Chapter 197: Swallowed in One Bite
In Los Angeles, at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills, the nomination list for the 65th Academy Awards was officially announced.
Produced by Dawnlight Pictures and directed by Steven Spielberg, the drama Schindler's List received twelve Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Adapted Screenplay.
Meanwhile, Neil Jordan's The Crying Game also performed strongly, earning nominations for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Film Editing, and Best Original Screenplay, for a total of five nominations.
"This year's Oscars seem to be happening a bit late," Aaron remarked casually.
In previous years, the ceremony was usually held in mid-to-late March. This year, however, it had been pushed all the way to the last day of the month—and it was only early March now.
At the Bel-Air Hotel in Los Angeles, Aaron once again ran into Samuel Goldwyn Jr. The latter's heavily promoted film Much Ado About Nothing, which had reportedly cost tens of millions of dollars to market, failed to receive even a single nomination.
Samuel Goldwyn Jr. smiled bitterly.
"I really envy you. No one thought Schindler's List would turn out like this—and yet here we are."
With twelve nominations, exceptional critical reception, and The Crying Game acting as a strong companion piece, it was hard to imagine any surprises this year. Schindler's List was all but locked in for Best Picture.
"This really isn't my achievement," Aaron said modestly.
"It's Spielberg's brilliance. I just did what I could."
In truth, Aaron hadn't been deeply involved in the actual production of Schindler's List. The project had always been Spielberg's passion.
That said, Aaron had been its most crucial investor.
"By the way," Aaron added, "I heard Disney is preparing to acquire Miramax?"
Independent studios existed precisely so filmmakers wouldn't have a corporate leash around their necks, free to pursue projects on their own terms. Miramax had always branded itself as a champion of independent and art-house cinema—being absorbed by a major studio felt… contradictory.
Samuel Goldwyn Jr. chuckled.
"If Disney really wants anything, it's your Dawnlight."
"The Silence of the Lambs and Schindler's List—two Best Picture-level films."
"Disney has always lacked real Oscar prestige. They're often shut out of serious artistic conversations. Sure, Beauty and the Beast earned a nomination—but at the end of the day, it's still an animated film."
Aaron smiled faintly, unconcerned.
"Miramax, huh…"
Samuel Goldwyn Jr. could clearly hear the disdain and faint contempt in Aaron's tone. After all, Miramax's most successful work to date was still Steven Soderbergh's debut film Sex, Lies, and Videotape—a project that had passed through Aaron's hands.
In the years that followed, under the leadership of the Weinstein brothers, Miramax aggressively acquired foreign art-house films and independent productions, which only led to mounting debt.
"The Crying Game may well be the most important film Miramax ever missed," Samuel Goldwyn Jr. remarked.
No matter how one looked at it, Sex, Lies, and Videotape simply couldn't compare to The Crying Game—not artistically, and certainly not at the box office.
The Crying Game was already approaching $50 million at the North American box office, while Sex, Lies, and Videotape had topped out at just over $30 million worldwide.
After parting ways with Samuel Goldwyn Jr., Aaron unexpectedly ran into Madonna Ciccone, America's reigning pop queen.
The stunning Madonna had long been known for her bold, provocative, and unapologetically daring image.
"Aaron! Long time no see—congratulations!"
Madonna greeted him warmly, giving him a hug and even planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Good evening," Aaron replied, mildly surprised. He couldn't recall being particularly close to her.
Madonna was widely regarded as a symbol of sexual liberation in the 1990s. Toward the end of last year, she had founded her own Maverick Entertainment Group, which included Maverick Films, Maverick Records, and Maverick Publishing.
The company's very first release was her own photo book, Sex.
Filled with explicit and provocative imagery, Sex sparked enormous controversy and media backlash the moment it was released.
Aaron smiled. "I bought your new album Erotica earlier this year. No wonder you're considered the female counterpart to Michael Jackson."
Released late last year, Madonna's fifth studio album Erotica had achieved remarkable commercial success.
Madonna's blue eyes sparkled as she smiled.
"If you like it that much, I could have someone send you copies directly."
"Or I could deliver them myself," she added, leaning in closer. "I've always wanted to hear your thoughts on cinema."
Aaron felt a brief flicker of alarm.
Is that really what you want to hear?
He casually picked up a glass of wine from a passing waiter. "You seem quite fond of acting in films."
Madonna had appeared in quite a few movies by now, though most were supporting roles or failed to make much of an impact.
"I've always had strong ideas about film," she said confidently.
Earlier this year, Madonna had starred in the erotic thriller Body of Evidence, delivering an extremely explicit performance. Unfortunately, the film was widely criticized as a poor imitation of Basic Instinct. Much like her Sex book, her physical performance in the movie drew fierce condemnation from the press.
"Music is your greatest strength," Aaron said calmly.
"You might consider stage-to-film adaptations—musicals, for instance. That's where your real advantage lies."
"Of course, film acting is very different from stage performance. An actor needs to understand how emotions are conveyed on screen."
The advice was candid—and fair.
"Stage adaptations?" Madonna's interest was immediately piqued.
"Aaron, do you have any suitable projects? I've always been fascinated by opera and musical theater."
Her desire to collaborate with Dawnlight was obvious. After watching Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, she had become convinced that Aaron had an exceptional ability to develop films across genres—romance, thriller, suspense, drama, and art-house alike.
"Is it true you're a fan of Quentin Tarantino?" Aaron asked.
"Absolutely," Madonna replied without hesitation. "Does he have a new project? Is there a role that might suit me?"
"He does," Aaron nodded. "I've already agreed to develop his next script. You could give it a try."
As for the paycheck—there wouldn't be much. Pulp Fiction had a tight budget, and even major stars would only be doing cameos for minimal pay.
"That works for me," Madonna said readily. "I'm not picky about roles. Reservoir Dogs was truly something special."
She looked at Aaron intently, her gaze intense—almost as if she wanted to swallow him whole.