Ever since Isabella arrived in America, little Robbie had been glued to her side.
Every day, she was either accompanying Isabella to work—recording The Voice—or running errands for her.
If Isabella was thirsty, Robbie dashed off to get her a drink.
If Isabella was hungry, Robbie ran to ask the crew when lunch would be ready.
If Isabella was tired, Robbie happily massaged her legs.
Basically, anything a regular assistant could do, Robbie could do too. Anything a regular assistant couldn't do—well, Robbie could still handle it. She was basically a one-girl decathlon team, and didn't even want a paycheck.
The reason for all this was simple: Robbie wasn't famous yet, and her age made casting awkward. Those two problems meant there weren't many roles for her, so after wrapping The Game Plan, she was "unemployed again."
And today—since Robbie was the lead actress, she walked the red carpet with Dwayne Johnson. Isabella, being the big-shot producer, had to arrive earlier. If she'd gone with them, it would've looked bad. So they split up.
Technically, they'd only been apart for a few hours, but still—
"Oh, Margot, why are you frozen like that?"
When Isabella noticed Robbie standing stiffly by the theater doors, she asked curiously, "What's wrong? You spaced out?"
"Oh, Isa—because you're just too beautiful!" Robbie said sincerely once she snapped back to reality.
"You see me every day, and you still think I'm beautiful?" Isabella chuckled.
"Mhm!" Robbie nodded eagerly. "You look different when you're dressed like a princess."
"Fine, come on." Isabella was clearly pleased with the compliment.
She tilted her chin and gestured for Robbie to follow.
But just as she took a step, she paused again, turned, and held out her hand.
"Can you help me a bit? The dress looks great, but it's really long. I don't wanna trip."
"Oh, of course~" Robbie immediately offered her hand, smiling wide as they walked into the theater together.
Premieres are all the same—the only real difference is your status.
If you're the biggest name in the room, you just stand there and exist. You are the event.
If you're not, well, too bad—half the places are off-limits to you.
Robbie had attended premieres before—like The Worlds Voice. But back then she was just a minor supporting role, moving mechanically and trying not to be in the way.
Now? Even though being the lead didn't magically raise her rank, the fact that she was walking beside Isabella made her face freeze into a permanent, overexcited smile.
Not that she cared.
Because everyone they passed greeted her. The warmth, the compliments, the smiles—it all made her feel like she'd become a household name overnight.
Of course, she knew all of this was just Isabella's halo effect.
"So this is what being famous feels like?" she murmured, delighted.
As they finished socializing and started toward the screening hall, Robbie's face was practically glowing.
"Kind of," Isabella said. "When you're famous, you'll find that everyone in the world suddenly becomes a good person."
"Ooh~~" Robbie's eyes sparkled. "Then I really have to work hard!"
Isabella knew what she meant—she wanted to reach A+ status.
And Isabella also knew she could.
Still, she added, "Fame and hard work aren't related. Working hard doesn't guarantee fame, and fame doesn't require hard work."
"Who says that?" Robbie tilted her head seriously. "Isa, that's wrong. People who work hard always get rewarded."
"Uh…" Isabella pursed her lips, unsure whether Robbie was being naïve or just cute.
Before she could answer, Robbie continued brightly, "Don't believe me? I've got proof! Like me—when I worked hard to get you to sign me, didn't that give me a shot at fame? And when I work hard to get you to mentor me, won't that make me super famous?"
"…," Isabella fell silent.
As silly as that logic sounded… it sort of made sense?
"Oh, so that's why you've been sucking up to me all this time?" she said, pretending to frown like a scolded puppy.
"Of course~" Robbie said proudly, grinning like a little chick who'd found a worm.
Her hand only tightened around Isabella's.
When the movie started, the Beaver logo flashed across the screen—the production company's signature.
The audience chuckled knowingly. Anyone who hadn't seen those viral beaver stickers by now was basically living under a rock.
After the company logos, the film began.
Energetic music played over sweeping shots of Boston landmarks, instantly setting the scene. Then came the graffiti-styled title—no exposition, no dialogue, but from the design alone, you could tell it was a light-hearted kids' movie.
Next was a slick montage: the camera panned across a trophy case, championship jerseys, medals, luxurious homes, healthy meals, a home gym—everything showing the protagonist's success, discipline, and wealth.
Then came the cut—
Whoosh!
A bright red football jersey fell into frame.
The music stopped. The main character's face appeared. He was in a crucial game—win, and they go to the finals. Lose, and it's over.
Honestly, Isabella's eyes lit up.
Because this opening? It was tight and powerful—expertly done.
In just three minutes, the director had established the character, the setting, and the core conflict.
The pacing was like those webnovel "golden first three chapters."
"This movie's actually good," Isabella said with genuine delight.
She wasn't faking it.
Before the premiere, she'd only read the script—she hadn't seen the finished product. So watching it now, with everyone else, was a real surprise.
Beside her, Robbie whispered, "Of course it's good. You produced it. Everyone knows your name guarantees attention—so as long as they made it well, success was inevitable!"
"…," Isabella shot her a sideways glance.
That honeyed tongue again. She snorted softly but couldn't hide the pleased flick of her metaphorical tail.
The film's pacing stayed sharp, too.
Within minutes, Dwayne Johnson's character had met his surprise daughter—played by Robbie—and accepted his fate as a dad.
Five minutes flat. No dragging, no filler.
And that's what makes or breaks a commercial film: pacing.
When a movie nails that, everything else falls into place.
Sure enough, as the father-daughter dynamic unfolded, the theater filled with laughter.
"Ha! He actually gave her a helmet from his trunk because he thought kids in sports cars weren't safe? That's insane!"
"Right? Robbie's face was priceless!"
"Oh my god, he cooked enough pasta for ten people! The look on her face—ha!"
"Now he's covered in bubbles because she filled the bathtub to the brim—he looks like Santa Claus!"
"Wait, she put glitter on his footballs? And he's too proud to yell because one says MVP? His face! I can't breathe!"
Wave after wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, and Isabella finally relaxed.
Truthfully, the audience's reaction mattered a lot to her.
Because when she put her name on The Game Plan as producer, she took a risk—if the film flopped, it would drain the goodwill she'd built with the public. And she had no intention of letting that happen.
But if the movie does well?
"Oh—you're gonna blow up—"
Isabella leaned to the side, grinning at little Robbie.
Robbie felt the same, but she didn't want to follow the beaver girl's teasing. What she wanted to say was—
"Didn't I tell you hard work pays off?"
She turned, winking at Isabella.
"Hahaha~"
Isabella opened her mouth in a silent laugh—half in agreement, half from the itch to scratch open The Game Plan's box-office "lottery ticket" and see what numbers it hid.
Sadly, she couldn't.
It was only December 5, 2003, and The Game Plan wouldn't premiere until the 12th.
When the premiere and official release were a week apart, the "ticket" representing box-office performance couldn't be scratched yet.
The media, though, didn't make anyone wait.
The next day, December 6, critics who had attended the premiere began posting their reviews:
The San Francisco Chronicle wrote:
"The Game Plan is an excellent Christmas movie—a classic Disney family-style comedy."
The Chicago Sun-Times said:
"Though predictable, The Game Plan still shines thanks to Dwayne Johnson and Margot Robbie. Johnson displays his comedic chops, while Robbie sheds the mania of The Voice and perfectly captures a young girl's charm."
The Boston Globe commented:
"Isabella once again shows her childlike innocence. Her endorsement of The Game Plan reveals her inner sweetness. It might not impress critics, but for audiences, the story of a grumpy quarterback learning to be a good dad will make many smile."
Let's be honest: Disney's family movies almost never get high critical scores.
To adults, they're formulaic—cookie-cutter productions with no originality.
But that's the point.
They're not made for critics or film theorists. They're made for parents with kids, for young adults who just want to relax, for grown-ups nostalgic for childhood, and for anyone still craving a bit of fairytale magic.
And honestly? A non–LGBTQ+ Disney that can still dominate the market is terrifyingly good.
So when all the media said The Game Plan was "joyful"—well, that word landed right where the general public wanted it.
And the "general public" overlapped neatly with Isabella's fanbase.
Heh.
Even so, the hype for The Game Plan wasn't number one that weekend.
Because on December 6, Saturday—
A new episode of The Voice dropped.
Predictably, another victory.
Then came December 12—time for The Game Plan's big test.
It opened in 3,003 theaters across the U.S.
Opening-day box office: $15.46 million.
Number one on the daily chart.
That's already outstanding.
For comparison, Pixar's Finding Nemo had opened with $20.2 million.
Though The Game Plan didn't beat it, $15.46 million generated even more buzz—because the #2 to #5 films that same day looked like this:
#2: Something's Gotta Give – $5.27 million (opening day) #3: The Last Samurai – $4.27 million (day eight) #4: Stuck on You – $3.34 million (opening day) #5: Love Don't Cost a Thing – $2.21 million (opening day)
Yup.
The Game Plan outgrossed the next four combined.
The industry gasped.
"OMG! What is happening?!"
Warner Bros. burst out laughing.
"Knew it! The whole Christmas slate this year's trash!"
They were delighted, convinced The Game Plan had turned into The Vampire Plan—sucking everyone else dry.
And honestly? They weren't wrong.
Although the movie's second-day increase was only 5.8%—a modest $16.36 million—it wasn't the film's fault.
December 13 was another Saturday, meaning The Voice aired again that evening.
Prime movie hours gone.
Even with roughly 45 million potential viewers occupied by the show, The Game Plan still rose in box office.
That alone proved how magnetic it was.
Isabella's fans were insane:
Daytime, they watched her movie.
Nighttime, her TV show.
On the way to the theater, they probably listened to her songs.
Afterward, they used her beaver emojis to post their feelings online.
She had basically monopolized an entire day of their joy.
When the Beaver Girl booted Doctor Strange and stole his Time Stone, every insider saw what that meant for New Line Cinema.
"New Line-san—rest in peace—"
December 14, Sunday—
With The Voice disrupting viewing schedules, The Game Plan's numbers kept climbing, hitting $18.76 million that day.
December 15, Monday—weekday drop plus The Voice: The Journey behind-the-scenes episode—
Still #1 at the box office, with $9.61 million.
December 16, Tuesday—down again, $8.64 million.
December 17, Wednesday—The Game Plan finally lost the crown.
Because The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King opened.
Under its massive pressure, The Game Plan earned $6.29 million.
But Return of the King—despite being the only true blockbuster that Christmas—debuted in 3,703 theaters with $29.77 million.
Didn't even crack 30.
Reason? Easy.
Even though exhibitors knew The Game Plan had peaked, they hadn't pulled all its showings, so Return of the King couldn't monopolize screens.
And, well, Wednesday had another The Voice: Growth episode.
Failing to hit $30 million was like a church bell tolling in the medieval night—a death knell foretelling the end.
The next day, December 18 (Thursday), Return of the King crashed by over 50%, earning only $14.7 million.
It rebounded slightly:
Friday (Dec 19): $18.84 million Saturday (Dec 20): $23.74 million (even under pressure from The Voice's Final Four episode)
But still—
The Matrix Reloaded had a worse release window and made $134 million in four days.
Return of the King?
Only $87.05 million after four days.
Couldn't even touch Reloaded.
When Robert Shaye in New York saw that, he sighed deeply.
He knew it was over.