The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood!

Chapter 810: Happy Breakup

In a luxurious suite at the Beverly Hilton in Los Angeles, Natalie Portman stood by the window, her mind still replaying the premiere from a few days ago.

Outside, the sun blazed, but a chill hung in the air inside.

The chill, of course, was from "John Carter," a film that had just crash-landed in theaters.

Although the poor reviews and abysmal ticket sales from the preview screenings had prepared her for the worst, she never expected the film to fail so spectacularly.

So spectacularly that she, the female lead, could almost certainly kiss her A-list mainstream career goodbye for the foreseeable future.

As for how miserable Brad Pitt must be, Natalie Portman didn't dare to imagine. She figured that bankruptcy, for both his company Plan B and for him personally, was all but inevitable.

"Sigh..."

Natalie Portman let out a long, weary sigh, recalling the box office numbers she had just read. Over its three-day opening weekend, "John Carter" had scraped together just $20.6 million in North America.

On the surface, it seemed like a decent figure. Of all the films she had starred in—excluding the "Star Wars" prequel trilogy, which had the built-in advantage of its own brand—this was her highest-grossing opening weekend.

In fact, an opening like that would surpass the total box office run of ninety percent of Hollywood films.The problem was that "John Carter" had a budget of $250 million! A staggering two hundred and fifty million dollars, not twenty-five.

A return so grotesquely out of proportion with the film’s cost was a death knell for everyone involved, from the producers and director right down to the lead actors and investors.

They were all going down. Perhaps that was the only thing she could be grateful for—at least she’d have plenty of company on her way into the abyss.

Making a movie is one thing, but marketing it is another.

Natalie Portman believed that disastrous marketing was another key reason the film had failed to find an audience.

But she was a rational person. Even if she could come up with a million excuses, she knew there was no changing the reality of the situation, especially since all the major tracking organizations had already written "John Carter" off.

CinemaScore was projecting a final North American gross of just over $50 million.

While CinemaScore rarely analyzed foreign box office performance, Natalie Portman made her own estimate based on past trends.

How much could "John Carter" possibly make worldwide? Maybe $100 million. If they were incredibly lucky, it might crawl past $150 million.

Brad Pitt was truly doomed, a hundred times more so than she was.

After subtracting Disney Pictures' distribution and marketing costs, how much could Plan B possibly recoup? As for ancillary rights, what value could there be in a film that had bombed so epically?

"Cloud Atlas" had failed, and now "John Carter" had followed suit.

A strange thought suddenly occurred to Natalie Portman: the two films she had helped Brad Pitt make had ended up destroying both of them.

She, of course, wouldn't face the same inevitable bankruptcy as Brad Pitt, but the fallout would still be deeply unpleasant.

Why? Why had two films that seemed to have every chance of success turned into such catastrophic failures?

Natalie Portman couldn't make sense of it.

Could it be... an idea flickered in her mind. Could it be Matthew Horner?

Impossible. Natalie Portman immediately dismissed the thought. As both the star and a producer on the two films, she had been intimately involved. She knew for a fact that Matthew Horner had made no moves behind the scenes, and Disney would never have allowed it anyway.

She sighed and walked away from the window, sinking onto the sofa in the suite’s living room as she contemplated her next move.

With the failure of "John Carter," the path to commercial blockbusters was now closed to her. She had no choice but to retreat to the world of independent, artistic films—a difficult path to walk, especially after such a public and failed attempt to pivot.

Fortunately, she had an ace up her sleeve: a film she had produced herself.

The test screenings for "Black Swan" had been excellent. The plan was to premiere at the Venice Film Festival in September to build prestige, then head to Toronto to generate buzz and acclaim. From there, it would storm back into Hollywood, targeting the North American awards season with one ultimate goal: the Oscar for Best Actress.

The entire strategy had been meticulously planned, and she had invested a great deal of effort to see it through.

But could she pull it off? Natalie Portman knew just how difficult it was. Even being Jewish, even after carefully cultivating her public persona for fifteen years, she still only had a fighting chance.

No one could guarantee an Oscar win, not even Harvey Weinstein.

Natalie Portman was keenly aware of this, which was why she was searching for a way to boost her odds, to increase her chances of being crowned Best Actress.

It was in that moment that the idea she’d had at the premiere solidified into a firm decision.

She had been hesitant before, but now she had no other choice. Even an Oscar nomination would be a huge help to her rapidly sinking career.

She needed a child. And she needed to bring that child with her to the Academy Awards.

Society is sympathetic to pregnant women; they are granted special privileges. Even a circle as jaded as Hollywood was subconsciously influenced by this. If she could appear before the media with a large belly during awards season, she would undoubtedly receive preferential treatment.

Of course, it couldn't be an illegitimate child. The father had to be clearly identified, and it would be best if they were engaged.

Otherwise, it wouldn't be an advantage; it would be a scandal.

It was currently June. Awards season would kick off in December, six months from now. The timing was perfect—six months was more than enough time for her belly to become very noticeable.

"Society at large grants pregnant women preferential treatment." A note of contempt entered Natalie Portman's voice. "How hard is it to lie down and spread your legs?"

A baby was a necessity. And the father of this child? That would be Darren Aronofsky, the man she was currently dating.

With that thought, she pulled out her phone and made a call. "Darren, where are you?" she asked. "Why aren't you here yet?"

Fifteen minutes later, Darren Aronofsky walked into the suite. Like a predator, Natalie Portman pounced, pulling him down onto her.

"Wait, I don't have a—"

Darren Aronofsky didn't get to finish his sentence before Natalie Portman cut him off. "It's not necessary. I'm safe right now."

She had been counting the days. It was not a safe period.

Even as she moved feverishly, Natalie Portman's mind was still calculating the potential gains and losses.

Having a child with Darren Aronofsky, right now, would bring her at least two significant benefits.

First, she could enter awards season with a baby bump, giving her a trump card in the race for the Oscar. Second, she could bind Darren Aronofsky to her, ensuring the man would remain devoted to her for at least a few years.

A talented young director like him was a rare find.

As for her previous partner, Brad Pitt? Who gave a damn about him?

***

Brad Pitt himself was devastated. From the moment the preliminary box office numbers for "John Carter" came in, he knew the film was eighty percent dead. When he saw the opening weekend figures, he was completely certain: it was a certified bomb.

Not even divine intervention could save "John Carter" at the box office now.

He had received not only the North American statistics but the international ones as well. Across more than seventy countries and regions where the film had opened simultaneously, it had earned a pathetic sum of just over $22 million.

John Carter of Mars had not only arrived on Earth to a lukewarm reception; he was critically ill and dying.

The debt from "Cloud Atlas" still hadn't been paid off. The original hope was that "John Carter" would be a massive box office success and cover the deficit, but the result was the opposite. Not only could the shortfall not be filled, but it was about to be compounded by an even more enormous loss.

The investors who came in through traditional film financing channels were fine; they had just made a bad bet.

The real problem was still the debt.

He thought about the loans and collateral he had put up for the two projects—a staggering sum, over $180 million with interest, that he had no way of covering.

Plan B was a lost cause. It could file for bankruptcy; it was a company, after all. He could just hand it over to the bank.

But when the collateral from Plan B wasn't enough, he had personally borrowed and mortgaged nearly $100 million. Was he now facing personal bankruptcy?

At the thought of that horror, at the memory of Nicolas Cage's miserable life being hounded by creditors, Brad Pitt's body began to tremble slightly.

If it came to that, he would be far more miserable than Nicolas Cage.

Nicolas Cage had fully proven his commercial worth. Many people still loved him. But while Brad Pitt had starred in a few critically acclaimed art-house films, his commercial value was limited. After three consecutive flops—"Troy," "Cloud Atlas," and "John Carter"—who would dare hire him for anything other than cheap B-movies?

"This can't be happening," Brad Pitt muttered to himself. "I will never let this happen!"

He had clawed his way up from the very bottom of Hollywood. He knew the pain of living without money, fame, or status.

Who could save him? Who could pull him out of this? Brad Pitt looked toward the small bar in the living room, where Angelina Jolie was sitting, nursing a drink.

"Jolie." Brad Pitt walked over and picked up a glass, setting it in front of her. "Pour me one."

Angelina Jolie glanced at him and poured half a glass of vodka. Brad Pitt picked it up and drank it in one go. The burning alcohol not only seared his mouth and throat but also gave him a surge of courage.

"I'm in some trouble." Brad Pitt knew Angelina Jolie was worth tens of millions, at the very least. "Jolie, can you help me?"

Angelina Jolie suddenly laughed. How could she not know about Brad Pitt's recent disaster? He had dug his own grave, and now he wanted her to jump in with him?

If she had no money, who would support their many sons and daughters?

It was truly a mistake to have been with such an irresponsible man.

"Jolie!" Brad Pitt pleaded again.

Angelina Jolie raised a hand to stop him. She lifted her glass, took a sip, and made her final decision.

"Let's break up." She said the words with perfect calm.

In their situation, happiness could only be found after they went their separate ways.