by professionalism and creativity. Martin always seemed to know how to dig deeper, make things more authentic.
But then there was 'Justice League' a completely different beast, controlled by a whirlwind of corporate interests. The Warner team behind it was undeniably talented, but there was something chaotic, something unsettling about the project.
Just then, the door swung open again. Martin strode in, exuding his usual calm confidence. He greeted Daniel with a quick smile. "Sorry for the delay," he said, settling into a chair. "We had to make a last-minute adjustment to one of the scenes."
"No worries," Daniel replied, motioning for Martin to get comfortable before diving into the conversation. "I hear the reshoots for 'Justice League' the ones Joss Whedon's overseeing; are well underway. It's all green screen work now. Warner and DC are keeping a tight grip on everything. They're pushing for that November release date, come hell or high water."
Martin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "'Joker' hits theaters a few weeks before that. Let's hope it makes a strong impact." There was an underlying seriousness in his tone, as though he was calculating the stakes. If 'Justice League' turned out to be the trainwreck many feared, it could cast a shadow over all DC properties, even if 'Joker' stood apart as its own unique piece of cinema.
Daniel caught the unspoken tension. "You don't seem too optimistic about 'Justice League'," he remarked.
Louise leaned forward, her voice direct. "After everything that project's been through, can anyone really be optimistic?"
Daniel chuckled, though the humor felt hollow. "Warner and DC's top brass are still betting big on it."
Martin, however, wasn't so easily swayed by corporate optimism. With his post-production almost wrapped up, he switched topics. "I know Gal Gadot pretty well," he said. "You should visit the 'Justice League' set with me sometime. It could be an interesting day."
Daniel shrugged, smiling. "You've got free rein at Warner Studios. Feel free."
But then, curiosity got the better of him. "Speaking of studios, why are you doing post-production at Disney? Warner's facilities aren't exactly second-rate."
Martin's face grew serious. "It's not about the equipment," he said. "It's the people. Warner has some brilliant minds, no doubt, but they're unpredictable. Geniuses, yes, but sometimes they'll take a risk no one else would even dream of. And when you're in post-production, that kind of unpredictability can be dangerous."
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "A few years ago, I might have thought you were overreacting. But now… I get it. Sometimes, I can't even begin to figure out what those execs are thinking."
The conversation shifted to distribution strategies, marketing plans, and the looming competition of 'Justice League''s release. After a while, Martin gestured for Daniel to follow him. "Come on," he said, leading him to the editing room. "I want to show you something."
Inside the editing suite, the lights dimmed as the latest cut of 'Joker' flickered onto the screen. Daniel watched in silence, absorbing every frame. When it ended, he let out a low breath. "There's no trace of comic book tropes here," he said, shaking his head in awe. "No superhero clichés. It's like watching a film pulled straight from reality, not a comic strip."
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "If it were anyone else, I'd be nervous about sinking so many resources into something like this. But you, Martin: you're different. Warner's willing to gamble on you."
Martin smiled, but it was a knowing, almost cautionary smile. "Don't forget," he said quietly. "This is the 'Joker' we're talking about. The character's practically legendary."
Daniel didn't need the reminder. The Joker was a cultural icon, a character so deeply ingrained in popular consciousness that his very name carried weight. Warner had placed their trust in Martin not just because of his track record, but because the Joker had become something larger than life, something powerful, almost untouchable.
Warner Bros. had recently conducted a comprehensive market survey, and the results were clear: the version of the Joker that resonated with fans wasn't just any Joker, it was Martin's vision of the character. His dark, gritty take had struck a chord with audiences, elevating the film to a cultural phenomenon even before its release.
About half an hour later, Daniel exited the Joker studio, leaving Martin to dive back into post-production. The process consumed him, and he didn't emerge from the editing room until late in the evening, eyes heavy from hours of work.
As he finally left, Louise was waiting for him. She waved him over to her sleek Rolls-Royce, a perfect blend of luxury and understatement. As they settled into the car, Martin leaned back into the soft leather seats, closing his eyes, utterly drained.
Louise, noticing his fatigue, quietly unscrewed a bottle of water and handed it to him. "Daniel and I agreed on the dates for the internal previews," she said. "We'll hold the first one at the end of August. There'll be four in total before the film's public release in October."
Martin took a slow sip, feeling the cool water soothe his throat. "You handle all of that," he replied, his voice tired but trusting. "My focus is on finishing this film over the next couple of months."
The intensity of his commitment had even led him to decline an invitation to Cannes, something his colleague, Thomas, had to politely refuse on his behalf. For Martin, there was no room for distraction until 'Joker' was perfected.
As they pulled up to Louise's elegant mansion in Sherman Oaks, the sun had set, casting a serene glow over the property. Inside, the spacious living room was already occupied by Kelly Gray, a long-time friend and confidante from their days back in Atlanta. The three of them gathered around the polished bar, the air thick with nostalgia.
Louise, always one to take pride in her skills, slid behind the bar. Once, bartending had been a passion; now, she was one of the best, holding the title of vice president of the International Bartenders Association. She reached for a glass and began mixing a cocktail with practiced ease, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"For old times' sake," she said, setting a glass of a 'Paper Plane' cocktail in front of Kelly. "This is the one that started it all, the drink that sent me down this crazy path."
Kelly raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. "You slut," she teased, laughing. "You've never regretted a thing, have you?"
Louise grinned mischievously. "Made too much money too easily. What's there to regret?" She moved with fluid grace, now mixing a 'Penicillin' for Martin. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "This one's rich, layered, just like life's ups and downs."
Martin took a sip, appreciating the smoky complexity of the drink. "Isn't this your favorite?" he asked, recognizing the familiar taste.
Louise lifted her own glass of 'Penicillin' in response. "It is. Once you get used to its boldness, it rewards you with beautiful, subtle flavors. This is the drink that made me the best female master in the bartending world," she said, raising her glass in a mock toast, her eyes twinkling with pride.
Kelly, intrigued, pushed her empty glass toward Louise. "I want in on that. Give me a 'Penicillin', too."
With a laugh, Louise drained her own glass and turned to Martin, nudging him with her elbow. "Get ready for the best damn 'Penicillin' you've ever tasted."
Meanwhile, across town at Warner Studios, the atmosphere was anything but lighthearted. On the set of 'Justice League', tensions ran high as reshoots were underway. Joss Whedon, who had taken over directorial duties from Zack Snyder, held the reins now, wielding his authority with an iron fist. Warner Bros. and DC had given him full control, from directing the reshoots to making critical decisions about the final cut.
Cyborg's actor sat quietly in the corner of the set, his eyes locked on Whedon with a mixture of disbelief and barely contained fury. Moments earlier, Whedon's assistant had informed him that most of his character's scenes were being slashed. It was a devastating blow. In Snyder's version, Cyborg had been at the heart of the plot, but now, under Whedon's direction, the role was being gutted.
It wasn't just professional frustration, this felt personal, like a direct assault on his career. For an actor, having scenes cut could be the difference between a breakout role and fading into obscurity. It was as if Whedon held his future in his hands, and the grip was tightening.
But Whedon, who had long held a reputation for being ruthless in the industry, seemed indifferent to the young actor's plight. His years in Hollywood had left a trail of controversy, from the way he ran 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' to the more recent rumors that floated around studio lots. The whispered warnings, like "Don't leave Michelle alone with the director," had always seemed to stick.
On set, Whedon turned his attention to Gal Gadot, who had been rehearsing her lines in front of the green screen. His expression soured as he approached her, dissatisfaction evident in every step. "Enough with the complicated performances," he barked. "You don't have the range for it. Just stick to the basics, okay?"
Gal blinked, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Was he serious? She'd worked hard to embody her role, to give Wonder Woman the depth she deserved, and now this? It wasn't enough that Whedon was cutting down male roles, but he was coming for her too? She couldn't help but wonder if every actor Snyder had handpicked was now Whedon's target.
And as the tension on set thickened, so did the uncertainty about what kind of 'Justice League' would emerge from all this chaos. The only thing that seemed clear was that the stakes were getting higher with each passing day.
Joss Whedon crossed his arms, glaring at Gal Gadot. "You're just a pretty face, a vase," he spat, his voice dripping with condescension. "All you need to do is read the lines."
Though his words stung, it wasn't the insult itself, it was the dismissal of her abilities as an actress. Gal Gadot, far from a novice, squared her shoulders and pushed back. "Acting is more than just reading lines. There's depth to this character, and I'm not here just to recite words." Her voice was firm but respectful, standing her ground.
Whedon's face darkened. "Shut up!" he shouted, his sudden anger filling the set with tension. "I'm the director and the screenwriter. You do what I say, or you can forget about complaining! Just say the damn lines, and spare me the acting lessons!"
Gal stood frozen for a moment, shocked by his outburst. This was nothing like the collaborative approach of Zack Snyder, who had always encouraged his actors to explore their characters. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "I'm sorry, but I can't work like this," she said softly but resolutely.
Whedon's face twisted with fury. "Shut your damn mouth!" he hissed, stepping closer. "I can make your character look like an idiot on screen, and if you don't follow my lead, your career will tank faster than you can imagine."
Gal stared at him in disbelief, her pulse quickening. She had never experienced such blatant intimidation on set before, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable, everyone on the set could feel the tension simmering.
Then, as if on cue, Jeff Jones, DC's representative, hurried onto the set. He had sensed the situation escalating and quickly stepped in between them. "Joss," he said, his tone placating, "let's take a breather." He guided Whedon away before turning to Gal for a private conversation.
A few minutes later, after Jones had spoken to her in hushed tones, Gal reluctantly returned to the set. Under his "persuasion" and in the interest of avoiding further confrontation, she agreed to play her part as Whedon demanded, reducing her performance to the shallow, ornamental role he insisted upon.
What had happened was only one instance of the growing discontent on set. Whedon wasn't targeting just one actor, he was making life miserable for the entire cast. The atmosphere during the 'Justice League' reshoots was like a powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Everyone felt it, but no one was sure when or if it would blow.
Still, when the news trickled up to the top executives at Warner Bros. and DC, the situation was portrayed very differently.
Inside the chairman's office, Hamada gave Kevin Tsujihara a reassuring report. "Joss Whedon is handling the reshoots with complete control," he said confidently. "He's tough but experienced, and he's got the cast and crew in line. Everything is moving smoothly. If all goes according to plan, we'll wrap up the reshoots by the end of July."
Tsujihara, however, wasn't entirely convinced. Pressure was mounting from Time Warner Group and the board of directors. They had already faced delays, and he knew that more setbacks weren't an option. "This movie 'must' hit the theaters during the November holiday season," he said sternly, his voice laced with urgency.
"We're on schedule," Hamada assured him. "There's plenty of time."
Tsujihara leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against his desk. "And Whedon? He's not causing any problems, is he?"
"None at all," Hamada replied quickly. "He's actually been much more cooperative than Snyder ever was. He listens to feedback from the studio, and he's not stubborn about making the movie his way. Unlike Snyder's dark, overly long vision, Whedon's aiming for a tighter, more lighthearted film. He's already reshot several scenes to inject humor, making it more like 'The Avengers'."
Tsujihara's expression softened. The dark and somber tone of Snyder's original vision hadn't worked for 'Batman v Superman', and it was time to try something new. "Good," he said, nodding. "Let's start ramping up the publicity and marketing. I want a huge push, the initial budget is $200 million. We need to build real momentum."
With the project's bloated production budget, which had now surpassed $350 million due to extensive reshoots, the final tally was nearing $600 million after factoring in global marketing and distribution costs. Warner Bros. needed 'Justice League' to be a box-office success to recoup its massive investment.
"Also," Tsujihara added, "what's happening with 'Joker'?"
Hamada was quick to reply. "It's locked in for an October release. The pre-release promotions are already underway. We've made sure to publicly distance 'Justice League' from 'Joker'. Whether it succeeds or fails, it won't impact 'Justice League'."
Tsujihara's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of 'Joker'. The film's director, Martin Davis, had been a thorn in his side for personal reasons, mainly because of an old grudge involving his sister and brother-in-law. "Make sure of that," Tsujihara said coldly. "If 'Joker' performs well, fine. But if Martin wants to make a sequel, we're not giving him authorization. Not again. Once 'Justice League' comes out, we'll have control of the narrative."
Warner Bros. had been struggling in recent years, but Tsujihara believed that 'Justice League' with Whedon at the helm, would finally stabilize their position in the competitive superhero film market.
But as the executives in their pristine offices plotted out marketing strategies and box-office targets, the reality on the ground was very different. The set of 'Justice League' was a pressure cooker, and the resentment brewing beneath the surface wasn't something any press release or marketing campaign could smooth over.
Hamada left the chairman's office with a sense of purpose, heading straight for the 'Justice League' reshoot set. His mission was clear: ensure that Joss Whedon remained firmly in control of the project. The stakes were high, and Warner Bros. was betting big on Whedon's ability to transform the film into a blockbuster that could rival the success of 'The Avengers'.
Historically, DC had a reputation for micromanaging its directors, sending in various studio heads and representatives to keep a close eye on every aspect of production. This time, however, Warner and DC were determined to learn from past mistakes. They were giving Whedon the creative freedom he needed, trusting the man who had delivered a billion-dollar hit for Marvel to steer 'Justice League' away from Zack Snyder's dark and heavy style, and instead, into the light-hearted, crowd-pleasing tone that had proven so successful with audiences.
With the weight of Warner and DC's backing behind him, any whispers of dissent among the crew were quickly silenced. Whedon was the man in charge, and he had their full support.
At the same time, the studio was carefully rolling out its marketing campaign. They had just released the first commercial for 'Justice League', directed and edited by Whedon himself. As soon as it hit screens, fans were buzzing. People were eager to see how the movie would change under new leadership.
The commercial didn't present any drastic departures, Whedon was too savvy to alienate audiences with an abrupt shift in tone. Having worked in Hollywood for over 20 years, he knew the art of subtlety. His plan was to gradually adjust the film's style with each new piece of marketing, starting with this 30-second spot, which already felt less somber and oppressive than anything Snyder had crafted. The response was mostly positive, with many viewers intrigued by a particular moment where the Flash and Batman joked about "money power," a lighter, more playful exchange than what had been seen in previous footage.
Encouraged by this response, Kevin Tsujihara visited the set himself. He approached Whedon, giving him the green light to push even further with the film's new direction. "Be bold," he told Whedon, smiling. "Go for it."
Meanwhile, the atmosphere around 'Joker' was starkly different. It was July now, and the official trailer for Martin Davis' film had just been released, casting a deep shadow over the sunny optimism of 'Justice League'. If Whedon's commercial was light and breezy, Martin's 'Joker' trailer was the exact opposite: dark, gritty, and suffocatingly real. The tone was heavy, almost oppressive, and it seemed to drag the audience into the bleakest corners of America's forgotten slums.
The Joker in Martin's version wasn't just a comic book villain, he was a man at the bottom of the societal ladder, a true reflection of the frustrations and struggles of many. His life was a daily grind of humiliations: a dead-end job, obnoxious coworkers, a boss who treated him like dirt, and a neighborhood so crime-ridden that walking down the street felt like a gamble. Every day, the weight of his world pushed him closer to the edge, until one day, it pushed too far.
The trailer culminated in a shocking, visceral scene. The Joker, driven to madness by the unrelenting pressures of his life, quit his job in the most brutal way possible: he killed his boss, then turned his fury on the wealthy elite who had mocked and belittled him. It was a jarring, violent end to the trailer, but it felt almost cathartic, a twisted release for all the pent-up rage bubbling under the surface.
Ordinarily, a film like this might have struggled to find an audience. But these weren't ordinary times. Since the 2008 financial crisis, the North American economy had been in a prolonged slump. The gap between the rich and poor had only widened, leaving millions of people feeling stuck, frustrated, and disillusioned. Families were losing their homes, jobs were scarce, and the pressure of daily survival had become an unbearable burden for many.
For these people, Martin's 'Joker' wasn't just a movie, it was a mirror, reflecting back their own struggles. The scenes of the Joker's spiraling descent into madness struck a nerve. The exhaustion, the endless grind of work, the suffocating weight of mortgages and debt, it was all too familiar. They saw themselves in the Joker, not as a villain, but as a fellow victim of a system that had ground them down.
Yet, unlike the Joker, most people didn't have the luxury of snapping. They had families to support, bills to pay, and lives they couldn't afford to walk away from. So they bottled it up. Day after day, they pushed their emotions deeper, suppressing the anger, the frustration, the helplessness. They carried the weight silently, like beasts of burden, until one day, the weight might finally break them.
'Joker' tapped into that raw emotion, offering a disturbing but compelling escape. Where Whedon's 'Justice League' sought to entertain with laughs and spectacle, 'Joker' was aiming for something much deeper, much darker, a movie that didn't just ask its audience to watch, but to feel every painful moment.