Life or mont, thousands of lives, no force at all. June had ended, and now there remained a different force—one that was fitting and precise—that pushed Matrix to 500 million in its first month, and it kept growing. The declining drop everyone had expected began to curve upward toward the sky: the fourth week matched the second, and the fifth week felt like a new premiere, driving the total to 650 million. It was completely disproportionate, because people were beginning to understand just how good the film was. Everyone was talking about it, and the wealth kept growing along with the conversation.
-—I firmly believe we’ll reach 700 million.— replied Jim Gianopulos, savoring the success that had arrived. And although everything revolved around Billy, he felt proud of the company’s na, because its projects were life itself, and the life that remained took a lived, hurried step forward, full of grace.
-—Then I think these two films will be my selections.— Jim comnted, wanting to be part of the production, to be soone with a vote—and only success granted that kind of vote.
-—I’ll send the scripts so Anne can review them.— replied Anna Washington, who was the key contact. She was now in charge of acquiring films across the independent cinema world, buying the rights to air them on Lux Animation’s adult channel, while cataloging each title. Those films beca part of an independent film library that brought life and wonder to the screen.
-—Of course, she’ll want to see them.— Jim replied. The films were crude codies, but he seed to sense a niche that would endure, and that sparked an idea in him. Horror films, he believed, needed a specific approach—one he was beginning to see in an independent production company he would need to hire, in order to carry out niche-focused studies.
Jim believed films were a matter of specialization. Studios wanted to package sothing and make it work, but first they had to know how to do it properly, and that ca through specialization—where soone dedicated themselves to a single the and fully developed it. If Lux Films had those studios, scripts would be assigned based on genre. He believed there should be at least four studios: one for horror/suspense, one for cody, one for drama/romance, and one for blockbusters.
Each of them would then focus on expanding its genre and working collaboratively, giving every project greater efficiency. His vision was based on the idea that it wasn’t as difficult as people expected, because decisions concerning art always escaped logic. Sothing that could be considered good was not necessarily good at all.
-—Billy’s proposal has already arrived. We have five projects lined up for this year, with one currently nearing completion.— replied Jim Gianopulos, who felt slightly anxious about ti and space.
-—I think Billy will arrive sooner rather than later with new projects and leave us speechless.— replied Anna Washington, who knew this for certain because of his proactive approach to sales.
-—He always does.— said Jim Gianopulos.
-—I think he’s planning sothing—maybe a sales session, or perhaps in the coming months. The next Matrix will enter our lives.— Anna replied. —Especially knowing that The Lord of the Rings is already on its way, and the children’s saga is extensive and always arrives in its own form.
Visions. Places are independent.
***
They were missing just a little more.
-—I think my head hurts from listening to the film in so many languages, and now I’m afraid I have little or nothing left.— Billy replied, resting his head on Monica’s legs. Ti felt different now, and the change in schedule weighed on him, so he slept against her thighs while feeling her fingers gently stroke his head. It was the shape and beauty of rest—the kind he needed, the way she managed to calm him.
-—Sleep a little longer.— Monica whispered, watching him drift off with just a closing of the eyes, nothing excessive, fervent, or indifferent. She glanced sideways at Anne—Carrie Moss—who sat in a detached, almost distant posture, dozing in her seat. Twenty-seven locations in twenty-six days, and counting: they had been traveling nonstop, one hour to two, then three, without pause. Rest was none of that—neither simple nor ordinary.
She watched the woman; her calm aura gave Monica a bad feeling, yet sohow it was all minimal, unfinished. A journey into the past, or a timid way of moving from the simple to the corrupt.
Her body relaxed, the rhythm slowed—nothing felt independent, and everything seed suspended in a void of unknowing. She took what little remained and guided it into calm. She wore a loose shirt.
Quiet breathing, everything dimd.
…
Billy answered a few interviews.
-—I’m sorry my Italian isn’t as good as we hoped.— Billy comnted. From the very beginning, his way of being allowed him to hit the mark, to respond sharply to every jolt and every question, striking each point with precision.
-—Do you think you can achieve that in a short ti?— the interviewer asked.
-—Well, science fiction is sothing that takes ti. What’s great is stored within us, and then people grow or change, form ideas from it, and create better films that truly give life to cinema.— Billy replied, knowing that concepts were not things achieved easily. It was ti that made room for good projects, or carried them toward other projects that were special.
-—So what should we think about the new films? Will they be based on our beloved Italy, now that you’re getting a handle on the language?— the interviewer asked, softening the line of questioning.
-—We’ll have them.—
-—As many as we want, as many as we must.— the interviewer replied.
Billy observed from deep within, without revealing himself there in the litany, Monica passing by, forgetting everything else in her mind. She raised her thumbs in support of his career. She had spent two years listening to Italian daily, and another six months studying through calls—calls that were nothing more than a simple gesture of rembrance.
User Comments
0 comments from readers