Harvey Weinstein set down the newspaper, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"Not bad, not bad at all. That old fox Roger Ebert has finally gone all in. His influence in the critic circles and the Academy is still quite formidable."
With that, he stepped out of his office and headed next door to his brother's office. Without bothering to knock, he pushed the door open and walked in.
Bob Weinstein sat behind his desk, scrolling through something on his computer, a serious expression on his face.
"Hey, Bob, Roger Ebert is finally making his move. Get in touch with him now and transfer the remaining payment. That old man is still worth keeping close."
Before Harvey could finish his sentence, Bob turned to him with a grave look and said, "Harvey, I think you should take a look at this. The online reactions are completely different from what's in the papers."
Harvey frowned and moved closer to the screen.
"I used to trust film critics, but now, I only trust myself. Oh, and I trust Martin too—he's never made a bad movie."
"What criteria are these critics even using to judge a film's success? I completely fail to understand their logic. But one thing's for sure—I absolutely recognize The Matrix as a great film."
"Are they seriously judging a pure entertainment film with the same standards as an arthouse movie? That's laughable. Honestly, I think these critics are just pretending to be different for the sake of it."
"Hah! These critics always act like they're the ultimate authority, like their word is law. But now? I trust my own eyes more than their outdated opinions!"
In an era when information was scarce, film critics were the gold standard for judging a movie. People needed their reviews to decide what to watch.
Back then, their words were authority.
But as media evolved—especially with the rise of the internet—the landscape had changed.
Now, in the face of overwhelming audience enthusiasm, these critics had no way of shaking The Matrix's standing among its supporters.
Their opposition only made them look like clowns.
If we're talking about influence and credibility, Martin was already leagues ahead of them.
To young audiences and women—demographics that dictated the market—Martin was far more trustworthy and inspiring than these out-of-touch, traditional critics.
So, Roger Ebert's efforts were ultimately in vain. If anything, his actions only exposed the weakness of film critics to Hollywood's major studios.
Even Harvey Weinstein could see it now.
"Holy shit..."
After reading through more online comments, he sucked in a sharp breath before turning to Bob. "How's The Matrix performing today?"
Bob didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the mouse, clicked twice, and pulled up a news website.
At the top of the page was a photo of a massive queue outside a movie theater.
The people in line were either wearing black trench coats, sporting dark sunglasses, or—more ridiculously—dressed in tight black leather bodysuits.
Harvey grimaced. It's scorching hot outside... Aren't they suffering?
"Damn it," Harvey cursed. "We really need to reevaluate the role of film critics."
Bob asked, "So, should we still send Roger Ebert his money?"
"Send my ass. Let that old bastard go to hell!"
The critics' backlash ultimately failed.
This spring belonged to The Matrix. It obliterated every competitor in its path, standing unchallenged.
By Sunday, after just three days of screenings (excluding the premiere), the film's momentum continued to build, filling theaters to capacity.
In its marketing strategy, the internet became The Matrix's primary battleground.
Discussion threads flooded online forums.
In an era before astroturfing and bot-driven reviews, Martin had pioneered digital marketing—and the results were nothing short of spectacular.
Meyers Pictures had assembled an online PR and fan engagement team during The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, honing their skills.
Now, with The Matrix, they launched their full offensive—dominating the internet discourse.
They controlled discussions on major websites and forums.
They ensured The Matrix's IMDb rating never dropped below 9.5.
This kind of control was crucial in the early stages of a film's release.
As the opening week concluded, the box office numbers rolled in.
In just three days (excluding the premiere), The Matrix had raked in $93.24 million—just shy of the $100 million milestone.
But what thrilled Martin even more was the merchandise sales.
From trench coats to sunglasses, everything was selling out.
Without a doubt, The Matrix was the undisputed box office champion of the week.
And coming in second place?
Another film written by Martin—the animated blockbuster Kung Fu Panda.
That's right.
In a strategic decision made between Michael Eisner and Martin, Kung Fu Panda had been released before Spider-Man.
The spring season might not be as profitable as summer, but it also had fewer major competitors.
With both films bearing Martin's name, they bulldozed their way through audiences' wallets.
Merchandise sales for Kung Fu Panda were phenomenal, too—though Martin saw only a small cut, as Disney took the lion's share.
Meanwhile, in Chicago.
Inside a luxury home—
CRASH! BANG! SMASH!
Roger Ebert was wrecking his study.
After his furious outburst, he slumped into a chair, defeated.
Worse still, he had angered Martin.
And Martin's terrifying industry connections had already made themselves known.
Disney.
Warner Bros.
DreamWorks.
One by one, they canceled his invitations to upcoming film premieres.
None of them explicitly mentioned Martin.
But Roger Ebert knew.
This was Martin's doing.
That 15-year-old boy was far from an innocent child.
Climbing to his current position at such a young age?
If he wasn't ruthless, it would be unnatural.
Martin had, indeed, made a few phone calls.
To him, this was a trivial matter—barely worth his time.
Yet it effectively ended the career of a so-called "authority" in film criticism.
But of course, he had to retaliate.
In America—a country ruled by interests and power—if someone attacks you, you must strike back immediately.
Otherwise, you'll be seen as weak.
And once people perceive you as weak, the wolves will come for you.
In Asia, people say, A gentleman's revenge takes ten years.
But in America?
Hah.
Wait ten years? By then, you'll be nothing but bones in the ground.
Here, a gentleman's revenge must be swift.
From dawn till dusk.