[Chapter 200: Chills]
Everyone seed to let out a sigh of relief. There was so concern that Eric might stubbornly pursue the Best Screenplay Award. After all, Eric had achieved a level of box office success that most people only dread of in their lifetis. This accomplishnt likely intensified his desire for personal accolades in film. Winning the Silver Lion would belong to the entire team, but taking ho the Best Screenplay would be entirely Eric's own.
"Eric, it's really no big deal. I think the Oscars are where you truly belong," Bill Garrett said, seemingly trying to comfort Eric. Jonathan Dem nodded in agreent.
Eric shrugged noncommittally. "Thanks, Bill. I just wish those stubborn old n over at the Academy felt the sa way."
They all laughed, sharing a bit more conversation before parting ways. Eric returned to his room with the materials on John Landis, consciously avoiding any appearance issues -- Virginia hadn't followed him, and Allen was staying in another suite downstairs.
...
The night in Venice still had a few hours to unfold, while it was still morning on the East Coast of the U.S. Despite spending over ten hours on a plane, Eric didn't feel tired at all, thanks to his long-established biological clock.
He stayed in his room reading up on John Landis until seven in the evening, when he finally changed clothes and headed out alone. The agreed-upon location was at a restaurant near the boutique hotel. Eric didn't need any guidance; he wasn't accompanied by a date either. Virginia was the leading lady, so having dinner with a judge wouldn't look good if soone saw them together. In this setting, Eric had less of a worry about being recognized; not too many people would know him here.
John Landis, in his early forties, wore black-frad glasses, had a prominent nose, and a full beard he looked every bit the quintessential Jewish filmmaker.
Another Jewish character!
Eric mused internally. The materials indicated that John Landis was good friends with Steven Spielberg. Both had cao roles in each other's films over the years. Interestingly, Landis nearly rose to fa around the sa ti as Spielberg; while Spielberg set the industry on fire in 1975, Landis directed a film that grossed over a hundred million just three years later. They both found success at the age of 28.
However, Eric noted that by the 1990s, Landis's directing career began to fade, which might explain Eric's lack of familiarity with him in his past life.
...
In the restaurant, after John had ordered, he eagerly watched as Eric chatted with a blonde waitress who happened to speak English. Once the girl left with the nu, John spoke up. "Eric, you're quite familiar with Italian cuisine, I see."
Eric smiled and explained, "My dad used to be an Italian chef."
"Oh," John nodded, his expression indicating he knew about Eric's father's passing without needing to discuss it further.
As they waited for their food, Eric and John struck up a conversation, the focus shifting to films.
"What surprises isn't your changing style but the fact that several of your distinctly different movies have all been box office hits. That's what's truly puzzling. I an, I've attempted various styles, but the few that did well were all satire. Even Steven has been trying to break new ground for years, but his biggest successes remain within sci-fi and alike."
Eric replied, "That doesn't an much, John. I might just be lucky. I've only directed a handful of films, and when I've done a few more, I'll inevitably hit so failures. Only then will I truly understand what I excel at."
Listening to Eric, John pondered for a mont before shaking his head. "No, it's different. You feel very different to , Eric. Can you share where you learned to make films? I'd love to know, really. With your age, even making a straightforward film isn't easy. It took years of experience before I could direct my first movie."
Eric couldn't ntion his past life and settled for, "Honestly, it's just been luck. I wrote a script, and fortunate for , I found a fantastic team. I'd just express the effects I wanted, and they'd make it happen for . Without them, I probably wouldn't even have anything to show for it."
John accepted Eric's explanation without skepticism. Indeed, Eric's personal experiences could easily be attributed to good luck.
"I've watched that kid -- what's his na again? Stuart Ronkel. He's really sothing. If I had the chance... never mind, let's skip that."
Eric recognized why John brought that up. Seven years ago, John had been involved in an incident during film production that resulted in the deaths of several actors, including two underage perforrs. If not for the minors, it would have simply been a tragic accident on set, as such things happened frequently in Hollywood. But because of those two kids, John was dragged through legal battles for six years, finally erging from lawsuits just last year. It was understandable why John was cautious about young actors.
"John, don't dwell on it too much. That's all in the past, right? I an, it was just a heartbreaking accident."
Taking a sip of red wine, John solemnly added, "But they insisted on charging with involuntary manslaughter. It felt just a bit much. I was only the producer; I wasn't even present when the accident happened. I apologized publicly and made ample ands, but so people clung to that incident. It took six years to wriggle free. There were tis I felt so overwheld I wanted to escape like Roman Polanski, just disappear abroad. I didn't want to go to jail."
Eric recalled the ntion in the materials and sensed an undercurrent of sothing more in John's tone.
Whether or not Polanski was frad, he certainly had it coming for being caught in the act of assaulting a minor.
But John's situation felt tainted with more intrigue and conspiracy -- perhaps soone wanted to take him down, clearing out a competitor to protect box office shares. After all, while John might not have had Spielberg's fa, he had two films gross over a hundred million and several others that were also quite successful.
With that thought, Eric involuntarily felt a chill. John was a Jewish man in Hollywood with a whole community that would back him up; if soone could pull strings to ensnare him in a six-year lawsuit, imagine what they could do to him. He was quite alone in Hollywood. If anyone tried to take him down, it would spell disaster.
Shaking the worries from his mind, Eric reminded himself this wasn't the ti for paranoia. He smiled at John. "Let it go, John. It's all behind you, isn't it? Look, your success last year was the most direct coback, really."
John smiled at the ntion of his recent triumph. "Indeed, once it hit theaters, that whole affair ca to a close. But if it hadn't succeeded... who knows how long I would have been mired in it?"
As their conversation shifted, John grew warr towards Eric. "Eric, I've watched your film several tis -- both the suspense and the twists at the end had applauding. In May, Cannes just awarded the youngest Best Director. I believe the Venice Film Festival won't hold back either."
Hearing John's comnts, Eric understood he might be leaning toward advocating for him
for the Best Screenplay award. He quickly shook his head. "John, I'm only nineteen. I haven't thought much about honors, honestly. If I receive recognition too soon, it might diminish my drive for the future, don't you think?"
John paused, then realization dawned on him, and he chuckled. "I see."
Eric smiled back, raising his glass towards John in a gesture of thanks. John raised his own
glass in reply, softly saying, "Don't worry, I'll do my best."
Eric remained silent, finishing his wine in one go.
As he set down his glass and was about to delve back into conversation with John, he suddenly heard a sowhat familiar female voice not far behind him, cutting through the restaurant ambiance with a few snippets of conversation.
"Ha, that fat guy was hilarious, saying I look like... haha, and claiming he's a director... but
you... that's savage."
Raising an eyebrow, Eric glanced in the direction of the voice. The sight of a girl with a head full of curly brown hair appeared in his view, and a smile crept onto his face. He couldn't believe Julia had shown up in Venice! The woman sitting across from her, obscured from view, had to be Elisabeth Murdoch, the younger daughter of the Murdoch family. "What's this? Running into familiar faces?" John followed Eric's gaze but didn't recognize Elisabeth. If he saw her face-to-face, he might recall Julia, but from just a profile, he couldn't
place it.
Eric nodded. "Two acquaintances, though they might prefer I don't say hello. I'll leave them
be."
John glanced at the two girls in the distance and chuckled ambiguously. "You've got to make the move when pursuing won. Sitting here passively won't bring any cuties to your
doorstep."
*****
spatreon/Sayonara816.
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