The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood!

Chapter 466

"We've reached an agreement with New York City Hall."

In a conference room at the Warner Studios office building, Goldsman stood at the head of the meeting table. "We will be shooting the majority of our scenes on location in New York, including Washington Square and the Brooklyn Bridge."

Matthew leaned back in his chair, listening as Goldsman thumbed through the script in his hand, its pages dotted with sections he had marked in red.

The meeting room wasn't crowded—just him, David, Goldsman, and Guillermo del Toro, to be precise.

The four of them represented the top brass of the entire production.

Matthew's gaze shifted to Guillermo del Toro, who met his eyes in return.

This wasn't the first time Matthew and Del Toro had met. After the director signed his contract, Goldsman had formally introduced them.

Goldsman had chosen Del Toro primarily for his distinctive directorial style, but it also helped that he came with a recommendation from Helen.

With Francis Lawrence out of the picture, Guillermo del Toro had signed the directing contract, postponing a film he had been developing.

During a previous meeting, Del Toro had mentioned to Matthew that the project he was putting on hold was still in its draft stages and was titled Pan's Labyrinth.In their limited interactions, Matthew found Guillermo del Toro impressive. The Mexican director possessed a whimsical yet peculiar inner world, a mind brimming with chaotic energy, and a deeply emotional core.

To put it mildly, he was a director with an extraordinary affinity for the dark arts.

"The shooting schedule has been adjusted," he continued. "Under the latest plan, filming will run from October to February of next year, though the on-location work might extend a bit longer."

The key challenge was that the crew would have to work around New York's schedule; a city that cosmopolitan certainly wasn't going to work around theirs.

"That's no surprise," David chimed in. "The film is slated for a December release, just in time for next year's holiday season."

Matthew remained silent. There was little point in him voicing an opinion on such matters, so he simply listened.

Goldsman looked between him and Guillermo del Toro. "What are your thoughts?"

Del Toro gave a slow shake of his head, indicating he had nothing to add.

Matthew opened his copy of the script. "Is this the final draft?" he asked.

"No," Goldsman replied, glancing at the script in Matthew's hands. "I've been working on this screenplay for years, and I've recently incorporated a few new ideas."

"You've all seen the original draft, so if you have any thoughts, feel free to bring them up."

Matthew responded, "In the script, the protagonist, Robert, is forced to kill his only companion. Could that be a problem?"

Del Toro shot him a puzzled look.

"We have the hero explicitly kill his dog on screen, and even though he's forced to..." Matthew trailed off, searching for the right words. After a moment, he continued, "Some people love their dogs more than anything. If there's a public outcry, it could become a real problem."

"It's not out of the question, though it's unlikely," David acknowledged, nodding in agreement with Matthew.

None of them were new to Hollywood. Perhaps it was an oversight, but Matthew's reminder immediately gave them pause.

Goldsman took Matthew's point. "That definitely needs some adjustment."

He then asked Matthew, "What's your take?"

Matthew shook his head. "I just think it might provoke a backlash from dog lovers and animal rights groups. As for how to adjust it, I'm a layman."

He could offer suggestions based on audience reaction, but he'd never written a screenplay—a highly specialized skill.

That was a task for Goldsman to handle.

"I'll think about it."

Crafting Sam's death to be shocking without shattering the fragile hearts of dog lovers was no small feat.

The original script might have been fine, of course, but none of them were willing to take that risk.

The Hollywood film industry had evolved to a point where dog lovers, cat lovers, and various animal welfare groups could create significant trouble for a production.

There was now an unwritten rule in Hollywood: to avoid unnecessary risk, major commercial productions simply didn't feature scenes where a dog or cat was explicitly killed.

In fact, many big-budget films went out of their way to include scenes of people saving their dogs from peril.

This wasn't to say dogs couldn't die in films, any more than children could. Plenty of mainstream movies featured dead children, but they never showed the act of dying itself. A film that staged a gruesome scene of a dog being stabbed to death or a child being hacked to pieces would face unforgivable public condemnation for its extreme cruelty.

It was an established principle, and any director who didn't want their film to be savaged by the public and press knew better than to cross that line.

"That's not all," Matthew said, turning to the last few pages of the script. He asked, a little hesitantly, "Is the hero dying at the end a bit too bleak?"

"I think it works," Guillermo del Toro said first. "A lonely, tragic, and shocking finale. The film couldn't have a better ending than the hero's death."

Goldsman added, "I actually have an alternate ending in mind that's not in this draft."

After a moment of thought, he proposed, "Why don't we shoot both endings? We can decide which one to use based on test screenings and put the other on the DVD release."

David nodded his approval. "That's a solid idea."

Neither Matthew nor Guillermo del Toro objected. Shooting an alternate ending would give them more options down the line.

Matthew had only brought it up because he knew the film had two endings. In one, the hero finally develops a serum that can kill the virus but dies along with the infected to protect it—a more heroic conclusion. The serum is then sent to a settlement of survivors, offering a chance to save humanity.

This was the theatrical ending, which followed the classic Hollywood formula: the hero becomes a legend by sacrificing himself to save all of mankind.

In the second ending, the hero releases his captive "zombie," finally recognizing the infected as intelligent beings in their own right. Everyone then simply returns to their own homes...

The second ending was far more thought-provoking.

He hadn't seen that alternate ending in the script, which was why he brought it up, unaware that Goldsman had already considered it.

The main plot of the script was, after all, Goldsman's brainchild. As an Oscar-winning screenwriter and a thoughtful producer, he was more than capable.

Of course, Matthew was only offering suggestions from an actor's perspective; he wasn't telling Goldsman how to do his job. He had learned a great deal over the years, but his expertise was in acting, not screenwriting.

Besides, his knowledge of popular films was based on fleeting impressions. How could anyone write a screenplay from that?

The meeting between the four of them ended shortly after. Once Goldsman and David had departed, Matthew stayed behind to chat with Guillermo del Toro about the film's production.

While I Am Legend was still deep in pre-production, Warner Bros., as both producer and distributor, had already begun to release preliminary news to build buzz. With Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest still in theaters, any news involving Matthew was guaranteed to generate hype.