Chapter 14: Doors and Windows.
To make filming easier, the crew had rented two rows of independent apartments on two parallel old streets. The buildings served as both shooting locations and housing for the crew. It had to be said that Miramax's shaky financial situation had turned them into world-class penny-pinchers.
"Harvey only gave us twenty million dollars, and the money still hasn't fully arrived yet. After paying the crew, there's almost nothing left for actual shooting. I feel like I have to split every penny in half just to make it work!"
In the dining room of the apartment where the main creative team was staying, dinner was underway. Since the budget wasn't a secret, David Fincher sat at the table openly complaining about the tight finances.
"Twenty million dollars really is a bit low."
Ryan nodded in agreement. He vaguely remembered that in his previous life the film's budget had been much higher. Of course, a dollar in 1989 was worth a lot more than a dollar ten years later.
"Even so, Harvey told me we should try to save on publicity costs too. God! He might as well just sell me off."
David Fincher clearly had a headache over the money. There was nothing anyone else could do to help, so the others could only respond with sympathetic laughter.
"Nicole's bacon and eggs still aren't ready? I'll go check the kitchen." Ryan remembered that Al had also gone into the kitchen earlier. The guy was witty and easygoing, but he was also an old-school ladies' man.
Sure enough, the moment Ryan reached the kitchen doorway he heard Al's voice. "Nicole, your cooking is really something. These bacon and eggs have a special flavor."
"Really? I didn't cook much before. I only started practicing these past few years because I had to take care of Ryan." Nicole's laughter floated out.
"You two really have a great relationship. Have you ever thought about finding Ryan a father?"
"Don't joke around, Al. Ryan is just my little brother."
Ryan simply walked straight in. He glanced at Nicole, who was finishing the bacon and eggs, then at Al standing beside her, and said without any politeness, "Hey, Al, don't even think about making a move on Nicole! Otherwise I'll make you regret it."
"Hey, Ryan, you cheeky little rascal." Al widened his eyes in an exaggerated way, looking exactly like the blind colonel from Scent of a Woman.
"I'm serious, Al. I know Chinese kung fu!" Ryan struck a clumsy Tai Chi starting pose.
Al Pacino burst out laughing, patted the boy on the head, and walked out of the kitchen first.
"Alright, Ryan, stop messing around. Help me carry a plate out." Nicole took off her apron and handed Ryan a white porcelain plate piled with bacon and eggs.
Even though the dinner wasn't lavish, the large group made it lively. Especially when producer Harvey Weinstein drove up from New York halfway through the meal. The fat man's career was only just getting on track at this point, so he hadn't become arrogant yet.
With his natural charm and social skills, the atmosphere in the living room quickly grew even warmer.
"Dealing with the child welfare people is such a pain. They not only set strict daily working hours for Ryan, they also want to check on the tutor and his study progress. In a few days they're even sending someone to inspect. I'm going crazy."
Harvey Weinstein sat at the table, complaining to Nicole and Ryan.
"That has nothing to do with me." Ryan shrugged.
"Nothing to do with you? Ryan, you can't say that. You were the one who refused to let us hire a proper tutor. You even told me to tell the damn child welfare association to go to hell."
"Did I say that? I don't remember." Seeing Nicole's face darken, Ryan denied it without hesitation.
"Uh…" Harvey Weinstein paused, then continued, "Fine. When the child welfare people come, I'll just throw the screenplay at them and ask if a kid who can write something like this still needs a damn tutor."
"Don't worry, Harvey. We can just hire a temp actor to pretend to be the tutor." Ryan was already offering terrible ideas. "With my level, dealing with them is child's play."
"Wait!" Al Pacino suddenly raised his hand, cutting everyone off. "Screenplay? You mean this movie's screenplay? Ryan Jenkins… no way!"
Al looked over in shock, eyes wide like saucers, as if he had just seen a Martian. "Harvey, are you saying the Ryan Jenkins listed as the screenplay writer is the same kid sitting across from me right now?"
"Yeah." Harvey Weinstein nodded, looking puzzled. "You didn't know? Hasn't anyone told you?"
"Oh my God!" Al Pacino clutched his forehead. "I always thought there were two different people with the same name! Damn it! Ryan, why didn't you ever mention that you wrote the screenplay?"
"Hey, Al, you never asked!" Ryan put on an innocent, wronged expression. "Was I supposed to run up to you, wag my tail, and say, 'Mr. Al Pacino, I wrote The Sixth Sense. Please praise me! Come on, praise me!'"
Ryan's words, combined with his dramatic pose and expression, were so ridiculous that everyone burst out laughing at the same time.
After the laughter died down, Al still looked stunned. He glanced at David Fincher, then Harvey Weinstein, then Nicole Kidman. All three nodded to confirm it was true.
"Pretty shocking, right, Al?" Harvey Weinstein seemed to understand the feeling. "When David and I first heard the news, we weren't any better off than you. And…"
He looked at the group sitting together — Nicole, Ryan, and Pat Kingsley. "You guys are too much. How could you keep something this important from me?"
"Important news?" The three of them exchanged confused looks, clearly having no idea what the fat producer was talking about.
Harvey Weinstein stopped beating around the bush. He quickly pulled a weekend supplement of The New York Times from his briefcase and flipped straight to the bestseller list. "Latest bestseller list: Jurassic Park at number five, Ryan's Story Collection at number thirty-one, and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone just outside the list."
"If I hadn't bought a copy of The New York Times last weekend… if I hadn't noticed that the writing style of these books is so similar to the The Sixth Sense screenplay… if the author's name on every single one of them wasn't Ryan Jenkins…"
"Alright, alright, Harvey. I admit all three books are mine." Ryan spread his hands. It wasn't anything shameful — there was no reason to hide it.
"Oh my God!" Even with years of business experience to steel him, Harvey Weinstein couldn't stop a low gasp of shock.
Al Pacino and David Fincher didn't fare much better. Especially David Fincher — he had been lifting a fork with a piece of bacon and egg toward his mouth, but now he sat frozen like someone had hit pause.
Al simply snatched the supplement from Harvey's hand, as if he needed to see it with his own eyes to believe it.
A few minutes later, the rest of the dining room finally calmed down. But the way everyone looked at Ryan had completely changed. If writing a screenplay like The Sixth Sense could still be explained away as a burst of inspiration combined with personal experience, what about these other books?
Jurassic Park had been published in 1986. How old had he been then? Just over six, not even seven. Other kids that age were still playing house and fiddling with Transformers and Barbie dolls, and he had already started writing books.
If it had been anyone else, they might have suspected ghostwriting. But back then he had still been an orphan in a welfare home — no money, no connections. Who would have been crazy enough to write for him?
Besides, over the past few days of filming, the boy's performance had been right in front of them. He was mature, intelligent, and full of wild ideas. They often felt like they were talking to an adult. Add in the outstanding acting he had shown on camera… what did all of that mean?
It was as if God had closed one door for him but opened another — and that door was the Arc de Triomphe!
By now, except for Ryan's group, no one else had any appetite left. They left the dining room still talking excitedly.
Even with all the interruptions, filming had to continue. At Ryan and Harvey Weinstein's request, everyone else kept the news quiet and didn't spread it outside the crew.
But after Ryan and the crew dealt with the child welfare inspectors, he couldn't shake the feeling that the fat producer was plotting something. Especially the way Harvey kept looking at him — like a hungry wolf staring at fresh meat.
Just as everyone had said, an actor's state could rise and fall. Al Pacino, the veteran, was best at regulating his own. Ryan came second. Surprisingly, among the three main actors, Nicole ranked last.
"Ryan, you really are a natural-born actor." It sounded like Nicole was praising him, but the next sentence revealed her true meaning.
"And you're just as natural when you're lying!"
Clearly, Nicole was remembering certain past events. Looking back now, the little rascal had been fooling her the whole time. Luckily they had only been small things and no real harm was done.
"Really, Nicole?" Al Pacino suddenly popped up from somewhere, bowing elegantly with a meaningful smile. "Would you like me to help you discipline this cheeky little rascal?"
"Oh, damn." Al suddenly felt a chill inside his freshly changed costume. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin green object.
"What the hell is this?"
The moment Al had bowed, Ryan had already sprinted to the other side of the room.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Hey, Al, stay away from Nicole! Otherwise next time it won't be a de-spined cactus leaf!"
The entire crew collapsed in laughter. After so many days, they had long noticed that Ryan and Al had a great relationship and loved playing harmless pranks on each other.
Al clearly got pranked far more often than he pranked others.