349 - Hollywood: Blueprint (Patreon)

349 - He Said It Out Loud

By morning, the dark had lifted over Boston. Evan stayed in bed until Jennifer hurried into the bathroom with a hand over her mouth. Only then did he dress and follow her to wash up.

They stood side by side at the sink, brushing their teeth. The night still showed in Jennifer's tired face. A few hours of sleep had not been enough after everything that had happened.

"How was I last night?" she asked.

She watched him in the mirror as she dried her face. He was doing the same beside her.

"You were very good," Evan said, with a trace of a smile.

He hung up his towel and straightened his shirt. The day on set was waiting. "Come on. If we want breakfast, we'd better get moving."

At about seven forty, the line of production vehicles left the hotel for the suburban location.

As Evan had expected, reporters were already gathered outside the set. There were far more of them than on earlier mornings.

One vehicle after another passed through the gate. Crew members watched the press in silence. The mood had changed overnight, and everyone knew why.

"We can't work like this," Evan said.

He stood beside John Gray, looking toward the crowd. "There are too many of them. They'll disrupt the shoot. Find a way to draw their attention somewhere else."

"An interview with me won't help. They want you." John kicked a pebble across the ground. "Damn it. I'll go out and see what I can do."

"I'll come with you. They won't be easy to send away."

Evan beckoned to Sergey. Under the eyes of the crew, the three men walked toward the reporters at the gate.

He would rather have kept his distance. The attention had already unsettled people on the production, though, and he needed a set where they could work. Giving the press five minutes seemed preferable to having them hover all day.

"Director Rosenberg, when were you diagnosed with a mental illness?"

"Evan, is it true you like hurting women?"

"What do you say to Katie and the women's groups accusing you?"

The questions came as soon as he stepped outside. Sergey and the security staff held a narrow space around him and John while recorders and microphones pushed forward. Photographers on the fringe kept shooting.

Voices overlapped with the sharp click of camera shutters.

"Quiet," John shouted. "One at a time, or we're going straight back inside." It took several attempts before the crowd settled.

"You'll have five minutes," Evan said. "Ask one question at a time. Then I have a crew of more than a hundred people waiting to work, and we're starting on schedule. Go ahead."

The reporters nearest him traded looks. Five minutes gave them little room for anything but the questions they had come to ask.

One woman spoke first. "Director Rosenberg, you've studied dark films since college and built a career making them. Is your interest in that kind of material connected to your mental health?"

"I'll answer this once." His expression tightened. "I don't have a mental illness, and I do not abuse women. The claims being passed around are speculation. If I were reporting them, I'd be more careful. There are legal consequences for presenting an accusation as fact."

"But your films are full of blood and violence..." she began.

"Next question. I've answered yours."

He cut her off with a gesture.

"Frank, Los Angeles Times," said another reporter. When Evan looked his way, he continued. "What about your former girlfriend's accusation that you hurt her? Are you saying she lied to the public?"

"I barely remember her," Evan said. "If she believes I assaulted her, she can bring a case and let the courts examine it. Why hasn't she? That's a fair question."

The answer did not satisfy the crowd. Evan glanced back at the set and shook his head. "One more. We need to start filming."

For a moment no one spoke. They had finally gotten him in front of a microphone and he had given them little they could use.

A reporter farther back took the opening. "Can you tell us about the film you're making now? People say you're aiming for an Oscar. Is that true?"

"Yes," Evan said. "I'm not going to pretend I made The Departed without hoping it might compete for an Academy Award. It's far too early to know whether it will. First we have to finish the film and see how it turns out."

That answer quieted them. They had expected a cautious denial, or at least the usual vague expression of gratitude to the Academy. Evan had handed them a headline instead.

Most of the journalists covered entertainment for a living. They understood what an Oscar campaign could do for a film, and how directors usually spoke about one in public.

The Academy often rewarded films that fit its tastes. The industry knew that some pictures had been designed with awards season in mind. Admitting it so directly, however, was another matter.

People could lobby, advertise, and court voters while insisting the work spoke for itself. Stating the goal aloud invited the very resistance those campaigns were meant to avoid.

The contradiction was familiar: voters did not want to feel that a filmmaker considered them predictable, even when the filmmaker had shaped a project for their attention.

Make a film with no regard for the Academy and the odds might fall. Make the appeal too obvious and some voters would resent being courted. The business lived with both truths.

Evan had just said plainly what others tended to imply. The reporter who asked had not expected it, and his colleagues were still discussing the answer after Evan and John went back through the gate.

They talked among themselves while the crew resumed filming inside. Whatever else came of the brief interview, no one would leave without a story.

"Evan Rosenberg may be struggling with mental illness..."

"Director denies allegations of abuse..."

"More than five women's organizations call for a boycott of Rosenberg films..."

"How much is Evan Rosenberg really worth? A closer look at the director's holdings..."

"Commentators link Rosenberg's dark films to a troubled childhood. Former classmates describe an isolated young man..."

"Rosenberg admits he made The Departed with the Oscars in mind. After three Best Director nominations, is this his year?"

In her Burbank apartment, Daisy frowned at the newspapers spread across the table. Entertainment pages, business pages, and tabloids were all running stories about Evan.

The volume no longer felt like ordinary interest in a wealthy, famous director. Someone was keeping the story in circulation.

She especially disliked the distorted accounts of the women in his life. Over the past few days, more than a dozen members had left her fan organization after reading one version of the allegations or another.

"Those people took the signed tapes without a second thought," a young man beside her said. "Now they're walking away because of a headline? Damn it."

Seven or eight of Daisy's most committed organizers were there. Each ran a local group, but the angry voice belonged to Schroder.

His usual easy smile had vanished. Anger tightened his face as he looked at the papers.

Evan's films had meant something personal to him. They had helped Schroder imagine a different future for himself. Watching people who had accepted a gift from the director turn away now felt, to him, like a betrayal.

"We have to do something," he said after taking a breath. "Tell people who have only heard the headlines what he's really like."

"Wait." Daisy raised a hand, an idea taking shape as she looked again at the papers. "If the news is where this is happening, Warner has people who know how to reach the news. What we need is something people can actually see."