Chapter 229: Chapter 228: Titanic Premiere
Although the outside world was pessimistic about the prospects of this long-delayed project, the premiere of Titanic was still a grand event.
Hundreds of media outlets sent their reporters to cover it, while Fox Television and CBS Television broadcasted the red carpet ceremony live.
Gilbert leveraged his connections and invited many acquaintances from the industry to attend the premiere.
Tom Hanks and his wife, Tom Cruise and his wife had just walked past, followed by Naomi Watts, Cameron Diaz, and Jennifer Connelly, forming a trio of close friends on the red carpet.
Charlize Theron and Keanu Reeves were also brought along by Gilbert, creating a crossover between The Matrix and Titanic.
Not only that, but during a previous visit to the Star Wars set, Gilbert happened to run into his nominal mentor, Steven Spielberg.
As a result, both George Lucas and Spielberg, along with Natalie Portman, were invited by Gilbert to the premiere.
Of course, this meant he would owe these two legendary directors a favor.
However, reciprocity is a universal principle anywhere in the world. Likewise, Gilbert would, in the future, show up to support Star Wars or a DreamWorks project to return the favor.
"My opinion is simple," Gilbert said to Spielberg. "Those who doubt this film will soon realize how wrong they are."
"They won't apologize, Gilbert," Spielberg replied.
"No, they won't apologize," Gilbert said confidently. "But they will cheer for the miracle this film is about to create."
Standing nearby, Natalie Portman was curious and asked Gilbert, "You seem very confident. Can you tell me why?"
"It's about trusting the quality of the film, Nat." Gilbert suddenly had the urge to tease the thoughtful girl. "How about we make a bet?"
"What kind of bet?"
"If Titanic makes more than $600 million at the North American box office and over $1.5 billion worldwide, you buy me ice cream," Gilbert stated, quoting an astonishing figure.
Natalie Portman clearly didn't believe it, giving him a look that said he was exaggerating.
"You don't believe it? Then accept the bet. You have a great chance of winning," Gilbert said.
Her intuition told her that such numbers were impossible. If Titanic truly reached those figures, wouldn't it be the highest-grossing film in history?
But the man in front of her had an unparalleled instinct for movies, something she had heard George Lucas mention more than once.
So she wasn't entirely sure whether Titanic could perform as Gilbert predicted.
However, since it was just ice cream, she didn't hesitate and accepted the bet without a second thought.
Beyond the media reporters and celebrity guests, executives from 20th Century Fox and Paramount were also present.
In the previous timeline, Titanic had a modest opening weekend for several reasons, with a significant factor being the negative sentiment from media critics, which affected the audience's initial viewing choices.
In this era, traditional print media and film critics still held significant sway over moviegoers.
But later events proved that the power of word-of-mouth from audiences could easily shatter critics' biases.
As an investor, Gilbert naturally didn't want Titanic to repeat the past. He had suggested that 20th Century Fox and Paramount intensify their promotional efforts.
Judging by the results, hardly anyone in America was unaware that Titanic was about to be released. But how many people would actually go to the theaters remained unknown.
Gilbert himself also contributed to the effort, posting photos on his Facebook account with James Cameron, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Kate Winslet to help promote the film.
After all, Cameron had even given him credits as a producer and screenwriter, making him an official part of the crew.
At the premiere, after watching Titanic, which wasn't much different from its counterpart in the previous timeline, Gilbert gave it high praise.
"Around 1995, Director Cameron first mentioned this project to me. Even back then, I supported him in making this film.
After years of hard work, despite the high costs, we have all seen the results. I believe that Jack and Rose's love story and the tragedy of the Titanic will become eternal in film history—just like the theme song, My Heart Will Go On."
James Cameron also returned the favor with praise:
"The initial concept for this project actually came from Director Gilbert. At the time, I thought he was even better suited to direct it than I was. Later, I even wanted to invite him to be the male lead.
Unfortunately, he turned me down.
But we both believe that this film will achieve remarkable success."
Gilbert standing behind Titanic was, in essence, a way to protect his own investment. With a massive fan base in North America, his influence was undeniable.
Even though he hadn't directed the film himself, his credit as a producer and screenwriter, along with his active participation in its promotion, would surely attract some of his fans to the theaters.
North America has always admired geniuses, and a movie endorsed by someone like Gilbert—who had been considered a prodigy for six or seven years—was far more trustworthy than the opinions of film critics.
After the premiere, Natalie Portman approached Gilbert. "I've figured it out—you're actually a big troublemaker."
"???" Gilbert was completely baffled. "Why do you say that?"
"You never told me the film was of such high quality. It was amazing," Natalie Portman exclaimed. "Now, I'm starting to believe this movie will achieve the success you predicted."
"Hahaha," Gilbert laughed heartily and couldn't help but ruffle Natalie Portman's hair, only for her to slap his hand away.
"Natalie, if the box office reaches the numbers I mentioned, don't forget my ice cream."
Natalie Portman rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I have a great memory. I won't forget."
After the premiere, Gilbert ran into an old acquaintance—Michael Ovitz. Though he had left Disney, he hadn't lost his fighting spirit. He still looked like the dominant force he once was in the agency world.
He walked straight up to Gilbert and said, "You know, Gilbert, Sony Columbia has prepared a special gift for you."
"You wouldn't be talking about Armageddon and Godzilla, would you, Mr. Ovitz?" Gilbert's tone carried a hint of polite detachment.
Michael Ovitz didn't mind. He continued, "I once advised the executives at Sony Columbia, but they didn't change their minds.
It seems that at the beginning of the summer season, we are destined to be competitors."
"Is that so?" Gilbert remained indifferent. "Then let's compete fairly."
Michael Ovitz wasn't done. He took the opportunity to poach him. "I was in charge of your projects at Disney. I know how talented you are, Gilbert.
If you join me, I guarantee you'll be the most important client at our company.
No bundled services, no extra conditions. Whatever you want, I'll make it happen."
"I don't see how that's any different from staying at Sheena's agency," Gilbert replied, unimpressed.
For a director of his caliber, talent agencies had little control over him. They were essentially service providers, no matter where he went.
Compared to Michael Ovitz, Sheena Boone was much more trustworthy.
At that moment, Sheena Boone happened to arrive, and her tone was far from polite. "Mr. Ovitz, trying to poach Gilbert right in front of me—don't you think that's a bit much?"
"Sheena, long time no see. I heard your agency has been doing quite well," Michael Ovitz said with a smile so forced that wrinkles formed on his face.
"Hmph," Sheena Boone clung to Gilbert's arm to showcase their strong relationship and snorted. "Do you think I'd be foolish enough to impose any restrictions on Gilbert?
I met Martin recently. Maybe I should schedule another lunch with him."
Martin, of course, referred to Martin Scorsese, whom Michael Ovitz and Martin Bob had poached from CAA.
"This is just business as usual," Michael Ovitz showed no sign of embarrassment. Agents needed thick skin.
He went on, "I heard your agency still has quite a high commission rate for Gilbert, which doesn't reflect his true worth."
"You don't need to worry about that, Mr. Ovitz," Sheena Boone responded bluntly. "Our commission rate with Gilbert has long since dropped to three percent, the lowest in all of Hollywood."
"Then congratulations, Gilbert." Michael Ovitz turned to Gilbert. "You've officially become the highest-paid director in Hollywood—no one else even comes close."
"Thanks for your concern," Gilbert remained indifferent. "I think Mr. Robinov and Mr. Eisner would know my true value best."
Jeff Robinov and Michael Eisner were the CEOs of Warner Bros. and Disney, respectively. Though Michael Ovitz had been ousted from Disney, he knew Michael Eisner well enough to understand that Gilbert was stating a fact.
In truth, he didn't even need confirmation from Warner Bros. and Disney. The executives from both 20th Century Fox and Paramount at the event were eager to offer Gilbert lucrative deals, as long as he was willing to collaborate.
Just as Michael Ovitz wanted to secure Gilbert's contract for his agency, these studios wanted to forge a close partnership with him, even if it meant offering unprecedented incentives.
For talent agencies, even with a three-percent commission rate like Sheena Boone's, they were still making a fortune.
Gilbert's director fees alone were substantial, but more importantly, he was a brand.
Over the past few years, Sheena Boone had leveraged Gilbert's name to recruit top talent without fail. Many joined her agency just because of him.
Michael Ovitz had the same strategy in mind, which was why he was willing to abandon his bundled services approach.
But now, it seemed like poaching Gilbert was going to be extremely difficult.
Then again, if it were that easy, agencies like ICM would have already tried.
Michael Ovitz had no choice but to leave with a final remark: "Then I'll see you this summer, Gilbert. Watch out for meteors and Godzilla."
"See you this summer..."
After he walked away, Sheena Boone scoffed. "Mr. Ovitz has gotten old. He can't keep up with the times anymore."
Gilbert chuckled. "He's still experienced and battle-hardened."
"All he has left is experience, but his methods no longer work in this new era," Sheena Boone said.
That was true. In the late '80s and early '90s, Michael Ovitz had his golden years, making waves with major deals.
He was involved in Sony's acquisition of Columbia Pictures, Panasonic's purchase of Universal, and other massive industry moves.
He was probably regretting his past choices—why had he made an enemy out of such a promising young talent instead of crushing him outright?
Then he joined Disney but failed to seize the opportunity to stay.
But whether he regretted it or not, Sheena Boone was right—Michael Ovitz's sharp instincts had dulled. He simply couldn't keep up anymore.
Still, Sheena Boone had a concern. "Doomsday themes are very popular right now. Could Armageddon pose a threat to our project?"
"Business competition has never been about guaranteed success, Sheena," Gilbert said, unbothered. "All we can do is do our job well and leave the rest to fate."
Sheena Boone laughed. "You're the son of God. I'm sure He'll favor His own children."
"Exactly. You're quite insightful," Gilbert laughed along.
"What about Godzilla? After Jurassic Park ignited a monster craze, wouldn't an even more terrifying creature from overseas be even more appealing?" Sheena Boone asked.
"It would be popular, but this monster comes from overseas," Gilbert emphasized.
Sheena Boone immediately understood. Godzilla wasn't a North American-born creature. Japanese culture had its market in the U.S., but it wasn't mainstream.
A monster from Japan trying to dominate the North American box office was a tough sell.
Sheena Boone worried that The Matrix might suffer under the combined pressure of Armageddon and Godzilla.
But for Gilbert, that didn't matter.
If he were afraid of competition, he never should have become a filmmaker.
Life was full of competition—some more intense than others. If he feared it, he might as well pack up and go home.
Besides, after seven years of success, wasn't it others who should fear him? Why should he fear anyone?
A few strong competitors would only serve to highlight his power. It would remind Hollywood's newcomers that Gilbert, the "Hollywood Husky" who bit anyone in his way, was still a force to be reckoned with.
After the premiere, the great ship officially set sail on its theatrical journey.
The midnight screenings of Titanic earned $6.25 million—not bad. But compared to its $200 million budget, it didn't quite seem fitting.
The next morning, as soon as Gilbert arrived on set, his assistant, Anna, handed him the latest newspapers and brewed him a pot of Longjing tea.
As he enjoyed the tea brought back from China, he flipped through the reviews.
"Why are they all positive? Are there any negative ones?" Gilbert asked.
Anna handed him a stack of newspapers. "Here are the negative reviews."
"Who wrote them?"
"The New Yorker, The Washington Post, and The Hollywood Reporter critics all gave bad reviews."
Gilbert shrugged. "That's normal. Looks like Fox and Paramount didn't bother with PR for those outlets."
"Critics and the media are always biased," Anna said, fully trusting her boss's instincts. "But in no time, they'll regret it."
"Haha, if we want them to regret it, we need solid results," Gilbert said, putting down the paper, finishing his tea, and diving into work.
While Gilbert was busy with the final touches on The Matrix, Titanic sailed smoothly through the box office waters.
Its midnight screening performance was decent, and early audience surveys showed an astonishing 96% A+ rating. It hinted that this movie was something special.
Yet, the box office numbers were just average—Titanic only made $12.23 million on its opening day, even less than some lackluster summer films.
This gave the media another reason to declare it a disaster.
They filled Saturday's newspapers with headlines about Titanic's failure, claiming Fox, Paramount, and Gilbert's $200 million investment had gone to waste.
James Cameron, along with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, became public enemies.
The media seemed convinced that Fox and Paramount would go bankrupt, Cameron would quit Hollywood, and Gilbert's once-sharp eye for film was gone.
But in the film industry, it's the audience—not the media—who decide a movie's fate.
While critics trashed it, they ignored—or deliberately overlooked—a key statistic: Titanic's audience approval rating was rising.
Normally, audience ratings decline over time. But Titanic was different.
On Saturday, Titanic held strong, earning $15.11 million.
More astonishingly, the A+ approval rating climbed to 97%, with signs of further growth.
Another remarkable data point: women made up 51.3% of the audience.
Most blockbusters have a male-dominated viewership, but Titanic was different.
And if that weren't enough, surveys showed many female viewers had seen the film on Friday and returned for a second viewing on Saturday—often bringing new people with them.
Yet, the media ignored these numbers.
So, Titanic continued its steady rise.
On Sunday, it grossed $16.53 million, bringing its opening weekend total to $43.89 million—decent, but not overwhelming.
But with a $200 million budget, and given the usual pattern of declining box office returns, the media still predicted doom.
No one expected Titanic to be this resilient.
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