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Leon took a massive bite of his burger, getting a mouthful of patty and cheese.
He chewed deliberately and forcefully. "The most successful species on earth is the chicken. Their population has reached 20 billion... Similarly, the numbers of pigs, cows, and sheep are also impressive. Do you know why?"
Anya's expression was extremely awkward. Even if she knew the correct answer, she found it hard to say out loud.
Leon lowered his voice, articulating every word: "Because humans need them."
"Imagine if one day humans no longer needed them. The populations of these species would suffer a devastating blow. More than ninety percent of individuals would vanish. It would be crueler than World War II..."
"You are a kind girl; surely you don't want to be that executioner."
"Therefore, humans must eat them with deep love!"
Sophistry that lacks loopholes might as well be the truth. Anya was completely bluffing by this logic, staring at the Double Big Mac at her hand, lost in thought.
Eat it because I love it...
A fierce battle raged between Anya's left and right brain hemispheres before she finally abandoned the idea of becoming a vegetarian.
She grabbed the burger and took a bite, cheese sticking to the corner of her mouth in a not-so-ladylike fashion.
"Good girl..." Leon revealed a gratified smile. Thinking you can get brainwashed by the liberal media right under Street Jesus's nose? Don't even think about it!
Successful operators are all great mentors; this was certainly true in his case.
---
Half an hour later, the The Witch crew arrived at the Warner Bros. headquarters in Burbank.
A movie poster was spread out on Jeff's luxurious desk, dominated by black and white tones.
In the image, a long-haired woman stood in a pitch-black, twisted forest.
She was covered in shadows from head to toe, identified as a woman only by her body curves and hairstyle. The graceful curves suggested she wasn't wearing any clothes.
Leon stared at the poster again and again, suddenly realizing something. He turned his head and glanced at Anya. "Is the model on the poster Anya?"
"Yes!" Robert clearly didn't read the room and jumped out to claim credit. "How about it? Is the atmosphere of the poster amazing? Miss Anya looks like a true jungle banshee!"
The thing Leon was most concerned about was whether Anya was wearing clothes when shooting this set of shots. But in front of such professional film people, asking this was obviously not very decent.
Film is art, and nudity is a sacrifice for art.
Many great beauties like Jennifer Connelly and Kate Winslet have dedicated their bodies to the big screen for the sake of art.
So Leon changed his phrasing, probing obscurely, "I remember there weren't any heavy R-rated scenes in the script..."
"What?" Robert was stunned for a dozen seconds. Only after seeing the look in Leon's eyes did he react, whispering in his ear, "When shooting these photos, Miss Anya was wearing clothes... just not much."
Hearing him say this, Leon felt relieved.
Not much meant she at least wore underwear and a bra.
"Want something? Coffee?" Jeff had no eyes for anyone else and greeted Leon, "Or maybe you want some whiskey?"
"Black tea for Miss Anya and me, please."
"No problem." Jeff pressed a button on the desk to call the secretary. A moment later, two cups of steaming Ceylon black tea were brought in.
At Leon's signal, Robert took the crew members to the conference room to wait.
Only Jeff and Leon remained in the president's office.
"You bought radio station Z100? 50 million dollars... truly a magnificent move." Jeff drank his coffee, pretending to ask casually.
Leon explained, "So I don't have any money now. If Ready Player One flops at the box office, I might go bankrupt."
"You guy..." Jeff pursed his lips. "Losing a hundred million dollars won't make you bankrupt, right? Now everyone knows what assets you own. I finally understand where you got the confidence to have ideas about those superhero IPs."
Damn Los Angeles Times... Leon gritted his back teeth and muttered in his heart.
The report a few days ago had turned his asset allocation inside out; it was even more precise than the IRS data.
Seeing that Leon didn't seem to want to chat about this matter, Jeff changed the subject. "Let's talk about the Oscars. Straight Outta Compton has been shortlisted for two nominations, including Best Picture."
Although the final nominations wouldn't be announced until next week, combining multiple sources of information, being shortlisted was already a certainty.
Jeff continued, "Don't even think about Best Picture. Based on my industry experience, there is zero chance—lower than the probability of winning the Powerball. But Best Original Screenplay is a direction we can strive for. I'm already using resources to work on this."
Straight Outta Compton was released last June. At that time, Jeff wasn't a shareholder of SLW Apocalypse, so the $200 million box office had nothing to do with him.
The trophy belonged to Lionsgate and SLW Apocalypse.
But holding an Oscar now had tangible benefits for Jeff.
An independent studio established just a year ago receiving Oscar honors would see its industry status skyrocket. It was a milestone for the company's future development.
"Thank you for your effort." Leon weighed his words and said, "Don't forget The Artist is also shortlisted for Original Screenplay. Although it's a minor award, I feel Weinstein will use every means to fight for it. That guy's desire for awards is pathological."
The difficulty of getting the Best Original Screenplay award was not low at all.
Besides The Artist invested by Weinstein, the art film master Woody Allen, who had taken almost all heavyweight awards, was also a strong competitor.
"You're right; the buzz for Midnight in Paris to win is also very loud." Jeff revealed a sinister smile. "But Woody Allen's hands aren't any cleaner than Weinstein's. Everyone knows about his zipper problems. That guy simply challenged the moral bottom line of humanity."
The New York Times report exposing Weinstein's sexual scandals also mentioned Woody Allen but did not directly accuse him of participating in sexual assault activities.
If that report was a bit speculative, his marriage to Soon-Yi Previn, a Korean girl thirty-five years his junior in 1997, was an indisputable fact.
The latter was Woody's adopted daughter, taken from an orphanage and raised by him since she was eight.
This distorted marriage caused a huge sensation back then.
Whether their union was out of true love or a reality reenactment of a "twisted father-daughter complex," it involved complex moral issues.
Jeff continued, "Woody has another adopted daughter, Dylan Farrow. She has refused to discuss any topics related to her adoptive father many times. The media guesses there must be some story there..."
Speaking of this, the two looked at each other, revealing a sinister smile simultaneously.
Smart people never need to speak too clearly.
Jeff's strategy was simple: after the nomination list is announced, use the media to drag out Weinstein and Woody Allen's scandals and dig up old scores.
Doing so wouldn't cause them substantial harm, but it could appropriately distract their energy.
The Oscars have always had the responsibility of promoting universal American values, so the Academy has to consider the director's moral factors slightly when judging awards.
"I'll have someone contact Dylan Farrow and ask if she's willing to chat about interesting childhood stories with her adoptive father on a podcast," Leon said.
"Don't go too far... Woody Allen is a quiet and introverted person; we don't need to knock him down to hell..." Jeff secretly cursed Leon's viciousness in his heart.
Having struggled in the entertainment industry for many years, he profoundly understood the truth that human connections are invisible gold mines.
Although industry elites fight inextricably over box office and awards, they still chat enthusiastically in various social situations in private.
Doing things absolutely is no good for anyone; in this circle, no one is squeaky clean.
"I know the limits," Leon said perfunctorily with a grin.
---
When the two arrived at the conference room, Robert was already engaged in a heated discussion with the Warner Bros. distribution executive regarding editing issues.
"120 minutes is my bottom line. Shortening the duration any further will make it difficult for the audience to understand this story!" Robert shouted, which was rare for him.
"You don't understand the market at all," the distribution executive mocked. "Final Destination and Identity are both ninety minutes long. This is a guideline summarized through market testing."
The two sides were deadlocked on the issue of the final film length, each with their own reasoning.
The narrative method of The Witch leaned towards stream of consciousness, which already filtered out a large part of gore fans who didn't like to use their brains. If a large part of the length was cut again, the audience would inevitably complain about not understanding the plot.
The Warner distribution executive considered it completely from a market perspective. A low-budget horror film with a duration of 120 minutes made theater chains get a headache just hearing about it. This would cause a significant reduction in the number of screening theaters and screening schedules.
Between his own people and the market, Leon chose to respect the market. "I think 90 minutes is a reasonable length."
As soon as he spoke, the discussion terminated immediately. Robert hung his head; even if he had emotions in his heart, he dared not explode.
Leon comforted this film eccentric like coaxing a child. "Relying on lengthy content to explain the story clearly is something a mediocrity can do, but you are a genius, Robert. Think carefully about how to tell this wonderful story well within 90 minutes."
Played by the boss's manipulation, Robert's emotions were immediately soothed.
The subsequent meeting went much smoother. Warner Bros. only focused on factors that might affect the box office and didn't care about editing techniques at all.
"I decided to use a large number of partial cuts, using editing to present close-ups of each character facing panic, creating tension between audience cognition and the screen!"
"When dealing with long takes, implant low-frequency humming sound effects in the background to synergistically amplify uneasiness through hearing and vision..."
The monotonous editing processing made everyone in the conference room drowsy, except for Robert, who got more excited as he spoke and couldn't stop at all.
---
Before leaving Los Angeles, Leon stopped by to see Kendrick Lamar.
Like all black rappers who suddenly became famous, Kendrick also suffered from the "hood rich syndrome" of excessive consumption.
When seeing seven or eight gold chains of various styles hanging around his neck, Leon was almost blinded.
"Doesn't your neck hurt, man?"
"Bro, what are you talking about? Do you think an emperor would complain that the crown on his head is heavy? They call me the Young Emperor of the West Coast now!" Kendrick hurriedly greeted Leon into the house.
Compared to this luxury apartment in North Hollywood, the big gold chains were just an appetizer.
Kendrick spent $3 million to buy this place. Not Like Us had just exploded not long ago, and he hadn't made big money yet, so he was burdened with heavy loans.
There were three tall and voluptuous bikini girls in the room. As soon as they saw the guest, they turned their backs and shook their butts enthusiastically.
Slap, slap, slap—Kendrick treated them equally, slapping each of the three girls' taillights once.
With a proud face, he said, "This group of girls are my housekeepers. Girls, look who's here? The great King of Brooklyn, Leon Smith!"
"Housekeepers?"
Leon was full of doubt. At first, he thought they were just a group of call girls.
But seeing the serious look of the girls doing housework while shaking their butts, his doubts were dispelled.
"I plan to cultivate them well. I heard Japanese women kneel at the door to welcome their husbands when they come home..." Kendrick laughed with bared teeth, deciding to walk the path of revenge consumption until it was dark.
Leon didn't intend to correct the other party's financial management concept. He came to see Kendrick specifically with a purpose.
He sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, squeezed by the flesh of two bikini girls on his left and right.
He didn't need to do anything; with just a look, the girls would considerately pick up fruit and stuff it into his mouth.
"Congratulations, K. Your influence now is no less than Drake's."
"No less than Drake? Bro, that guy has clearly been stepped under my feet!" Kendrick said. "Can you still see that bastard recently? He is trembling even showing his face in public! Everyone knows he is K.Dot's toy now! Ahahaha~"
The heat of Not Like Us was still rising. According to the current situation, Kendrick was extremely likely to win a Grammy next year with this song.
The difficulty of rap songs winning a Grammy is significantly higher than other music genres. Taking the cup would prove that he is an undisputed rap superstar.
Kendrick seemed to realize he was too arrogant just now, and his laughter stopped abruptly.
Lowering his head, he said with a face full of humility, "This is all thanks to you, Bro... You are like the Pope. Without your coronation, I couldn't possibly achieve such success."
Leon held back his laughter. The scene of the original creator being grateful to the usurper was amusing.
It was like a wife getting pregnant by someone else, and the incompetent husband thanking the neighbor John for sowing the seed.
Leon's ears were almost callused from hearing polite cliches like flattery and gratitude. He waved his hand and said, "I need you to do me a small favor. Your current heat is unmatched in the rap circle."
"Bro! Whatever you want me to do!" Kendrick straightened his back and patted his chest. "I'm willing to do anything for you!"
"This is why I appreciate you so much, K." Leon patted the bikini girl's butt, and she immediately walked away sensibly. "Cardi B's new album is in production. I value this album very much."
"What do you want me to do? Tweet a few times for Cardi to promote her album?"
"No, I want you to collaborate with Cardi to write two songs. This will be very good for the heat of her new album."
"No problem!" Kendrick agreed in a second. Even giving up the songwriting copyright was nothing to him.
The value of a hundred mediocre works couldn't compare to one Not Like Us.
The corners of Leon's mouth rose as he said, "This is also good for you. Cardi B's new album has great potential. You will fall in love with that MV full of butts on the screen..."
The two chatted for more than half an hour, mainly revolving around this year's Grammy Awards, and incidentally discussed the future of rap music.
Trap style had dominated the rap market for ten years. Fans' aesthetics were gradually fatigued, and there had been an obvious downward trend in recent years.
A style leaning towards electronic music was rising rapidly. "New Wave" was spreading to the mainstream through streaming channels.
Before parting, Kendrick leaned into Leon's ear and reminded him in a suppressed voice, "Be careful, Bro. Duane Davis didn't flee abroad. My brother saw him in Inglewood a few days ago. I'm worried that ngga will do something to you."