705 Chapter 705: The plan is too bad

A week before Thanksgiving, the Hollywood and Highland Center was transformed into a cosmic carnival as Disney Studios hosted the lavish premiere of "The Martian".

Imagine this: models of Mars rovers, spacecraft, and launch vehicles dotted the venue, casting an enchanting aura reminiscent of a space-themed amusement park. Adding to the spectacle, SpaceX, the film's sponsor, unveiled their own corner of the cosmos, showcasing rocket models and cutting-edge equipment. And who else but the enigmatic Elon Musk himself graced the stage, captivating the audience with his electrifying presence and zeal for space exploration.

As the stars began to arrive, the atmosphere crackled with excitement. Martin, dashing in a sleek black suit, stepped onto the red carpet, only to be greeted by Musk's booming voice, commanding, "Ladies, take him home! Take Martin Davis home!"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the throngs of adoring fans, their voices rising in a crescendo of adulation. "Martin, come home with me!" they cried out, their fervor palpable in the air.

Amidst the clamor, Martin quickened his pace, the security guard's reminder spurring him onward. Even the customary Coca-Cola ceremony felt like a blur amidst the whirlwind of excitement.

As the evening unfolded, Hollywood luminaries such as Ridley Scott and Jessica Chastain graced the red carpet, each adding to the star-studded spectacle.

Stepping into the media area, Martin found himself face to face with Leonardo and Thomas, the architects of his master plan.

"Are you ready?" Leonardo's voice held a note of anticipation as he approached Martin.

Martin nodded, his confidence unwavering. "I've memorized everything," he assured them, his voice steady despite the flutter of nerves.

With Leonardo's encouragement, Martin took his place in front of the camera, effortlessly fielding questions from the host.

"Martin, I heard you took on this role because of a childhood dream," the host remarked, curiosity lacing his words.

A wistful smile graced Martin's lips as he recounted his childhood fascination with aerospace. "I dreamed of exploring space, of reaching the stars," he confessed, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

As the interview concluded, Martin made his exit from the media frenzy, Leonardo's praise ringing in his ears.

"Well done," Leonardo remarked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "A few tears would've sealed the deal."

Suppressing a laugh, Martin shot back, "I'm not an actress," before making his way to join the crew for photos at the sponsor's background board.

Meanwhile, across the country in Atlanta, the heart of the Coca-Cola Cult, High Priest Robert performed his sacred ritual with reverence. With a solemn demeanor, he placed the vintage Coca-Cola bottle on the altar, murmuring ancient incantations.

Interrupted by a knock at the door, Robert's attention snapped back to the present as he greeted his assistant, who bore a mysterious envelope from Ms. Kelly Gray.

Opening it, Robert's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a stack of movie tickets nestled inside.

Handing them back to his assistant, Robert instructed, "Distribute them among our faithful devotees. Each person at headquarters deserves two tickets to the show."

The assistant's eyes widened as she examined the movie ticket, emblazoned with the title "The Martian" - the leader's latest masterpiece.

Silently, she set out to distribute the tickets, a sense of anticipation lingering in the air.

Meanwhile, back in his office, Robert perused the movie schedule for the upcoming weekend. Over 70% of screens in Atlanta would be showcasing "The Martian" - a promising sign for its box office success. If the film continued to perform well, it could dominate theaters well beyond Thanksgiving.

Cracking open a can of the newly released commemorative Coke, Robert took a satisfying sip, his gaze drifting towards the distant lights of Los Angeles. With a triumphant smile, he exclaimed, "Master, it's going to be a blockbuster!"

...

Upstairs in a bustling coffee shop at Highland Center, Megan Ellison sat behind the glass curtain wall, her eyes fixed on the bustling theater across the street. Beside her, her brother David sipped his coffee, contemplating their recent choices.

"You know," David began, "perhaps you should've reconsidered snatching the 'Lone Ranger' project. You could have collaborated with Martin Davis instead."

Megan scoffed, her determination evident. "The project had to be under my control entirely. Besides, do you think Martin Davis and I could have cooperated?"

David, a seasoned player in Hollywood, shared a rumor he'd heard from Warner Bros. insiders. "It seems Martin Davis had high hopes for 'Gods and Kings' and 'Dark Places,' both of which bombed at the box office. Warner Pictures collaborated with him on these projects, and you know how they turned out."

Megan's skepticism was palpable. "Are you suggesting that Martin Davis lured me into a trap? That's absurd."

David conceded, realizing the implausibility of such a scenario. "You're right. But remember, success in Hollywood is unpredictable."

Megan's confidence remained unshaken. "Even if Warner's projects failed, mine will succeed."

As darkness descended outside, Megan turned her gaze back to the illuminated theater across the street. "We'll see if Martin's film triumphs or falters. His success in my projects will determine his true mettle."

David couldn't help but admire his sister's unwavering self-assurance.

...

"Unfortunately, we can't save Kodak's film business," lamented Christopher Nolan, his voice resonating in the VIP room of the theater. "Film is an integral part of cinema, providing a texture that digital can't replicate. If Kodak goes under, it's a loss for the entire industry."

Susan Downey concurred, "Kodak's financial troubles spell the end for traditional film."

Graham-Jin sighed, foreseeing the inevitable changes. "The Kodak Theater will soon be renamed the Hollywood and Highland Center. Who knows what company will claim the naming rights next."

As the conversation veered towards a brighter topic, Nickel Sen interjected with insider information. "I've heard whispers that Dolby Laboratories is in talks for the naming rights."

In the midst of a buzzing Hollywood event, Warren Beatty took the stage, his voice steady yet unmistakable in its urgency. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "we find ourselves at a crossroads concerning the naming rights of our beloved center. Regrettably, a consensus remains elusive, and it seems we may not bridge this divide until the Oscars cast their spotlight upon us. Yet, amidst this uncertainty, one thing remains clear—it shall be known as the Hollywood and Highland Center."

As the murmurs of the crowd faded, Martin entered, his presence bringing a wave of calm. He moved through the room with a grace that belied his nerves, offering warm greetings that seemed to light up the dim corners of the gathering.

Nicholson, ever the keen observer, pulled Martin aside with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Tell me," he whispered, "has the chess game begun? Are we maneuvering Leo's pawns as planned?"

Martin, with a smirk that held a hint of triumph, replied, "Indeed, the board is set, and the pieces are in motion. The media landscape buzzes with our orchestrated frenzy."

It was then that Leonardo himself approached, his aura one of undiminished enthusiasm. "Gentlemen," he declared, "our ruse dances beautifully across the headlines. Such Oscar-worthy performance—if this does not clinch the best actor, we dwell in a world of shadows and illusions."

An unspoken understanding passed between Martin and Nicholson, their complicity sealed by a shared resolve: Leonardo's plan, audacious as it was, could not—and would not—fail.

As the trio dispersed, Nolan emerged, his timing impeccable. "Gentlemen," he stated with a nod, "soon our paths shall converge within the halls of the same agency. Tell me, Martin, does the freedom at WMA eclipse that of CAA?"

Martin, ever the diplomat, responded with careful consideration. "Chris, my journey has not crossed the thresholds of many agencies, yet I can attest to the fruitful harmony shared with my agent, Thomas." His eyes briefly caught Thomas's across the room, a silent exchange of respect and camaraderie shared in the glance.

Thomas, acknowledging the gesture, offered a nod, his presence a silent bastion of support.

Nolan, undeterred by the festivities, leaned in closer. "Time waits for onone i guess," he mused. "Post-'The Dark Knight Rises,' the cosmos beckons. Your presence is essential; reserve your calendar."

Martin's mind raced through his upcoming commitments, "Prince of Thieves" and the next chapter in the "John Wick" saga. Yet, the allure of Nolan's vision was undeniable—a challenge he would not shy away from.

As the evening crescendoed, the venue swelled with anticipation. Led by Ridley Scott, Martin and the creative ensemble took their places, the audience's applause a thunderous prelude to the night's revelation.

The film, a narrative not so much of distant galaxies but of human spirit and resilience, unfolded. Ridley Scott, master of realms both vast and intricate, presented a tale not of cosmic conundrums but of Earthly perseverance, framed against the stark, red expanse of Mars.

It was a story told with humor and heart, a testament to the indomitable spirit of its protagonist. Martin, embodying the everyman stranded on a foreign world, captivated the audience not just with his struggle, but with his unyielding optimism, his ingenuity in the face of despair—most notably, his cultivation of Martian potatoes.

As the credits rolled, the film's message resonated—a celebration of human resilience and ingenuity, a drama set against the stars, yet firmly grounded in the human experience.