352 - Hollywood: Blueprint (Patreon)

352 - Ambition

The storm of coverage had not sent Evan into a spiral. He had too much work to do. The film plan he meant to build was still in its early stages.

This was his sixth year in Hollywood. One success after another had given him more wealth than most people earned in a lifetime, along with influence and terms few directors could demand.

He no longer had to carry a print from screening room to screening room, pleading for a distribution deal. Nor did he have to worry that a studio would simply abandon his directing contract. Years of work had bought him room to pursue what he wanted.

As a boy in his previous life, he had wanted to become a police officer. After college, Cinema Paradiso had pushed him, on impulse, toward work as a projectionist. As the pressures of adult life mounted, he had retreated further into the films he screened.

A sudden illness had ended that life. When he woke in this world, he saw a chance to begin again. He had been given a loving family and, with it, the security to study and work toward a goal without constantly fearing for his future.

So he had started young. Through school he had kept a discipline that few adults could have maintained, studying for more than a decade.

At college, many of his teachers had doubted his choices. He had kept going, convinced the work would eventually speak for itself.

With a million dollars from his father, he assembled a small crew and made his first film. He learned on the job, often the hard way.

By the time it was finished, he had begun to expect success. All those years of study seemed to point toward a private industry screening in Park City during Sundance, a print under his arm and a distributor waiting at the end of it.

That Park City screening had brought him down to earth. He returned to Los Angeles with the print and no deal.

When 20th Century Fox finally distributed the film, he thought he had found a way into Hollywood. Even after it performed well, Fox had not trusted him with the next step.

Learning how much his parents had helped him behind the scenes changed his view again. Their support had opened doors he could not have forced on his own, and he became more determined not to waste the opportunity.

After that, he threw himself into work. Four successful films in four years gave him a career no one else could easily copy.

Now Batman Begins had finished its theatrical run. A $20 million fee plus 20 percent back-end participation had put Evan among the industry's best-paid directors, and audiences had accepted his version of a serious superhero movie. Some even spoke of him as if he had invented cinematic Batman, overlooking Tim Burton's work.

He knew how much his memories of another life had helped him. The success was still real, and it had made his ambitions larger.

When Steven Spielberg directed Jaws in 1975, he could hardly have known it would eventually earn nearly $470 million worldwide.

When George Lucas made THX 1138 with Francis Ford Coppola's help, he could not have known that Star Wars would become a cultural touchstone for generations of moviegoers.

Those filmmakers had spent years working, testing their abilities, and changing their aims as each success made more possible. Eventually their names became part of film history.

Evan had arrived with knowledge they did not have, but he had still gone through a version of that process.

While making Happy Death Day, he had not expected to establish himself so quickly. Even when he rushed toward Joker to secure his standing, he could not be sure audiences of this era would accept a film that provocative.

Each result pushed his next goal further out. Once Batman Begins convinced audiences to follow a darker superhero story, his ambition reached a new scale.

He admired filmmakers from different eras: Coppola, Spielberg, Lucas, Hitchcock. Each had left a mark that later directors could not avoid.

Twenty years from now, Evan wanted people discussing Hollywood after the 1990s to have to mention him too: an unconventional director who had helped shape another great period of filmmaking. He wanted his name to endure alongside theirs.

That was why the rumors could not be allowed to consume his attention. He believed the best answer was to keep making successful films, moving toward the larger plan he had set for himself.

The crew had moved again, this time into a rented building dressed by the art and props departments as a police office.

Brad Pitt sat on the set in a suit, his hair cut short. The scene showed Billy, newly out of the academy, trying to enter the police force.

Behind the monitor, Evan watched the three actors work through one of the few remaining scenes in The Departed. It was a long take.

Perhaps because the most demanding scenes were behind them, or because the end of the shoot was close, Brad had relaxed too much. He kept missing his mark in a comparatively straightforward dialogue scene.

Evan stopped the take five times. The tightening set of his face told Brad enough; on the next attempt, the actor found his focus.

Evan's manner differed from the directors Brad had worked with before. He seldom raised his voice, even when an actor stumbled or a crew member made a basic mistake.

That did not make the silence behind the monitor any easier to bear.

"Your father's family has ties in Southie, doesn't it?" the officer asked Billy. "Tell us about your uncle Jackie."

Brad paused and adjusted his tie. "He laid carpets for Jordan Marsh..."

"He took bets and tended bar in Somerville," the officer cut in. "He was killed in '95. They found him by the airport."

"That's right."

"The funeral was closed-casket, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Brad folded his hands and held the man's gaze.

"At prep school, before they expelled you for hitting a teacher with a chair, did you tell anyone what happened to your uncle?" The questions kept coming. "How screwed up are you, Billy?"

Brad said nothing. Anger showed in his eyes as he stared back.

"Cut. We've got it," Evan called through the speaker.

The crew members watching nearby gave the three actors a scattered round of applause.

Satisfied with the take, Evan marked the final page of his shooting schedule.

Around him, people began packing equipment. After more than two months in Boston, most of the crew were ready to leave the closed-in routine of the shoot behind.

"Mr. Rosenberg." Brad approached, drying his face with a towel, and leaned against the table. "I heard you're heading back to Los Angeles too."

Most of his scenes were done. The applause had been as much a farewell to his work on the picture as praise for the take.

"That's right." Evan looked up from his notes. "Guillermo will stay a couple of days for the inserts and location footage. Warner has some events I need to attend in LA. Was there something you wanted?"

Brad set the towel down. "I wanted to thank you for the part."

They had spent more than two months on the same production without becoming close. That was ordinary enough on a film set. They were colleagues, and both had work beyond this picture.

Brad had played the role well and rarely needed much direction. He had plenty of other opportunities; he had not tried to turn every exchange with Evan into a pitch for his next job.

"You're welcome. Come to the wrap party next week. Warner has booked a ballroom."

Evan stood and smiled as they shook hands. Brad's work on the film was finished.

Some of the crew would remain in Boston to complete the remaining shots, so the party was scheduled for the following week. Warner had reserved space at a hotel near its studio lot, giving publicity time to invite reporters as well.

It would be more formal than an improvised celebration on the last night of a shoot. Studios had become too alert to the marketing value of a cast and crew gathering to let this one pass unnoticed.

Evan made no farewell speech. Guillermo passed along the news, and much of the crew dispersed without ceremony.

After one more night in Boston, Evan flew to Los Angeles the next morning with Nina, Christian Bale, and Jennifer Connelly.