[ T/N: the "water army" (水军) refers to paid online commenters or trolls who are hired to influence public opinion]
"Your fans are incredibly loyal. Many have been following you for years. And since you've never made a bad film, they don't just admire your work—they admire you as a person. That kind of devotion alone guarantees you a solid chunk of box office revenue."
Laila blinked, tempted to argue—but in the end, she said nothing. Thinking about it, he did have a point. If there were a director who consistently made movies you loved—one or two every year for ten years—wouldn't you make a point to go see their next film?
Nolan continued, "Even with less mainstream films, you manage to dig out something that resonates with audiences. Honestly, I'd never want to compete with someone like you. Even if the whole world thought your movie was going to fail, I'd stay far away—because no one knows what kind of surprises you've got tucked away in that script."
Laila burst out laughing. "Don't make it sound like I'm lacing my films with poison, okay? I love every single person who comes to see my movies!"
Nolan rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
"I do." Laila's smile faded as she turned her ice-blue gaze out the window, staring at the buildings in the distance. "They probably think my new movie is a joke."
According to the media, the film was slapped together in two weeks, shot in a few months, and scheduled for release the following year. It had all the markers of a textbook bad movie. And to top it off, she'd publicly declared her goal of breaking the all-time box office record. That just sealed the "flop" label even more.
How many terrible films had promised sky-high box office numbers and rave reviews before release, only to crash and burn spectacularly?
"Yeah, if all you knew was what the media reported, you'd think you were making an epic disaster," Nolan said, chuckling. "It was a heat-of-the-moment decision, after all. No one's going to bet on you."
At this point, it had practically become tradition: every time Laila released a film, the media would start by doubting her.
But that was inevitable. With someone like Cooper—a man who could always find something to nitpick—lurking around, the press never lacked reasons to throw shade. Another reason was that Laila's films always had a streak of unconventionality.
Like her first project—a film shot with a $100,000 budget on DV cameras. Who could've possibly taken her seriously? Everyone just assumed it was some rich girl's "artsy" hobby, burning money for fun.
Then came the Eastern kung fu flick, followed by a female revenge thriller—neither of which screamed box office gold. Critics and the media couldn't even pretend to support her—there just weren't any obvious selling points.
And later, it only got worse. Pirate movies had already been declared dead before Pirates of the Caribbean came along. Several pirate-themed films had bombed so hard that the whole industry had basically written them off. So when Laila decided to make one, who in their right mind would have expected her to succeed?
And now? Everyone knew The Avengers was born out of a burst of anger. The script had been written in two weeks, filming completed in a few months, and post-production done in record time…
Who could be optimistic about that?
Forget the media—even people on her team were quietly brainstorming how to cushion the blow if the film flopped. How could they break it to her gently, without crushing her spirit?
"What can I even say?" Laila spread her hands in exasperation. "I said I was going to break Avatar's record, and somehow everyone still believes I made a steaming pile of garbage."
Nolan laughed out loud. He could imagine how frustrated she must feel. If he poured his heart into a film, confident it could set new records, only to be told by everyone that it was a dud—he'd probably lose his temper too.
"You're not doing any PR?"
"Of course I am," Laila replied. But now wasn't the right time. She didn't explain the strategy brewing in her mind—saying it out loud felt a little embarrassing.
She was also a bit worried that if it got out, she enjoyed all the outside criticism—or worse, relied on it for buzz—then maybe no one would be willing to play along anymore.
Nolan nodded. He realized he might've been overthinking. After all, this was Laila Moran—when it came to marketing and promotional strategy, no one did it better.
"Save me a seat at the premiere, yeah? I can't wait to see our studio name beside the top box office record in history."
Laila smiled and raised her glass. "I like that you said 'our studio.' Don't worry—I'll save you two seats. Bring your wife."
Nolan lifted his champagne in response. "Then I'll be counting on it."
After the party, Laila went home and sat down at her computer to browse the latest online chatter.
She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about those two Warner Bros. execs she'd run into—not that their presence at the party was strange, but what they said had rubbed her the wrong way.
Even if it was out of courtesy because of their past collaboration, they didn't need to come up to her and start boasting about Green Lantern. And the most baffling part? They'd scheduled the release before her Avengers film.
From her perspective, that was a clear strategic error. Even if they were super confident in their movie, wouldn't they avoid releasing it ahead of hers for the sake of maximizing box office revenue?
As she'd said before, same-genre films inevitably split the audience. Unless Warner was convinced that her movie was a disaster, they were risking ticket sales for nothing.
But could they believe that? That Laila—a director with zero flops to her name—had suddenly made a film so bad it posed no threat whatsoever? Especially this film—the one she'd sworn would break records?
Digging deeper online, Laila found some particularly curious posts. Well, not that "curious"—just more of the usual "Laila's movie is doomed" kind of talk. But these were… different. They were oddly specific.
Sure, Cooper always had his sharp critiques, but Laila didn't believe he was now coordinating paid trolls. As much as it sounded disrespectful to the elderly, Cooper didn't have the brains or the resources to pull off something like that.
With her years of experience navigating online PR warfare, Laila could spot it immediately:
This was water army work—and not bad ones, either.
They still weren't quite up to the level of her professional troll teams, but they were easily among the best she'd ever seen.
In the past, Cooper's attacks were always direct. He'd personally write scathing reviews or call up some fellow critics to join in the dogpile. His circle included quite a few seasoned reviewers who had their ways of tearing things apart. When they all banded together to bash her, their impact was significant.
But this? This was a coordinated smear campaign. And Laila knew exactly what that meant…