The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood!

Chapter 638: Spike's Despair

Saturday's sun was already high in the sky. The streets of Los Angeles were thick with traffic, and a steady stream of people flowed through the Colfax district as the day began. A paperboy on a bicycle pulled up to the door of a three-story house on the block, parked his bike, grabbed a newspaper, slid it through the mail slot, and rang the bell.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

Hearing the chime, the paperboy turned, hopped back on his bike, and rode away.

The doorbell continued to ring, finally rousing the master of the house.

In a second-floor bedroom, an unusually gaunt Spike Lee awoke from a deep sleep, but the moment he opened his eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong.

Although the doorbell had stopped ringing, a strange sound buzzed in his head, growing steadily louder. He felt a pressure building in his veins, as if something was being squeezed out of him, threatening to shatter his body. The world around him seemed to be wrapped in a soundproof layer of blurs and distortions, and the patterns before his eyes twisted and warped.

A chill began to creep over him, an itch seeping deep into his bones—an inhuman torture that threatened to break him if it continued.

After his appearance on Oprah's talk show, he'd done what many in his circle did when faced with trouble they couldn't handle: he'd upped his dosage. And from time to time, this particular brand of agony would return.

Spike knew exactly what was happening. He steeled himself, grabbed a pill bottle from the nightstand, and without a moment's hesitation, unscrewed the cap. He shook out a few tablets, tossed them into his mouth, and swallowed them dry.

Then he opened an elegant cigarette case, pulled one out, and lit it.But it offered only a sliver of relief, not enough to banish the pain completely.

Seizing the brief lift in his spirits, Spike Lee reached back into the nightstand and pulled out a small, white plastic packet.

After a bit of fumbling, he finally inhaled the lifesaving substance.

As if by psychological suggestion, the strange sensations coursing through his body and mind vanished. A wave of clarity washed over him, and he felt his body and mind clear, as if the talented director he once was had returned.

Gradually, Spike returned to his normal state. He shook his head vigorously, got up, and left the bedroom. He walked downstairs, opened the front door, and retrieved the newspaper. Returning to the first-floor living room, he sank onto the sofa. Without bothering to wash his face or eat breakfast, he casually opened the paper and began to read.

He couldn't say how long it had been since he'd last left the house. The daily paper was his only source of information from the outside world.

Once again, Hollywood and the world beyond seemed to have forgotten him. Apart from a few visits from Francis Lawrence last year, no one had contacted him.

It was as if Spike Lee had never existed in Hollywood.

As he flipped through the pages, Spike's hand and eyes froze on the entertainment section. On the front page, he saw an all-too-familiar name: Matthew Horner.

"Matthew Dominates Independence Day as 'Hancock' Sells Out on Opening Day!"

The headline made Spike Lee's heart clench. He wanted to just turn the page, but he couldn't fight his curiosity and began to read.

"This paper has learned that the blockbuster film 'Hancock,' starring Matthew Horner, opened simultaneously in multiple territories worldwide on Independence Day. The film held its grand premiere at the Kodak Theatre in the Highland Center, with the full cast and crew in attendance. On the North American market, the film grossed over $32 million on its opening day. Even with an original genre film, Matthew proved he was still a box-office superstar. Despite a poor reception from critics, Horner's star power has led many forecasters to predict the film will earn at least $80 million in its opening weekend, setting a new North American premiere record for an original, non-sequel film."

Spike's eyelids twitched. As a formerly prominent Hollywood director, he knew exactly what those numbers meant.

A wave of resentment washed over him from the depths of his soul, stirring an inexplicable agitation. The high he'd been riding instantly vanished, the euphoria souring into a bitter gloom.

He hastily grabbed the nearby bottle, unscrewed it, shook out two more pills, and swallowed them before taking several deep, ragged breaths.

"Before and after the film's release, some have described it as a ridiculous hodgepodge, a mix of action, science fiction, romance, and other genres."

Spike gripped the newspaper, forcing himself to continue reading.

"But fans are defending the film, praising its vivid characters, thoughtful dialogue, and cutting-edge action sequences. The movie has also silenced its critics with stellar box-office results, and Matthew Horner has once again proven himself to be a legendary hero with Hollywood's greatest box-office appeal!"

"A legendary hero?" Spike Lee scoffed with disdain. "Matthew Horner, a legendary hero? He's a goddamn racist! Ahem—! Ahem—!"

His outburst was a little too emotional. A violent coughing fit seized him, and when it finally subsided, the newspaper slipped from his hands.

For a moment, he felt an overwhelming sensation of falling.

This true racist, this despicable bastard, this villain without a moral compass, was being hailed by Hollywood and the media as a legendary hero? And someone like him was left to hide in the shadows like a rat...

The immense psychological blow sent a shockwave through Spike Lee's body. He began to twitch uncontrollably, his hands shaking.

Spike tried to stand but couldn't. He tumbled from the sofa to the floor. With snot, tears, and saliva streaming down his face, he began to writhe and crawl, taking an eternity to drag himself toward a cabinet.

He wrenched the cabinet open and fumbled for a syringe. Spike Lee rolled up his pajama sleeve, revealing an arm pockmarked with needle tracks. He found a spot with relatively fewer marks and plunged the needle in.

Then, he collapsed onto the floor.

In his trance, he vaguely saw himself entering the White House, becoming president. He gave the order to arrest Matthew, then had him stuffed into a super-cannon. A gunner raised the barrel and fired it toward the sun, launching Matthew Horner into outer space.

A bastard like Matthew should be out there destroying aliens, not people on Earth!

That was Spike Lee's last coherent thought before the drugs took full effect.

---

As more audiences and critics watched "Hancock," word-of-mouth on the film grew increasingly polarized.

Of course, Matthew himself had noticed that the film's quality was indeed a step down from "I Am Legend." It was as if Goldsman was facing the same problem that had plagued Jerry Bruckheimer after his string of successes: how to adjust the next production after reaching a commercial peak.

Over the past two years, Jerry Bruckheimer had lost his golden touch. With a growing number of production failures, the sheen of his "golden producer" status had faded considerably.

Goldsman had started as a screenwriter and, to date, had produced a series of successful films, including box-office hits like "Mr. & Mrs. Smith," "I Am Legend," and "Hancock."

Technically speaking, Goldsman could now be considered a gold-standard producer.

But no one can stay at the top forever. Not Jerry Bruckheimer, and now, it seemed, not even Goldsman, who appeared to be hitting a rough patch of his own.

Matthew had worked with three producers more than twice: Sean Daniel, Jerry Bruckheimer, and Goldsman.

The first two had experienced a serious decline after achieving brilliant success.

"Hancock" performed well at the box office, but after watching the final cut, Matthew wouldn't deny that it was the worst film he had starred in in years.

With his current popularity and box-office draw, plus the film's straightforward nature and abundance of spectacular special effects, attracting fans wasn't a problem.

But that kind of appeal doesn't last forever.

So when Goldsman approached him again, Matthew was ready to say no.