(3rd Person POV)
The Autumn Film Festival had always showcased low-budget but emotionally resonant films. This year, however, one particular entry commanded unprecedented attention - Arthur's latest work which diverged significantly from his usual style.
Unlike previous years where major media outlets from Kanata Kingdom barely paid attention to the festival, attending merely out of obligation to the indie film scene, now they swarmed the venue with genuine interest. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation.
Reporters clustered around Arthur and his team, shoving microphones forward eagerly. "You're known for big-budget productions - what made you create a film without fancy VFX this time?" one called out.
"Our sources say this film only cost 105 thousand dollars to make - even less than Demonfather part 1," another reporter pressed. "Can such a low-budget project really match your previous masterpiece?"
Arthur met their skepticism with a calm smile, having expected exactly these questions. "This film represents pure artistic vision," he explained. "I wanted to prove that you don't need expensive VFX studio to create something meaningful. With the right story and proper filming technique, a low-budget film can absolutely stand alongside bigger productions."
He paused briefly before adding, "Like Demonfather, 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' has its own unique charm. But instead of violence and mob drama, this story explores freedom and mental health. It's different, but no less impactful."
Nearby, Vivienne handled her own press crowd with practiced ease. Her status as a major star drew excited shouts from fans gathered at the barriers, their enthusiasm providing a constant backdrop to the media circus.
John lingered at the edge of the commotion, clearly uncomfortable as reporters approached him with visible reluctance. Their questions felt halfhearted, barely masking their lack of interest in the unknown actor. Yet something in his demeanor - a quiet certainty perhaps - suggested their dismissive attitude would soon change.
When a sudden gust of wind momentarily scattered the crowd, Arthur caught John's eye and gave a subtle nod. They both knew that after tonight's screening, these same indifferent reporters would be scrambling to interview the actor who had brought Randle McMurphy to unforgettable life on screen.
---
(Duncan Everleigh POV)
In my years directing the Autumn Film Festival, we've rarely attracted high-profile filmmakers like Arthur Pendragon. Most established directors tend to dismiss indie festivals, preferring the glamour of major events. Yet here was the demon prince himself, participating as a competing filmmaker.
Standing near the entrance, I couldn't help but smile watching Arthur handle the reporters with practiced ease. His presence had transformed our usually modest festival into a media spectacle - though I had to admit, his film earned its place here on merit alone. No matter his reputation, I wouldn't have approved any submission that didn't meet our artistic standards.
As the opening ceremony approached, I made my way to the stage, surveying the packed auditorium. Journalists, critics, filmmakers, writers, and actors filled every seat - a testament to Arthur's drawing power. My chest swelled with pride as I leaned toward the microphone.
"Welcome, everyone, to the 32nd Autumn Film Festival," I began, unable to suppress my enthusiasm. "I say this every year, but this time I truly believe we're witnessing something special. The caliber of films we're presenting, the talent gathered in this room - this year's festival seems destined to stand apart from all previous ones."
After covering the usual festival protocols - our mission to support independent cinema, the week's schedule, and our esteemed jury - I arrived at the moment everyone was waiting for.
"It's my great honor to welcome one of our competing filmmakers - a visionary who needs no introduction, yet whose presence here reminds us that true artistry transcends budget and scale. Please join me in welcoming Arthur Pendragon to share a few words!"
The applause thundered through the auditorium as Arthur approached the stage. Despite my decades running this festival, I had never felt such electric anticipation during an opening ceremony. Perhaps I wasn't exaggerating after all - this year really would be different.
***
(3rd Person POV)
Arthur clasped Duncan's hand firmly. "Thank you for the introduction, Mr. Everleigh," he said, his voice carrying genuine warmth.
Duncan pressed a hand to his chest, smiling broadly. "The honor is mine, truly."
Stepping to the microphone, Arthur addressed the crowd directly. "I'm aware of the rumors circulating - that I bought my way into this festival." His frank acknowledgment drew surprised murmurs. "Let me assure you, the film I'm presenting here will speak for itself. It's unlike anything you've seen before."
He paused, letting his words settle. "Yes, we made this film on a modest budget. But in terms of story and the lessons it carries? This film surpasses many productions with twenty times its cost."
As Arthur continued his speech, subtle tension rippled through the audience.
Several filmmakers shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their expressions darkening. To them, Arthur's presence felt like an intrusion - a mainstream director stealing attention from those who had built their careers in independent cinema.
Among them sat Marian Frost, the elven filmmaker who'd been heralded as the rising star of the indie scene. Her cold eyes never left Arthur, tracking his every gesture with barely concealed disdain.
"Well?" whispered Gideon, another elven filmmaker seated beside her. "Think his low-budget experiment can match his blockbusters?"
Marian's lips curved into a derisive smile. "Who knows? Our exiled demon prince has quite the reputation - making hundreds of millions, even billions from his films." The words dripped with sarcasm.
"Sounds like you're admitting defeat," Gideon probed, watching her reaction carefully.
Marian crossed her arms, her posture rigid with pride. "Me? Give in to him?" She scoffed. "I may not have his fame or fortune, but I have something he'll never understand - the true spirit of independent film." Her eyes hardened with determination. "Mark my words, Gideon. I'm winning this festival."
Gideon's casual shrug belied the tension in his jaw as he looked back at Arthur. Though he kept his feelings hidden, he shared Marian's resentment. Arthur might have revolutionized the industry in mere years, but that didn't mean they'd bow to him like Duncan did.
They watched with barely concealed disgust as the festival director fawned over Arthur. "Nothing but a bootlicker," Gideon muttered, echoing the sentiment shared by many indie filmmakers present.
Duncan returned to the microphone, practically beaming. "Now, let us begin our festival with our opening film - Arthur Pendragon's 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'."
The announcement sparked immediate movement as journalists, critics, and filmmakers filed into the main theater. Their expressions ranged from skepticism to curiosity about this supposedly remarkable low-budget film that Arthur claimed could outshine productions twenty times its cost.
As the audience settled into their seats and the lights dimmed, John stood in the shadows near the entrance, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sheer number of people filing in to watch his starring role left him light-headed. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such a crowd would watch his performance.
"Be calm and confident," Arthur's steady voice cut through his panic. John turned to find his lord director watching him intently. "Have some confidence in your acting skills. I'm certain they'll appreciate your performance."
John swallowed hard, forcing his features into a mask of composure. His lord was right - he needed to believe in himself, in his fellow actors, and in Arthur's vision. This film would prove itself worthy of its place here.
As the projector hummed to life and the first frames flickered across the screen, John took a deep breath. Everything they'd worked for would be judged in the next few hours.
***
(Marian Frost POV)
I watched the projection with rising competitive spirit. Despite my earlier defiance toward Arthur, there was no denying his filmmaking talent. His first film, Demonfather, hadn't just succeeded - it had sparked inspiration in countless filmmakers, myself included.
The film's opening caught me off guard - serene shots of wilderness stretched across the screen, misty forests and open fields filling the frame. The gentle sound of native Empirican flutes drifted through the scene, creating an unexpected sense of tranquility.
An emotional piece then, I noted mentally, studying each frame with critical attention. Success will depend entirely on execution - both from the lead actor and Arthur himself.
Arthur's skills behind the camera weren't in question. Even "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", though heavily steeped in demon culture and lacking real emotional depth, had showcased his technical mastery.
The lead actor, however, remained an unknown quantity.
I studied him sitting in the front row beside Arthur and the other cast members. His nervousness was painfully obvious - this low-budget film clearly marked his first major role. His ordinary appearance suggested he'd need exceptional acting ability to carry the film. Though if Arthur had chosen him, there must be something remarkable beneath the surface.
The trailer suggested he'd play someone unstable, I recalled, waiting for his entrance.
When he finally appeared as Randle, the scene shifted to his transfer from prison to a psychiatric hospital. The asylum struck an unsettling balance - frightening yet deceptively normal in appearance.
Randle's entrance in handcuffs subverted expectations. Rather than playing the unstable patient I'd anticipated, he emerged as something different - a criminal whose loud, bizarre behavior blurred the line between sanity and madness.
Just another crazy among crazies, I mused critically. So far, the film felt surprisingly mundane - especially compared to Arthur's usual dramatic openings. Just an ordinary hospital setting filled with mental patients and this oddball criminal. Yet something about the understated approach nagged at me, suggesting hidden depths I hadn't grasped yet.