A red BMW sedan pulled up beside the Lockley Theater in Burbank. The driver, Cara Fess, unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to the young woman in the passenger seat, saying, "We're here, this is the place."
"You must be quite close to him," the young woman said, grabbing her handbag and stepping out of the car, waiting for Cara Fess to join her. "You even came to fetch me just for him."
Cara Fess led the way to the theater. "Jenny, I've told you many times, Murphy and I are just friends with similar interests."
Jenny raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
"And don't you think his story is perfect for a feature in Vanity Fair?" Cara continued.
"Dear, why else would I be here?" Jenny quickened her pace to keep up with Cara. "A paparazzo turned director, without any formal education or training, yet now a director with a total box office nearing two hundred million dollars. It's the kind of legendary tale I love."
"Cara," she smiled at her companion, "you've known him for a long time, you must know some lesser-known stories about his rise. Aren't you going to share some exclusive details with me?"
"Of course, I've prepared some for you." Cara wouldn't mention anything that shouldn't be said. "First, meet him and see his movie. We'll talk about the rest later."
Jenny had reached the front of the Lockley Theater. "Then let's first see this legendary director with an extraordinary story."
Hollywood has many actors who rose from poverty without much cultural education, but directors who lacked higher education and professional training were rare.
Entering the theater, Cara quickly found Murphy and approached him with Jenny.
"Hi, Murphy."
"Hi, Cara."
Murphy had just finished a conversation and warmly greeted Cara, a close friend, without formalities.
"Murphy, let me introduce you," Cara pulled Jenny closer. "This is Jennifer Mona, a staff journalist for Vanity Fair. Jenny, this is Murphy."
Jennifer Mona shook hands with Murphy, slightly surprised. "I didn't expect you to be so young."
Murphy smiled, "I just look young."
"Really?" Jennifer didn't seem to believe it but changed the topic. "Do you have time for an exclusive interview?"
"Oh?" Murphy glanced at Cara, who nodded, and then said, "Not today, I'm afraid."
He gestured towards the guests gathered in the foyer for the screening. "I'm occupied today and need to discuss with my agent."
Jennifer handed him a business card. "You can call me anytime."
She didn't hide her interest in interviewing Murphy.
After discussing business, Cara turned to the girl standing beside Murphy. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
She had noticed Murphy's attractive companion when she arrived – a beautiful girl with an elegant demeanor and a tall, slender figure. To Cara's experienced eyes, it was clear this girl had undergone strict physical training.
Gal Gadot, curious about Cara, had just arrived as well. Lisa Hewitt couldn't make it due to some unforeseen events. Gal had intended to say hello and then find a spot to wait alone for the movie to start. But before she could leave, two more people had arrived to greet Murphy.
Cara, not only beautiful and sexy but also exuding shrewdness and strength, appeared to be a formidable professional woman.
Murphy introduced them. "Cara, this is Gal Gadot, Miss Israel in this year's Miss Universe contest. Gal, this is Cara Fess, deputy director of social news at Fox."
Cara and Gal exchanged greetings. Gal then said to Murphy, "You must be busy; I won't disturb you."
"I'll find someone to accompany you and introduce you to some people here," Murphy waved to a corner of the foyer, calling over his public relations agent, Grace. "This is Miss Gal Gadot, a friend of mine. Could you accompany her?"
Gal tried to decline politely, "No need to trouble yourself…"
"It's no trouble at all," Grace assured her with a smile.
So Gal reluctantly agreed to be accompanied by Grace around the foyer.
As the director, Murphy was one of the main focuses of the screening and needed to entertain the media and critics.
With a moment of respite, Murphy chatted with Cara, both usually too busy for such casual conversations.
Cara seemed more interested in Gal than in work. "Your new girlfriend?" she inquired.
"Not yet," Murphy replied, taking his gaze off Gal. "But hopefully, in the future."
"Really? Then you'll need to work hard," Jennifer said, seemingly very interested. "A story between Hollywood's rising director and Miss Universe... I'm sure our editorial team would love it."
Murphy just shrugged, about to say something, when he saw Bill Rossis approaching with several older individuals. The youngest among them appeared to be over fifty.
Cara also noticed them and quickly excused themselves. "You better get busy; we won't disturb you."
Before leaving, she whispered to Murphy, "They are well-known professional film critics. Handle them well; it will help your future."
"I know." Murphy nodded lightly.
Just as Jennifer and Cara left, Bill Rossis and the others arrived, introducing Murphy to the group.
First was a tall, slightly balding man, "This is Kenneth Turan, a columnist for the Los Angeles Times."
Next, a man with round glasses, "This is Todd McCarthy from The Hollywood Reporter."
Lastly, an unremarkable, short, and plump man wearing glasses, "This is the Pulitzer Prize winner, Roger Ebert."
Murphy greeted each warmly, his face beaming with smiles.
After decades of evolution, professional film critics had become an integral part of North American cinema. Despite some saying that only those who could only talk without doing became critics, the influence of top critics was undeniable. They had developed a significant following over the years, and their views mattered.
Especially since a film's reception in their columns could directly influence many Hollywood award juries. To win major North American awards, top professional film critics were unavoidable.
This was why Murphy was so enthusiastic.
"I've seen your last film," Todd McCarthy of The Hollywood Reporter began, "Retro and noir with a strong personal style. Very impressive."
"But the personal style was too strong," Kenneth Turan disagreed. "Some parts seemed too self-indulgent."
"I
think a strong personal style in movies is not a bad thing," Murphy joined the conversation with a smile. "Cinema needs diversity and different styles. If Hollywood movies become like some current commercial films that don't focus on story and style, relying only on special effects, it won't be long before mainstream films become homogeneous. If production companies and directors stop caring about film style and story, just stacking up special effects, what's the point of those movies?"
"Very well said, very visionary!" Roger Ebert suddenly spoke up, seemingly agreeing with Murphy's viewpoint. "Hollywood needs stylistic films and stylistic directors!"
Murphy thanked him with a smile.
"I watched your previous three films before coming here," Roger Ebert continued, "In each one, I saw tremendous progress and some incredible use of shots…"
Saying this, he patted Murphy's shoulder emphatically, "Young man, I have high hopes for you. Stick to your style!"
Though somewhat awkward, Murphy didn't show it and remained modestly smiling.
However, to others, the sight of a much shorter man patting Murphy on the shoulder seemed a bit comical.
Kenneth Turan was not swayed by Roger Ebert's opinion and maintained his stance. "Personal style is fine, but it should not be overly dominant or misused, or else Hollywood's global leadership in the film industry will be lost!"
"Leadership?" Roger Ebert's tone carried heavy disdain. "If it's a leadership earned with style-less films, we might as well lose it."
"If we follow your logic, Hollywood films will become like European cinema!" Kenneth Turan, apparently often at odds with Ebert, countered without regard for the setting. "European cinema, emphasizing and sticking to personal style, has almost lost 90% of its audience. You know the situation better than I do!"
Roger Ebert huffed heavily, "A director must forget the market when making a film…"
The sudden argument between the two critics was unexpected for both Murphy and Bill Rossis.
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