Although Warner Bros. had promoted The Voice as an "Oscar contender," anyone who's ever bought sothing because of advertising knows that what's sold and what's delivered rarely match.
So—before The Voice actually premiered, even Warner themselves weren't sure whether it could compete for the Oscars.
But after it was released, they decided—yes, it could.
Uh-huh…
It's not that Warner had so kind of brain glitch; their reasoning was sound enough.
The awkward part is that their logic ran counter to mainstream Hollywood thinking—it was, as people say, "cult-like."
In modern Hollywood, comrcial films and Oscar films are sharply divided. The simplest distinction: the forr aim for wide theatrical release, while the latter walk the narrow path of limited release.
Why make that distinction?
Simple—Hollywood produces too many films every year. No Academy voter could possibly watch them all. So, any film hoping to compete for awards has to announce its intent early: We're aiming for the Oscars, please take a look at us.
But since the world produces way too much information every day, even a press release saying "We're going for the Oscars" could go completely unnoticed. So, over ti, the industry developed an unspoken rule—
"Abandon the audience."
Once a movie chooses a wide release, it's obviously chasing box office returns, which ans the production was likely more comrcially oriented—so, not exactly "art."
But when a film dares to abandon the mainstream market, even if it's not particularly good, it at least shows the filmmakers had artistic ambition. Those are the ones worth the judges' ti.
Cough—honestly, this mindset is pretty stupid.
But when everyone follows it, going against the current makes you the odd one out.
So, theoretically, once The Voice went for a wide release, it was out of Oscar contention.
But there are always exceptions, right?
For example, when a movie becos so big that everyone knows it, the Oscar "rules" no longer apply.
Like Jaws—
When Spielberg revolutionized horror films by turning a B-movie concept into a blockbuster spectacle, it naturally earned an Oscar nomination for Best Picture—even as an R-rated film.
Or Star Wars—
When George Lucas pushed the boundaries of special effects to a new era, if the Academy hadn't nominated it for Best Picture or Best Director, they might as well have shut down. If works that redefine the industry don't make the Oscars, what's the point?
Sure, The Voice didn't reach those heights. But when countless Potterheads are willing to throw money at Isabella's na, the Oscars could gain a massive boost in ratings by embracing it.
And ratings matter—because, at its core, the Oscars are a comrcial event. Broadcast fees depend on viewership.
Still, even if Warner thought The Voice was Oscar-worthy—and that the Academy might accept it—the final decision rested with Isabella.
Because Oscar campaigns cost money.
And that was where she drew the line.
"So Warner accepted my proposal—they're willing to cover all the Oscar campaign costs?" Isabella tilted her head toward her mother.
Vivian didn't answer—she simply shook her head.
"Oh, then there's nothing to talk about."
Isabella yawned. She'd woken up too early today—already a bit drowsy.
"I'm not spending my money on the Oscars. Not a single cent."
In Hollywood, Oscar campaigns are just another business deal.
The whole process is practically identical to running for office.
In elections, you spend money to win votes. In Oscar season, there are lobbying firms who connect directly with the Academy's six thousand voters—persuading them to vote for their clients.
And yes, the prices are fixed.
The lobbying "entry fee" for Best Picture? $1.5 million.
Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Actress? $1 million each.
Best Original or Adapted Screenplay? $800,000 minimum.
Other technical categories are cheaper, since physics doesn't bend to PR—two tons can't beat eight tons—but still, the mont you decide to compete, you must pay $200,000 upfront.
Yes—upfront.
Because campaign costs have no upper limit.
If you really want that little gold man, expect to prepare at least $10 million for each of the five major awards, except for screenplay.
Of course, no actor could shoulder that alone. So the industry has two funding models:
Planned Oscar campaigns — those small-scale, art-house releases designed for awards from the start. Since actors and directors earn little on such projects, the production, distribution, or copyright holders cover the costs and reap the rewards. Late-entry Oscar campaigns — like The Voice. When a comrcial film suddenly decides to go for it, the costs are split between the studio and the talent being pushed.
In short: whoever stands to benefit pays.
So, if Isabella wanted to compete for Best Picture, Best Actress, and Best Original Screenplay—even just for nominations—she'd still need to pay Warner half the fees:
(1.5 1.0 0.8) ÷ 2 = $1.65 million,
upfront, plus endless additional expenses later.
Once she learned that, Isabella imdiately told Warner to get lost.
Not just because she knew she wouldn't win—
Even if she did win, she still wouldn't waste millions chasing a trophy!
She got into this business to make money, not to beco so "veteran artist."
Spend tens of millions for a shiny trinket to sit on a shelf?
She'd have to be insane.
When Nathan Bailey had first discussed the campaign with her, she'd made her stance crystal clear:
"If Warner wants to go for the Oscars—fine."
"But if they expect to pay? Forget it. I don't need empty titles."
"The golden statue may be prestigious—but it's mass-produced. They hand them out every year.
Hermione Granger, though… is eternal."
So for the past few days, Nathan hadn't brought it up again.
Isabella had assud Warner dropped the idea—until now.
Nathan was still writing an Oscar campaign plan?
And Warner still refused to pay for it all?
What the hell?
"Mom, are they brain-dead?" Catherine blurted out what everyone was thinking.
Isabella nodded in agreent.
Vivian just smiled. "Oh, mainly because Jude and Chris want to compete for Best Supporting Actor. Nathan's just trying to push for it."
When they first joined The Voice, Jude Law and Christian Bale hadn't expected much.
They thought it was just a fun project among friends—maybe even a favor to Patrick Whitesell at Endeavor, or a way to stay close to Spielberg.
If they'd believed a 12-year-old girl's script could make millions and win Oscars, then they'd have been the crazy ones.
But now that a miracle had happened—
Well, they didn't have a "Hermione Granger."
So yes, they needed the Oscars.
And once they wanted in, Warner naturally wanted to bundle everyone together—because, like bulk shopping, the Oscars are cheaper in groups.
Many of the Academy's 6,000 mbers wear multiple hats.
Take Clint Eastwood—director, actor, composer. He can vote in multiple categories: directing, acting, even best original song and score.
Lobby one of those, and you get several birds with one stone.
But if you're only chasing one category?
Then you're the fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered.
Still, even if Oscars can be "bought in bulk," Isabella couldn't care less.
After all, as a minor, she wasn't even eligible for the award.
So helping Warner run an Oscar campaign would just an sharing their costs.
Using their money to do her work? Great deal.
Using her money to clean up their ss?
She'd have to be a saint.
She wasn't even worth $100 million yet—and they wanted her to subsidize a multibillion-dollar studio?
Yeah, right.
Tch. Isabella wasn't planning to check into Arkham Asylum anyti soon.
As for Chris Columbus and Anthony Hopkins—neither of them paid Warner any attention, either.
Columbus ignored it not because he didn't want an Oscar—he did—but with The Voice's full profit share in one hand and Harry Potter's box office in the other, paying for a campaign would just an getting fleeced.
Hopkins ignored it because—well, he already had an Oscar.
No need to waste money chasing another.
So—
Isabella tilted her head toward her mom.
"Mom."
"Mm?"
"If I gave you two million dollars to buy handbags, would you cuddle to sleep every night?"
"Oh~~"
Vivian burst out laughing. "No, because I'd be cuddling the handbags."
"…"
Isabella rolled her eyes.
"hahahaha~"
Vivian laughed harder, and Catherine joined in. "Mom, wait—Jude and Chris are both going for Best Supporting Actor? How are they competing for the sa award?"
"Oh, that," Vivian said. "Warner claims Jude just wants a nomination—Chris is the one actually aiming to win."
"Because Jude's got Cold Mountain this year—he's eyeing next year's Best Actor."
"This year's nomination is just to get his face in front of the voters."
"As for Chris, he's gunning for Best Supporting Actor because Warner's planning a Batman reboot. He's hoping to be Bruce Wayne. I heard the director they want likes real actors, so… hmm."
Vivian shrugged.
See? Everyone's in it for gain. Even if Jude Law and Christian Bale wanted Oscars, it wasn't about the statue—it was about leverage. Bigger roles, higher paychecks.
As for all that DC talk—
Yeah, Isabella had heard about it, but it was too funny to comnt on.
As for Cold Mountain—she rembered the film, though she couldn't recall if Jude Law actually won.
Not that it mattered.
Showbiz was small—everyone knew everyone. Yet it was huge too, with new gossip every day. Isabella had no ti to obsess over others' business.
"Oh~ you're back?"
As they chatted, the group arrived at Leavesden.
By now, Isabella truly treated the place like a hotel—she only had to ask for what she wanted.
No responsibilities, no chores. Perfect.
As she stepped out of the car, a cheerful voice called from afar.
Looking up—
"Oh~ Margot~ what are you doing out here? Why aren't you inside?"
Vivian smiled. "Did Warner call to say we were on our way back?"
"No," little Robbie shook her head, grinning. "Of course not, Ms. Vivian."
Her hair had grown longer—five months since it had barely reached her ears, now it brushed her shoulders.
A shake, a bounce—light and full of energy.
"I was watching the live stream in my room, and when it ended, I did the math. From central London to Leavesden takes, at best, just under two hours—three if slow. So I ca out every half hour to check."
"And then…"
She tilted her head, smiling. "I caught you right on ti."
"Oh~ why make it so complicated? You could've just called us!" Catherine laughed.
"Keisha~ I didn't want to bother you if you were busy~" Robbie answered sweetly, all sincerity.
"Alright, alright, let's go upstairs. London's freezing today—I need to warm up."
Isabella tilted her chin toward the house, motioning for them all to head inside.
However, before she could finish her sentence, little Robbie, who had also turned around, said, "Sister Isa, five minutes ago I called the restaurant to bring up so afternoon tea, and they told the Anji White just arrived, so I asked them to bring it too."
"Oh? Really? That's so thoughtful of you, Margot~"
Isabella's eyes curved into a smile.
Anji White was a type of mainland Chinese tea, and since no other teas were really popular in Britain, she hadn't had it in ages.
Because she hadn't specifically ntioned it before, Warner hadn't bothered to buy any either. And now…
Who knew what strange coincidence had made this happen.
Her delight made Robbie wiggle a little. "Hehe~~ You're welco~~"
Just like Isabella had said when The Voice wrapped up—since the movie was bound to have a premiere, Margot Robbie, the final boss of the film, was definitely going to receive an invitation.
So, on December 20, Warner brought her over from Australia.
By the 23rd, she was walking the red carpet alongside the main cast.
By industry standards, she was only supposed to stay in Britain for about a week.
It wasn't that Warner couldn't afford her expenses—there just weren't that many interviews or events for her to do.
Sure, Robbie had to help promote the movie, but when the team already had Isabella as the traffic magnet, Hopkins as the veteran heavyweight, Jude Law and Christian Bale as the solid middle guard, and Disney pushing Keira Knightley… the screen ti and publicity opportunities left for Robbie were rather thin.
So once she walked the red carpet and finished a few interviews Warner had arranged, she could go ho.
But life loves its little exceptions, doesn't it?
On her second day in Britain, the girl t up with Isabella and the others. Since she'd co alone—without her grandmother—Vivian curiously asked where her guardian was.
That's when everyone learned that Robbie had co by herself this ti.
It wasn't just because filming and attending events are two different things legally—in both British and Australian law, minors need guardians on set but not at public events.
It was also because it was sumr back in Australia—pri ti for planting pasture. The Robbies owned a ranch with cattle, and every year they had to grow fodder grass. Her family simply didn't have ti to co along.
Only then did everyone realize she'd ant it when she said she wanted independence early.
Circus schools in Australia were mostly boarding schools anyway.
Once she got in, she could make her own friends and live her own life.
No need for her family to fuss over her.
After chatting for a while longer, they also learned that Robbie had officially dropped out after returning ho.
Circus performance is high-risk—if you don't train for a week, you have to rebuild your skills slowly. So when she had to take at least a three-month leave from school, it basically ant saying goodbye to the circus world for good.
And as for studying, like she said she might?
Well, by the ti she finished filming The Voice and returned to Australia, it was already mid-September.
The second school term there was halfway over.
As for art schools—pfft—they didn't have many in Queensland, where her family lived. Most were in lbourne, about 1,400 kiloters away.
So even if her family supported her going to an art school, they'd have to move house for it.
If she'd been the youngest and her siblings had all moved out, maybe that would've worked.
But she was the third child, with a younger brother still at ho, and her mother was already forty-five.
In that situation, moving wasn't really an option.
So after The Voice wrapped up, she just helped with the farm and the cattle.
This ti, though, coming back to Britain, she didn't want to leave again.
Opportunities were rare in Australia.
She never said it outright, but during the premiere and the screening, she kept searching the screen for her shining monts.
She hoped she could beco famous overnight—grab hold of a chance.
Even though she'd acted well, and her scenes were well received, The Voice was still Isabella's movie. With Isabella carrying the "HP buff," no one could outshine her in her own territory.
So when the film exploded at the box office, Robbie didn't get the new offers she'd dread of.
Just as she was quietly accepting that reality—
"Margot?"
"I'm here, Ms. Vivian~"
"Do you have a mont? I think I left my coat in the nanny van…"
"Sure~ I'll go check it right now~"
Vivian's words made Robbie spin around and dash off.
Yeah, Mom was being kind—using "forgetting her coat" as an excuse to keep Robbie around a bit longer.
Maybe soone would approach her later.
If soone did, great.
If not, well, they'd cross that bridge then.
It wasn't even a hassle for her to stay. Australians could stay in the UK visa-free for six months, and Warner had already given her a two-year work visa anyway.
The sight of Robbie hurrying off made Isabella chuckle as she entered the room.
"Mom."
She nudged her mother playfully with her shoulder.
"Mm?"
Vivian answered with a hum through her nose.
"Don't you feel like you've gotten your old life back?"
"What old life?" Vivian blinked, not catching on.
"The rich-lady life," Isabella teased, winking. "You don't have to lift a finger, soone's running errands for you, and oh~ it's just so luxurious~"
"Mrs. Haywood, are you happy?"
"Hmph~"
Vivian finally caught on, smirking.
She didn't love the comparison—she wasn't so Victorian matron like Lady Sherlock. Maybe a bit more like Portia, thank you very much.
But within a second, she couldn't hold it in and pulled both daughters into her arms. "Of course I'm happy—because I've got my two treasures~"
As she spoke, she kissed each of them on the cheek.
She hadn't ant any harm making Robbie run errands; she just didn't want the girl to feel too stiff or formal.
After all, Robbie's calmness and restraint were sothing everyone noticed.
But still, she really did look a bit too much like an old-money lady giving orders.
So…
Hehe~
After a couple of laughs, Isabella headed off to finish work, with her sister tagging along.
Using the call log and the notes her mom and sister had made, she started returning calls one by one—
"Hi~ Joanne~"
"Yeah~ I called as soon as I finished up~"
"Of course~ You're high on my list—number four, actually~"
"Who's ahead of you? My dad, my mom, my sister."
"hahahaha~"
And while Isabella was doing her last bit of work—keeping in touch with all the people who'd reached out with goodwill—
California.
Los Angeles.
Miramax headquarters.
Harvey Weinstein and Bob Weinstein sat facing each other.
"Got the intel?" Bob asked.
"Yeah," Harvey nodded.
The office had great lighting, but the cigar smoke clouding the air made the space dim. Only the red sofa beneath him—enchanted by the presence of countless starlets—still glead faintly.
"Our friends over at Warner just confird that The Voice is very likely going for the Oscars this year."
"So…"
"So we've got one more competitor."
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