Hollywood:Starting out as an MV director

In the underground parking lot, as a couple walked past a black SUV, they noticed the vehicle shaking rhythmically.

They exchanged glances and then smiled teasingly.

The man approached the car window, only to find it covered by curtains, making it impossible to see inside.

So, he deliberately walked to the side of the vehicle and knocked on the door.

He thought this would startle the people inside, but unfortunately, the shaking of the car continued undisturbed, as if completely unaffected.

This left the man feeling frustrated but helpless, so he and his wife left the underground garage.

It wasn't until two minutes later that Ethan looked at Scarlett, who was now drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, and smiled.

"Are you always this bold?"

"No, only when I see my master do I dare to be this bold."

Scarlett wiped the corner of her mouth and then wrapped her bare body in her coat.

But doing so only made her look even more tempting in Ethan's eyes.

"You're amazing, baby." Ethan leaned back in his seat and pulled her into his arms. "When are you leaving?"

"Are you eager for me to leave?" Scarlett looked at Ethan with a teasing smile.

Ethan shrugged. "No, I just want to know how long you'll be staying with me."

"Well, actually, I'm leaving the day after tomorrow." Scarlett smiled and leaned against his shoulder.

"Are you going to the Oscars?" Ethan asked as he stroked her shoulder.

"Of course, I have to go. What about you? Last year, when my movie won an award, you weren't there." Scarlett seemed a little resentful as she mentioned this.

Ethan laughed it off and hugged her tighter. "Don't worry, this time, I'll definitely be at the Oscars. Just wait and see—you'll be surprised."

"Surprised? What surprise?" Scarlett asked curiously, then suddenly realized. "You mean your movie?"

"That's right."

"Little Miss Sunshine, Memoirs of a Geisha—do you think they have a shot at Best Picture?" Scarlett wasn't even considering Best Director because that award wasn't meant for someone as young as Ethan.

"I don't know, but I think there will be quite a few nominations."

"You're so confident. But I don't believe those old-school Academy judges will be that generous." Scarlett shrugged. Away from the spotlight, she could speak her mind freely.

"Then how about another bet?" Ethan asked with a smile.

"No, no more bets." Scarlett stuck out her tongue and licked Ethan's earlobe. "You're such a bad guy. If we keep betting, I might end up calling you 'Daddy' in public."

In an instant, Scarlett's teasing ignited Ethan's desire. He wrapped his arms around her, lowered his head, and whispered against her lips, "No need for public displays. You can call me that right now."

"Daddy?"

Two days later, Ethan was sitting in Jessica's villa with her.

"Sweetheart, try this," Jessica said, picking up a slice of pizza and feeding it to Ethan. She had made it herself—bacon, ham, and cheese.

Ethan took a bite and gave her a thumbs-up. "This is amazing, my angel. It's even better than the ones from the store."

"As long as you like it, that's all that matters." Jessica smiled softly and sat on Ethan's lap, her slender fingers gently caressing his neck.

"Ethan, are you going to the Oscars this time?" she asked, glancing at the commercial playing on the TV before turning back to him.

Ethan nodded. "Of course. What about you?"

"I'll be there too, but just as a spectator." Jessica shrugged. "I can't expect the Academy judges to give Sin City the Best Picture award."

A commercial film like Sin City had limited chances of winning major awards, but compared to other blockbusters, it had done well. It even won a technical award at Cannes.

At the global box office, Sin City had earned $150 million, fully meeting its pre-release expectations.

And so, the lucky photos Ethan had taken for them became another Hollywood legend.

Many film crews were skeptical, but the details of Sin City's shoot were talked about so much that people started to believe Ethan had some kind of supernatural touch.

Because of this, Ethan had received several invitations recently, but since he was busy with his photography exhibition, he had declined most of them.

"It's okay, Jessica. You'll have your moment on that stage one day." Ethan lowered his head and kissed her.

"Mm…" Jessica nodded softly, then smiled. "Even if I can't go on stage this time, I should be able to watch you go up there."

"Haha, maybe, maybe not. My films might not be to the Academy's taste."

"They will be. I believe in you, Ethan."

After they parted, they looked into each other's eyes, and the atmosphere instantly turned intimate.

"I bought a gift for Camila," Jessica said, her gaze flickering slightly as if she were testing something.

Ethan stared at her intently. "Thank you. Camila will love it."

"It's not inappropriate, right?"

"Of course not, my angel." Ethan shook his head, raising his eyebrows. "You don't need to worry—Camila likes you a lot."

"That's good." Jessica finally smiled in relief.

They embraced, then lay down together on the sofa.

The next day, in a Chinese restaurant.

Ethan was introducing the dishes to Anne Hathaway.

"This one is called Tiger Skin Peppers."

"This one is called Vinegar-Sautéed Cabbage."

"And this dish is called Mapo Tofu."

Anne Hathaway tasted each dish as Ethan pointed them out and then sighed in admiration, "These are amazing, Ethan. The dishes are so interesting, and the flavors are so rich. They're much better than salad."

"Ethan, you really know a lot about Chinese cuisine."

"Hahaha." Ethan wiped his mouth. "I just think eating pizza and burgers every day is too boring. Besides, don't you think good food can put you in a great mood?"

"Of course, it does make me happy. But I feel like the oil is a bit much, which makes me feel guilty." Anne Hathaway looked at Ethan seriously. "You know, I'm a vegetarian."

"I understand, but occasionally adding some oily food can make your body fat a little happier."

"You're funny." Anne Hathaway smiled, put down her chopsticks, and held Ethan's hand. "Ethan, are you going to the Oscars?"

"I am."

"Then are you ready for disappointment?"

"Why would I be disappointed?" Ethan frowned.

"Even though I think your movie will definitely get nominated, as for winning... To be honest, Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain—I think it has a better chance." Anne Hathaway spoke rationally.

Ethan smiled. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Anne Hathaway raised an eyebrow. "Then which movie do you think will win?"

"I don't know which movie will win, but Brokeback Mountain won't." Even with the Weinstein brothers' help, it wouldn't win.

Because Crash had Ethan's help.

And in terms of thematic depth, Crash was undoubtedly richer than Brokeback Mountain.

"Alright." Anne Hathaway didn't agree, but she didn't argue further.

Ethan squeezed her hand. "You don't have confidence in me?"

"No..." Anne Hathaway smiled. "I just don't want you to get hurt by the Oscars."

"Hahaha." Ethan kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, Anne, I won't be heartbroken. There's only one thing that can hurt me."

"What?" Anne Hathaway's pupils sparkled under the lights.

"And that's you," Ethan said seriously.

The next second, Anne Hathaway leaned in and kissed him.

Oscar night arrived as scheduled, and the red carpet was dazzling with stars.

This time, Ethan finally attended a normal Oscars—no protests, no interruptions—just the most glamorous moment of the industry.

When Ethan led the Memoirs of a Geisha crew out of the car and onto the red carpet, they were immediately bathed in an ocean of flashing lights.

Click!

Click, click!

Reporters frantically snapped photos of the group, but the attendees were all used to such scenes, so they kept smiling and walked forward.

Naturally, Ethan received the most attention—even more than actresses like Michelle Yeoh.

Because this was the first time the media saw the legendary Lucky Ethan on the official red carpet.

He rarely attended award ceremonies, and even when he did, he would only appear inside the event, not on the red carpet.

Especially after his photography exhibition became widely known—politicians and celebrities alike were eager to attend—making him seem even more mysterious.

So, for the reporters, getting a chance to capture such a rare figure was a golden opportunity.

After enduring the barrage of flashing lights, Ethan was the first to step into the theater.

Inside, he spotted Quentin Tarantino, who was also attending the ceremony.

"Ethan! Long time no see!" Quentin greeted him with a big hug, which was immediately captured by the event's photographers.

"What have you been working on lately?" Quentin had seemingly disappeared from Hollywood for a while, with little news about him.

Quentin shook his head and grinned. "I'm preparing a thriller, but it probably won't start shooting until the second half of the year. How about you? I saw the trailer for your Fifty Shades of Grey—the bed scenes look great, especially that girl's feet."

"Stop, Quentin. I'm not going to discuss a girl's feet in a public setting like this. The reporters would think we're perverts."

"How is that perverted? It's art!" Quentin waved his hands passionately, while Ethan struck a simple pose beside him, letting the reporters take photos.

"It's just not the right setting for that conversation. But honestly, I haven't decided what to film next."

"I think you should pursue art," Quentin said with an air of seniority. "Sure, commercial films make money, but don't you find them lifeless? Commercial films are like the waves during high tide—they rise quickly but soon disappear from the shores of film history. Only truly personal, artistic films are like the seashells left behind, staying on the shore."

"You're right," Ethan smiled. "But I don't think I'm at the stage to make a personal film yet."

"Hahaha, fair enough. Damn, you're so young, and you're already shining at the Oscars, while an old guy like me is still wandering."

"Come on," Ethan patted his shoulder. "Kill Bill will always be part of film history. And so will your name."

"Hope so," Quentin chuckled. "Even if it didn't win any awards, it doesn't matter. I had fun making it, and that's what counts."

Ethan covered his mouth slightly. "Those old guys don't like seeing a woman running around with a sword, slaughtering people like crazy. They prefer women to either dance ballet or suffer."

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!" Quentin couldn't help but laugh loudly, drawing the attention of both reporters and an interviewer.

"Ethan, hello." The interviewer, a confident Black woman, walked over.

"Hello." Ethan had just spoken when he saw Quentin give him a mischievous look before slipping away.

"Can I ask you a few questions? I believe many people are curious about you."

Ethan shrugged. "No problem. Go ahead."

"Alright, first question: There are many nominated films this year, but I'm sure you've seen some of them. Which one impressed you the most?"

Ethan smiled. "The one that impressed me the most is Memoirs of a Geisha—because I made it myself."

The answer was unexpected but also made perfect sense.

The interviewer immediately realized Ethan was very slick, so she adjusted her approach and asked, "Then aside from your own film, which movie do you most hope will win an award?"

"Which award?" Ethan asked.

"Any award."

"Then it has to be Little Miss Sunshine." Ethan spread his hands. "Because I invested in it, and I have high hopes for it."

The interviewer felt like she was dealing with a slippery fish, so she shifted to a classic question. "Alright, I have to say—you look really handsome tonight. What are you wearing?"

Ethan turned to the camera, pointing at his suit and watch. "This is Armani, and this is Richard Mille."

No doubt, the two brands would be thrilled when they saw this moment on live television.

The interviewer continued, "So, what's next for you?"

"Next? Probably a vacation. You know, I just finished a film."

"Who will you go with?" The interviewer smirked playfully. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

This was a dangerous question.

Half of Ethan's romantic interests were present at the Oscars, while others were watching on TV.

If he said he didn't have a girlfriend, they'd be disappointed. But if he said he did, he'd be cornering himself.

Still, Ethan maintained his smile and answered with absolute sincerity, "Of course, I'll go with my dearest family."

"That's wonderful!" The interviewer nodded, dropping the question.

After the interview ended, Ethan's expression grew slightly serious.

While his answer defused the crisis, it only postponed it.

"Family" was a broad term—he could make all the women think they were included.

But the vacation itself was unavoidable.

Ethan grinned. It looked like things were about to get busy.

.....

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