Chapter 171 – Two Cinematic Calling Cards
On the Left Bank of the Seine in Paris's 7th arrondissement, near the Quai Voltaire, Aaron purchased a two-story detached townhouse covering roughly 3,500 square feet.
From its windows, one could look across the river toward the Louvre, with the Paris Currency Museum just next door.
Standing by the window and gazing down at the Seine, Sophie Marceau said with a smile, "This is a wonderful place. It's right in the heart of Paris."
Aaron wrapped his arms around her from behind. "It's convenient, too. Whenever I come back to Paris, I can stay here for a few days."
He paused, then added, "That film adapted from Marguerite Duras's autobiographical novel—The Lover—seems to be doing quite well, doesn't it?"
Sophie smiled and patted the back of his hand. "Jean-Jacques Annaud's adaptation was a huge commercial success in France. More than three million people went to see it."
"Because of the film's popularity, sales of the original novel skyrocketed as well."
"But there was also a lot of criticism, wasn't there?" Aaron asked, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Sophie returned the kiss. "Yes—quite a lot, actually."
Although The Lover was a box-office triumph, France's severe and often arrogant literary elite looked on with disdain. They sneered at the film's commercial success, claiming it betrayed the essence of the original novel and amounted to a desecration of literary art.
In their view, cinema and commerce were things that should never mix.
---
That evening, outside the Bristol Hotel opposite the Élysée Palace, Aaron arrived with the strikingly beautiful Christiana Reali to attend a gala reception.
1492: Conquest of Paradise had just begun its French theatrical run, and director Ridley Scott, along with Gérard Depardieu and other key members of the production, were all in attendance.
With his arm around Christiana's waist, Aaron said lightly, "I thought you might never call me."
Christiana gave a small, helpless shake of her head. "I've studied acting for years. I truly love performing. A chance to go to Hollywood is something I simply couldn't bring myself to give up."
Aaron patted her shoulder, then lowered his head to kiss her softly on the lips. "Don't worry. You have the looks and presence—no less than Sophie Marceau, honestly. There will be plenty of opportunities."
"I know," Christiana replied quietly.
Since the moment she decided to call Aaron, she had already made her choice. As for her brief romance the previous year with her drama instructor, François Uster—it hardly seemed worth mentioning anymore.
Originally, Ridley Scott, who had been filming The Mask of Zorro in Spain, also came to France—largely because 1492: Conquest of Paradise had performed so poorly both critically and commercially.
Gaumont Pictures likely hoped the film might at least gain some traction in Europe.
Inside the banquet hall, Christiana Reali went to the restroom. On her way back, someone suddenly slapped her on the backside, making her cry out in shock.
"Hey—you're really beautiful. What's your name?"
The man before her had asymmetrical eyes with a piercing gaze, a large nose, and a powerful, sharply defined jawline—an oddly striking, almost abstract combination.
It was none other than Gérard Depardieu, France's national treasure of an actor and the star of 1492: Conquest of Paradise, where he portrayed Christopher Columbus.
"Oh—Mr. Gérard Depardieu, good evening," Christiana said quickly. "I'm Christiana Reali."
Depardieu was a César Award winner, a recipient of Best Actor honors at Venice and Cannes, and had become even more famous after Cyrano de Bergerac two years earlier.
To someone like Christiana Reali, he was an untouchable, unoffendable giant.
Depardieu eyed her striking beauty and reached out to take her hand.
"Film opportunities aren't easy to come by these days. Maybe I could help you."
Christiana withdrew her hand, visibly uncomfortable, yet still maintaining a polite smile.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Depardieu."
"Hm?" Depardieu's expression darkened. "Do you have any idea what my influence could mean for someone like you?"
For actresses at Christiana's level, a word from Depardieu could determine whether they ever worked again.
And yet—this woman had dared to refuse him outright?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Depardieu," Christiana said firmly. "I have friends waiting for me."
With that, she hurried away down the corridor.
---
Elsewhere, Aaron Anderson, chatting with Ridley Scott, was in excellent spirits.
The Mask of Zorro was progressing smoothly, and the pairing of Scott with Kevin Costner promised something special.
"Hey," Scott suddenly said, "isn't that Woody Allen?"
The man in question was thin, awkward-looking, with a deeply lined face and thick glasses perched on his nose—an unmistakable figure in the world of auteur cinema.
"It is," Aaron replied calmly.
Allen had come to France primarily because of the scandal surrounding his relationship with his adopted Korean daughter, which had erupted earlier that year and caused enormous controversy in Hollywood.
"Right—he's here promoting Husbands and Wives," Scott recalled. "Another self-written, self-directed project."
Aaron merely smiled.
At this point, Woody Allen was clearly at a low ebb. Accusations involving sexual misconduct, underage relationships, and moral impropriety had shattered his reputation.
He had split with longtime partner Mia Farrow, and public opinion had turned sharply against him.
Some of his most devoted fans still hailed him as a "god of art-house cinema."
But in Aaron's eyes, Allen's films were consistent rather than exceptional—rarely breathtaking, occasionally clever.
His recurring obsessions with death, sex, and morally ambiguous relationships appealed to a niche audience, but held limited commercial value.
Soon after, Aaron ran into Jérôme Seydoux, the current chairman of Pathé Pictures. Earlier that year, Seydoux—together with France's Chargeurs Group—had acquired Pathé from Crédit Lyonnais.
More importantly, Jérôme Seydoux was the younger brother of Nicolas Seydoux, chairman and major shareholder of Gaumont Pictures.
France's two great cinematic institutions—Gaumont and Pathé—were now firmly in the hands of the Seydoux family.