When the lights in the screening room came on, William White stood up and applauded. It was always exciting to see Sylvester Stallone's performance again.
The third installment of Rambo, in many ways, completely surpassed the first two films. It wasn't about the grandness of the filming or the spectacle of planes crashing into tanks; it was more about how well the theme resonated with the times.
William White rarely attended screenings from other companies, but this time was different. After all, Columbia was part of Coca-Cola, and this film was produced and distributed by a Columbia subsidiary.
Given all the connections, it didn't hurt to lend some support. Stallone, along with Schwarzenegger, were actors he admired greatly.
"Peter, this film is really well done. I loved that part where the plane crashed into the tank. If, and I mean if, that plane had technical difficulties and couldn't ascend or move, it would have been even better. Stallone is a hero; he chose to go out in a blaze of glory. As for the Soviets, you know what I mean."
After a brief moment of confusion, Peter McDonald finally caught on.
"Thanks, thank you, Mr. White. I felt something was off during that scene -- you're right. If we tweak it that way, it would indeed fit better."
A group of bigwigs murmured to each other. That damn William White was truly impressive. Just his perspective on watching films was vastly different from everyone else's here.
"Hey, Sylvester, you're doing great. I've seen almost all of your movies. If the right script comes along, how about we collaborate sometime?"
Stallone was naturally thrilled. William White was someone who had catapulted many stars to fame. Though Stallone was already famous, who would turn down an opportunity to be even more well-known?
"Thank you, Mr. White. I am truly honored."
"Folks, this is a solid film. You will make a ton of money this summer, I can assure you. Don't fret about those anti-war folks; you're making a war film that's still anti-war at its core."
With that successful display, William White left, having shown Coca-Cola enough respect. He wondered if Rambo had somehow foretold when the Soviets would withdraw.
No matter how those guys figured it out, this movie was just too on point. If they worked hard on the promotion, it might just create a miracle.
In fact, as he left Columbia, those guys sprang into action, quickly re-shooting scenes and reorganizing the promotional plan.
William White's endorsement meant a lot; anything he said was taken seriously. In the theater, besides the studio executives and investors, there was also a gaggle of reporters.
They believed that adding a little extra flair to the day's events would surely draw in crowds. Even if the numbers weren't overwhelming, those distributors present would surely support the film.
At this point, William White didn't need to mince words. Just saying it was pretty good already elevated everyone's expectations.
...
William White wasn't paying much attention to the movie; he was only considering the Soviets' predicament. If those guys could figure out the Soviets might withdraw, he certainly could too. His intelligence network was far superior to anyone present.
"Filson, the Soviets can't take it anymore; they plan to pull out of Afghanistan. Our world is on the verge of a brief peace. Well, okay, complete peace is impossible -- at least the risk of world war is gone."
William White was quite sure that with one less tiger in the den, the world would feel much safer. In that respect, no one could compare to the fighting spirit of the Soviets.
"Sir, are you sure?"
"Absolutely. They dispatched warships to the desert area just to assert their presence; it won't lead to any trouble. The fact is, they're out of money, and it's unlikely they'll pursue any expansion for a while." William White mused that in a few years, the Soviets could be history.
"If the Soviets choose to compromise, those issues in the desert won't affect the bigger picture. Oil is important, but it's not like they hold a monopoly on it."
"The news is solid; they're already packing their bags. Unless something major happens, they'll be relocating in the first half of the year."
"Sir, that's fantastic news! Just now, another oil tanker was attacked."
"Ugh, those maniacs. Filson, you better watch out. They've probably picked up on the Soviets' attitude. If there's going to be another big conflict, I believe it will be soon."
"Don't worry, sir. Though they're all regional wars, the Afghan conflict holds far more sway than those skirmishes in the desert, especially since one side can stand up to us."
"Ha! Economic growth thrives on global peace, but arms manufacturers need chaos. Maintaining this balance of tense peace is indeed a puzzle." William White shook his head with a bitter grin; the U.S. kept meddling, and in the end, it always blew back on them.
Recently, U.S.-Soviet relations had been strange. It was as if they were no longer two sides of the Cold War but rather had developed a sort of mutual understanding. William White surmised that the Soviets were struggling and worried about what the U.S. might do next.
Well, they had no idea that all of this was by design -- the U.S. needed to ensure that the dying giant wouldn't lash out in its final days while maintaining a certain level of goodwill. As for Afghanistan, that was merely a side note or a stepping stone for both parties.
Invading another country was undeniably wrong, but the guys were just lost without GPS during a stroll. Now, they decided to go home -- wasn't that enough to satisfy everyone?
As for reparations, those were out of the question. Once Afghanistan was strong enough to stand up to them, then reparations would be considered.
Of course, the U.S. didn't think they owed anything. Their support for Afghanistan was purely because their opponent was Soviet Union. The fate of the Afghan people was not part of their considerations.
What the Soviets left behind was a country full of gaping wounds -- military fortresses and minefields everywhere.
Well, perhaps it wasn't suitable for human existence, but it provided a perfect playground for Rambo. Here, he could build the ideal country of his dreams.
Before the shock of 9/11, Afghanistan was a forgotten corner of the world. Nobody cared, and nobody paid attention.
This might have been one of Rambo's deepest frustrations. The U.S. had clearly abandoned them, forgetting their past promises.
Well, the world was a dangerous place, thanks to these big guys who'd left behind such pits. William White wasn't a bleeding heart; he was powerless to change any of it. All he could do was find ways to feel a little safer himself.
"Darling, could you be more serious? You're so absent-minded, people are working hard here and getting their lips chapped, do you understand?"
Faced with Nastassja's complaints, William White covered his face and almost cried. Okay, he had indeed zoned out earlier, but he felt the need to forcibly explain himself.
*****
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