Chapter 450: American-Style Socializing

Allison noticed Chen Nuo staring blankly at the photo in the newspaper and said from the side, "John Barrymore was called the 'Great Profile' by Americans 100 years ago; I think many people will call you that 100 years from now."

Chen Nuo muttered, "Is that so? But I only hope that if my face is on the ground, it can be stepped on a few times less."

Allison clearly hadn't kept up with his train of thought; she paused for a moment, then said with a suppressed smile, "I think this imprint of yours probably doesn't get a moment's rest 24 hours a day; no one will have that chance."

Chen Nuo wasn't actually that sensitive; he had just said it offhandedly without taking it seriously, so he smiled and said, "Allison, I was just making a joke."

Afterward, he flipped the newspaper to the entertainment section.

Sure enough, Allison hadn't lied; the wording in this edition was indeed excessively brilliant, one might even say it was filled with a thick, combative writing style.

To be honest, in his memories from his past life, Chen Nuo had never seen such straightforward language used to discuss China in any mainstream American newspaper.

Even among the few voices supporting the Asian community, the hesitation and reservation between the lines were always impossible to hide.

This made him subconsciously look at the author's byline on the article.

It was a special commentator named Jonathan Winters.

The name sounded unfamiliar, but it was definitely not Asian, let alone Chinese-descended. Just looking at the name, it was impossible for his ancestors for eight generations to have had any connection to the East. Yet, the commentary he wrote seemed as if his ancestors for eighteen generations had been publicly humiliated.

The headline alone was extremely impactful—

"Yesterday, in the Golden Globe nomination list, I witnessed the greatest act of racial discrimination in 21st-century Hollywood."

And the content of the article was firing on all cylinders:

"Has the Hollywood Foreign Press Association forgotten its identity? Their existence was supposed to be part of the globalization of film, to help Hollywood understand the world—not to exclude the world!"

"Do you really expect me to believe this is a realistic situation? Even with a clean sweep in box office, word-of-mouth, and performance, Chen Nuo still doesn't deserve even a single nomination?"

"How does this make me believe there isn't an element of racial discrimination involved?"

"...If *Inception* were a work starring Brad Pitt, would he not even get a nomination? The answer is obvious..."

"...Audiences who have seen *Inception* should resonate deeply with me. Look at the achievements it has attained so far; whether it's the historic box office results, or the ratings on IMDb and the reviews from critics, everything points to this being a great work that comes along once every few decades..."

"...Chen Nuo's performance in it can also be called excellent. Who could forget the thrilling car chase scene he performed on the snowy cliff? And who wouldn't be moved by the tears he shed for love and family deep within the dream?"

"...To have such a person excluded from the Golden Globe nominations is simply comparable to a reprint of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882! This is an insult, a disgrace, and it brings shame upon the entire United States!"

Damn it.

That's not right, this...

The more Chen Nuo read, the more wrong it felt. He raised his head, looked at Allison's serious expression, suddenly understood something, and said, "Is this your person?"

Allison shook her head and said, "How could it be?"

Chen Nuo let out an "Oh."

In that case, it seemed his goal wasn't as difficult as he had imagined. Look at this, he had just started, and it felt like he was about to reach the finish line. With these righteous Americans who speak out against injustice, why worry about not achieving great things?

"This is a Warner person," Allison continued.

Chen Nuo choked for a second.

"As soon as the results came out yesterday, I contacted Warner. This kind of opportunity absolutely cannot be missed," Allison said calmly. "I believe that as long as we operate it properly, public opinion will definitely be on our side."

"This one, this one, and this one, take a look."

Chen Nuo took the other few newspapers and flipped through them carefully.

The commentaries in these were much more normal—

*Entertainment Weekly*: "In the genre film *Inception*, Chen Nuo carries the core burden of the entire work with a surprising emotional depth. His absence is one of the most disappointing regrets of this year's Golden Globes."

*The New York Times*: "Perhaps it's a bias toward genre films, or perhaps it's a problem with the voting mechanism, but when an actor delivers such an outstanding performance in a globally acclaimed film and still cannot receive a nomination, it can't help but make one question the Golden Globe's evaluation system."

*USA Today*: "Chen Nuo's performance is impeccable; he shaped a protagonist who is both extremely charming and contradictory. The Golden Globes may have their own standards of consideration, but the public's eyes are sharp."

After he spent about five or six minutes glancing through these objective and neutral articles.

Gulinazha had already changed her clothes, dried her hair, and come out, holding a tray with two cups of coffee—one for him and one for Allison—before standing obediently to the side.

Allison thanked her, took a sip, and then said, "These are also Warner people."

"Pfft!"

Chen Nuo sprayed the coffee in his mouth out all at once.

"These are too?"

"Yes, they are all Warner-affiliated media. The News Corporation side, for instance, wouldn't say anything nice about us."

"...Uh, alright."

"It's clear that Warner also wants more nominations to break the record set by *Avatar*, so they have done their best. And now, I bet those people at the Foreign Press Association definitely regret it. What we need to do is make them regret it even more, let this public opinion storm that has just begun blow even harder, and eventually make those old fossils at the Oscars recall your friendship with them last year during this storm, making them suddenly realize that it's not worth it to go against you for the sake of a nomination!"

After finishing in one breath, she suddenly turned to Gulinazha and praised, "Dear, your coffee is delicious. Can you teach me how to brew it?"

Gulinazha pursed her lips and smiled shyly, "I just found some tutorials online and learned from them."

"Then can you forward a copy of the tutorial to me?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, dear."

Allison said this with a kind expression, just like a neighborly aunt.

At noon on December 20, 2011, the 69th Golden Globe Awards nomination luncheon was held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills.

This is the routine banquet held after every Golden Globe nomination announcement. As one of the important social events of the annual awards season, its purpose is to provide an occasion for nominees and members of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association to communicate face-to-face, while also building momentum for the upcoming awards ceremony and promoting media attention and industry discussion.

Perhaps in the eyes of the Chinese, this kind of occasion has a bit of a sense of red tape and being superfluous, but in the American social environment, this is as normal as it gets.

This is, after all, a country where parties and banquets are held for the smallest of things, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

Just like Chen Nuo.

In the five days from the announcement of the nomination list on December 15 to December 20, he had received more than ten invitations. No matter how much he wanted to rest, he eventually had to attend three parties out of social obligation.

Among the three, there were both casual and formal ones, including a masquerade ball themed "60s Hollywood" co-hosted by Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, a low-key birthday dinner for Morgan Freeman, and a "Director's Roundtable Night" co-hosted by Paramount, *Variety*, and *Vanity Fair*, which was attended by almost all the directors and producers with the highest Oscar buzz this year.

In short, this was the first time Chen Nuo had spent the year-end social peak before Christmas at his home in Beverly Hills without working. Only when he attended these various extravagant parties, which could be said to have no meaning, did he truly begin to integrate into the American upper class.

Fortunately, although he had only been involved in small-time activities in the Korean and Chinese communities in Los Angeles in his previous life, and had never entered such banquets filled with champagne, beauties, Hollywood stars, and Forbes-list billionaires, he had at least seen how things worked even if he hadn't experienced it himself, so he managed to handle it with ease.

At these parties, he not only got to know many people but also let many people get to know him again.

Don't underestimate this. Just like how Mark Zuckerberg would later go for morning runs on the Bund and learn Chinese to say "I love China" to promote Facebook.

For his own purposes, Chen Nuo would naturally suppress his impatience and patiently carry out American-style socializing. It just so happened that he could also take the opportunity to recruit people, inviting some available actors and directors to visit Shanghai next June.

Therefore, even if Allison hadn't bought the "small essays" and asked him to show up at the luncheon to carry out the next step of the media offensive, he would have actually come anyway.

The only problem, perhaps, was the minor issue that he wasn't a nominee or a sponsor and didn't have an invitation.

But neither he nor Allison seemed to have overlooked this point.

At 11:30 AM on December 29, at the entrance of the Beverly Hilton Hotel.

He stepped down from a rented Bentley Mulsanne, the sunlight spilling onto the fabric of his custom suit. The concierge behind him gently closed the car door, which emitted a low, soft "click."

In front of the main entrance, a middle-aged male receptionist wearing a crisp black suit and a headset was waiting there.

With one hand behind his back and the other hanging naturally at his side, he saw Chen Nuo approaching, took a step forward, bowed his head with a smile, and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Chen."

"Good afternoon."

"Welcome to the Golden Globe nomination luncheon. Please show your invitation."

"I don't have one." "Very well, please come in."

The receptionist nodded and naturally made a gesture to invite him in. The doormen on both sides pulled the doors open. Chen Nuo nodded at them, straightened his suit, and walked into the Hilton Hotel lobby.

"You came?"

"Uh-huh."

"I bet the people at the Hollywood Foreign Press Association are the last people who want to see you right now," Leonardo DiCaprio said with his head down. Because there were too many eyes around, looking at him from time to time, he could only suppress his laughter in public and say this.

Chen Nuo sat next to him, generously straightening his napkin and spreading it on his lap, saying faintly, "You're wrong, Leonardo."

"Hahahaha, is that so? Do you think they want to see you right now?"

"Of course, exposure—that is the purpose of the luncheon." Chen Nuo turned his head to the right, "Christopher, don't you agree?"

Christopher Nolan, sitting on his other side, smiled reluctantly and said, "That's right. But the Golden Globes not nominating you for Best Actor is definitely a mistake. I'm not sure they want this kind of exposure."

"Why wouldn't they? Christopher. Actually, it's better that I wasn't nominated. If I really were nominated, what would happen to the person next to me?"

"Damn." Leonardo DiCaprio rolled his eyes, "I admit you play with water guns better than I do, but do you really think you'd definitely beat me for the film?"

"Not necessarily." Chen Nuo shrugged and said with a smile, "But what if you only filmed for forty days? Haha."

"Thirty days..." Leonardo DiCaprio curled his lips, looking regretful, "If I had known it would turn out like this, I definitely wouldn't have been in such a hurry."

That's right. In order to film *Django Unchained* at the time, Leonardo DiCaprio had spent almost the entire year of 2011 gaining weight. Who knew Quentin would keep delaying the start of filming? Fortunately, he gained weight until April, and his physique happened to match the role of a former FBI director, so he temporarily took on a biographical film—*J. Edgar*.

In the end, it took about 33 days to finish filming.

What can you film in a month?

Sure enough, after *J. Edgar* was released not long ago, the response was lukewarm, and it flopped so hard no one even knew its name.

But Warner Bros. tried their best and managed to "salvage" this film during the awards season—and Leonardo DiCaprio was nominated for Best Actor at the Golden Globes because of it.

This made him ecstatic. A few days ago, he had even hosted a masquerade party with Kate Winslet, who was nominated for Best Actress in a Miniseries/TV Movie for *Mildred Pierce*, where they played water gun games, eventually getting everyone at the party soaked.

Allison, however, was bitter about this matter, especially regarding Warner Bros.' favoritism in the PR for Best Actor.

"By the way, congratulations," Leonardo DiCaprio said in a sour tone.

"For what?"

"The *Twilight* box office is good, and you acted very well."

Chen Nuo laughed, "The weekend box office isn't out yet, so it's hard to say for sure. Did you go see it?"

"I went last night. Damn, I really didn't expect... if you could act like that, why did you act like that before?" Leonardo DiCaprio asked seriously, "Was it really just to sell more tickets? Or were you just too young at that time?"

Chen Nuo shook his head and said, "Do you think my performance in Twilight 1 was very poor? I don't think so. Just like your Titanic, I think your Jack is the best Jack, no matter what you think. I don't think you could act better than you did back then even if you returned to being 17 now. Do you understand what I mean? I think it was precisely because I was too young back then and didn't think about anything that Twilight was so successful."

His words were half-true and half-false, but Li Er clearly took them to heart, nodding with a thoughtful expression.

The director of J. Edgar, Clint Eastwood, who was sitting next to Li Er, interjected at this moment: "Roland Barthes' 'Death of the Author' theory. He said that once a creator creates a character, that character no longer has any relation to the creator, and all interpretations of them belong to the audience."

This was the first time Chen Nuo had met this Hollywood legend, so he politely complimented him: "That is very well said. Neither I nor Leo could ever say something like that in our lifetimes."

Li Er said with dissatisfaction: "Don't drag me into this, I'm not like you."

Chen Nuo lowered his voice and said: "Right, at least I have a few books at home, while you only have bras, marijuana, and water guns."

"Hahahaha."

Hearing this, Nolan and Clint all laughed.

Li Er couldn't help but laugh as well, though he said: "I swear, even if I lie at home counting stars next year, I won't go to Shanghai."

Chen Nuo ignored him and said to Clint Eastwood: "Director, are you free next year? There are still quite a few empty spots on my jury..."

This was Chen Nuo's recent routine for recruiting people; he would try to stuff everyone he met into the Shanghai Film Festival jury, making it seem as if he were truly in charge. Little did they know that the selection of jurors was decided by the organizing committee. As the jury president, he had no say in the matter.

Clint Eastwood, the once most famous Hollywood screen tough guy, was 80 years old this year, but he was still in excellent spirits and said with a smile: "If I have time, I will definitely go."

"That's great, thank you~"

There were at least a dozen people who had given such verbal promises over the past few days, and Chen Nuo didn't know how many would actually make the trip in half a year, but he figured he would trick as many as he could.

After a while, the banquet officially began.

First, the president of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association took the stage to give a speech, welcoming all guests and nominees and briefly introducing the overall direction of this year's awards. Afterward, the food was served.

From this moment on, the entire venue entered a period of free social interaction.

Many people finished their meals in a few bites and then began wandering the room with champagne or cocktails—this was originally a vanity fair to build momentum for the upcoming awards season, an important node for everyone to show their faces, pave the way, and hand out business cards. Many people came here for this very purpose.

However, the group at Chen Nuo's table had no need for socializing, so they ate relatively slowly, chatting while they ate.

Especially the elderly Mr. Eastwood, who, after directing two box-office flops in a row, was drooling over the money-making ability of the Nuo-Nuo duo and asked quite a few questions.

Having just discussed with Nolan how to balance audience preferences with a director's artistic pursuits, the topic suddenly shifted, and he made a joke: "If I could direct a Twilight, I would announce my retirement immediately. I'm serious... Chen, what is your box office expectation for this Twilight?"

Chen Nuo thought for a moment and was modest: "Around 800 million, I suppose."

"Impossible!" Li Er said immediately and decisively: "The opening weekend box office for this installment achieved the highest result in the Twilight series, and the word-of-mouth and ratings are currently the best in the entire series as well. The final box office will definitely be more than 800 million. I think it should be able to hit 1 billion dollars."

The old man shook his head helplessly and said: "Hearing this, I feel like I am truly old."

"Who says that? I think you can keep directing until you're 90," Chen Nuo laughed.

The old man chuckled and said: "I hope so. When that time comes, I will definitely spend a large sum of money to hire you as my lead actor."

"No problem," Chen Nuo agreed. He turned his head and said with a smile: "Leo, why do I feel like you are very concerned about my movies?"

Li Er nodded and said generously: "Yes, I am very concerned. Because I am jealous. Ever since you told me on the phone that day how much money you could make from Inception, I have been very, very jealous. That is the reason I pay attention to Twilight, and it turns out, unexpectedly, it seems to have succeeded again. Honestly, I have an idea now. Director, I don't mean anything else. I just want to say from the bottom of my heart, perhaps you could help me choose my next movie, Chen?"

Chen Nuo cut a slice of smoked salmon, put it in his mouth, and said: "I can't. If there's a good script, I have to save it for myself. I don't have a film to shoot next year yet."

"Aren't you shooting a TV series? You don't have time..." Li Er said with dissatisfaction.

"Chen, you are shooting a TV series?" Clint Eastwood was surprised.

"Yes, a Hong Kong TV series. It will be released on Netflix when the time comes."

"Why?" Clint Eastwood shook his head in disbelief and said: "A TV series? Why would an actor with your talent waste time shooting a TV series? What can it bring you? Money? Or fame? It does absolutely nothing for your acting skills."

Look, this was the attitude of old-school Hollywood filmmakers toward TV series. Chen Nuo spoke up: "On one hand, it's the money; on the other hand, I want to try something new. I actually think TV series can create more of a cultural impact than movies..."

Chen Nuo was halfway through his sentence when his gaze suddenly crossed over Eastwood and landed on someone not far behind him.

An Asian girl with black hair and black eyes was standing by the wall opposite them, about ten meters away. She was very young, looking to be around twenty, with long hair draped over her shoulders, fair skin, and a high-bridged nose. She was wearing a server's uniform, standing stiffly with a nervous expression, looking very uncomfortable.

At this moment, she looked over, and her gaze happened to meet Chen Nuo's in the air.

Afterward, her expression visibly showed some panic, then she calmed down, shifted her gaze, and looked elsewhere.

Chen Nuo hadn't expected to run into this person here.

He suppressed the slight fluctuation in his heart and continued as if nothing had happened:

"...It can influence the audience's lives for a longer time. This kind of influence is not necessarily smaller than that of a movie."

"Is that so? A Hong Kong TV series? Cultural influence?" The old man looked amused.

"Yes." Chen Nuo saw that Eastwood didn't believe him, and he wasn't prepared to continue explaining. He didn't have a weak spine and wasn't desperate for anyone's approval. Especially not from an 80-year-old man like this; unless he saw it with his own eyes, saying anything more would be useless.

Nolan interjected from the side: "Chen, if your TV series needs help, you can tell me."

"Don't worry, I will," Chen Nuo said.

At this time, Philip Gabriel, the president of the Foreign Press Association who had just spoken on the awards stage, walked over.

"Hello gentlemen, I hope I'm not interrupting your meal. I have a small matter to discuss with Chen. Chen, are you available?"

Chen Nuo wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up, "Of course."

(End of chapter)