Chapter 142: He Really Did It—I

Big-budget productions aren't for everyone. For some minor actors, just landing a cameo in a big film brings them joy, but for those already established, it's the opposite—the higher the cost, the greater the risk. A hundred-million-dollar project is manageable, but at two hundred million, few dare claim they can guarantee box office success.

Just as Leo and his agent were both anxious about this, the phone rang.

The agent picked up: "Hello, this is Leonardo… Ah, Wu Dao! Of course, Leonardo is in Los Angeles, free anytime—no problem!"

Hearing part of the conversation, Leo perked up his ears and immediately asked after the agent hung up: "Which Wu Dao? John Wu?"

The agent shook his head with a smile: "No, it's Wu Wu Yuchen, the director of the currently trending film, Black Hole Frequency."

Everyone in the industry now knew about Black Hole Frequency, which broke a billion in ten days. Leo asked: "What does he want with me?"

"He wants us to meet and discuss the script—this afternoon." The agent patted his shoulder.

Leo raised his fist in triumph: "Yes!"

He wasn't particularly eager to meet Wu Wu Yuchen or collaborate with him—he just felt a surge of relief that finally, someone was reaching out to him, and it was a director with a billion-dollar hit. It lifted the heavy burden of frustration and anxiety he'd been carrying.

…

In a private room, Wu Wu Yuchen waited for Leo's arrival.

Titanic, due to its astronomical cost, had become a joke. Hollywood largely doubted it would break even; even Fox itself held a pessimistic view. But there was no turning back—they were fully trapped and had to push forward.

No one could have predicted how spectacularly it would succeed—not only turning the truck driver into the "King of the World," but also catapulting Leo into the ranks of Hollywood's—and the world's—top stars!

With Leo as the lead, the promotion and exposure for Sniper Phone Booth would no longer be an issue.

Consider this simple comparison: two Western historical epics, both costing $35 million. Leo's The Man in the Iron Mask rode Titanic's momentum to a $180 million box office, while The Last Ride, which rejected Leo and cast Tobey Maguire instead, bombed so badly even Li An couldn't bring himself to mention it. Li An probably regretted not signing Leo—his intestines must be twisted with remorse.

This was Leo's clout after Titanic!

That's why Wu Wu Yuchen had originally planned to keep Hugh Jackman as a backup, waiting for Leo.

Now, this window of opportunity was the perfect moment to secure Leo as the lead—if he missed this month, it would be gone forever. That's why Wu Wu Yuchen had already started contacting producers last month—to begin shooting as soon as possible.

He wanted Sniper Phone Booth to be Leo's first film released after Titanic. In his past life, that chance was stolen by The Man in the Iron Mask—but this time, he was determined to claim the first sip of the broth.

A knock interrupted Wu Wu Yuchen's thoughts. Soon, Leo—breathtakingly handsome—entered the room with his agent.

Wu Wu Yuchen rose with a smile to greet him; Leo responded warmly:

"Hello, Wu Dao! I was deeply impressed by you at this year's Berlin Film Festival—your film Run Lola Run truly stunned me!"

Wu Wu Yuchen laughed heartily: "The Berlin Best Actor—I remembered you too! When I saw you, I thought I absolutely had to work with you someday!"

They truly had a bit of fate: in February this year, one won Best Director, the other won Best Actor at Berlin.

Looking at Wu Wu Yuchen, Leo reflected inwardly: earlier this year, he'd only been the Berlin Best Director—now he'd already become a billion-dollar director!

America always considered itself superior. Hollywood treated the three major European festivals with indifference—not even close to the Oscars, and even the Golden Globes carried less weight, since most Americans didn't care about foreign films. In Hollywood, a billion-dollar director held far more status than any European award.

After brief pleasantries, Wu Wu Yuchen cut straight to the point, pulling out the Sniper Phone Booth script and handing it to Leo.

The male lead of Sniper Phone Booth is a self-serving, lying scoundrel—not a true villain, but the film is a moral reckoning by a shadowy force. Under the pressure of death, the protagonist shifts from arrogance to collapse, confessing all his secrets and sins before a watching public.

This character isn't good—he's a scumbag among ordinary people—but brimming with tension. And for Leo… this was exactly his favorite kind of role.

When people think of Leo, they picture Jack from Titanic, his stunning looks—but in truth, his earliest favorite roles were never handsome men.

Since entering the industry, he'd always harbored an artistic dream and a hunger for awards. Look at the roles he'd played:

The abused boy in Living Out Loud, the mentally disabled boy in My Own Private Idaho, the drug-addicted youth in The Basketball Diaries, the brooding gay man in Total Eclipse—every one an outsider.

Only in the past two years, under his agent's urging, had he begun shifting toward mainstream roles, taking on Romeo + Juliet, Titanic, The Man in the Iron Mask, and others.

But deep down, Leo still loved these abnormal characters—and the Sniper Phone Booth script, with its high quality, had completely captivated him.

Leo looked up, delighted after finishing the script: "Wu Dao, I'm in love with this story!"

His agent tugged at Leo, signaling him to hold back his emotions—this wasn't good for negotiations.

Wu Wu Yuchen smiled and asked directly: "Leo, interested in playing the lead in my film?"

Leo smiled politely: "Of course—I'd be honored to join Sniper Phone Booth!"

At that moment, the agent spoke up: "Wu Dao, could we ask about the project details? Which company is producing it? What's the budget? And the shooting schedule…?"

Wu Wu Yuchen had no intention of hiding anything: "It's an independent film, produced by my own company. Budget is around $10 to $12 million…"

The agent frowned slightly. His original plan for Leo was to steer him toward mainstream projects, ideally major studio films—but this was an indie, with such a low budget…

"How much are you offering Leo for his salary?"

Wu Wu Yuchen held up three fingers: "Three million. For our crew, that's already very generous."

The agent considered: Leo earned $2.5 million for Titanic, $3.5 million for The Man in the Iron Mask six months ago. Three million was within his acceptable range—and for a $10 million crew to offer $3 million to the lead was genuinely generous.

The agent glanced at Leo; Leo nodded subtly, signaling he'd accept.

Wu Wu Yuchen continued:

"As for shooting time—I want to start as soon as possible. Our crew has already been preparing for half a month; I estimate we'll be ready in two weeks. Location: Fifth Avenue in Los Angeles. The city's permit should be approved by then…"

Hearing this, the agent and Leo exchanged glances. Leo couldn't help saying:

"Wu Dao, but Titanic releases on December 19. I'll be tied up with Fox's intensive promotion soon…"

Wu Wu Yuchen paused, then said: "I can delay shooting until the end of the month. By then, your premiere promotions will be over, and your Christmas campaign nearly done. The film's locations are simple, and we'll shoot fast—half a month will be enough."

"Wu Dao, we need to discuss this further. Thank you very much for your faith in Leo!"

Moments later, Wu Wu Yuchen watched Leo and his agent leave, sighed, and realized the decision wasn't his to make. He could tell Leo was genuinely moved during their script and character discussion—but being moved was one thing; accepting the role was another.

Back home, the agent asked Leo: "Leo, do you really want this film?"

"Of course! Leaving everything else aside, the script is outstanding—it's not the kind of art film you dislike. The pacing is tight; if filmed well, it'll be brilliant!"

"And Wu Dao is truly talented—he just proved it with Black Hole Frequency, didn't he?"

The agent nodded, then patted Leo:

"Leo, stay calm. We must be cautious. I don't deny it's a great script, and Wu is talented—but it's a low-budget indie. Unlike Harvey's projects, it has no major studio backing. Promotion and distribution could be a disaster."

"You know, a film's success isn't just about the film itself—marketing and distribution matter just as much. Right now, I want you to take a major studio offer. That way, even if Titanic fails, you'll still have a chance to rebound."

"But we can't find any other offers, can we? Sniper Phone Booth is the only one that's come to us." Leo said.

The agent sighed. Reality was harsh. Leo was his most valuable talent, and now he stood at a critical crossroads—every decision had to be precise.

Titanic was being universally panned, and as insiders, they knew more. Fox executives had argued endlessly with Cameron. Fox wanted to cut the film to two hours to increase showings—but Cameron had threatened to kill himself if anyone dared edit it!

In the end, Fox released the three-hour version. As a result, theaters refused to give it many screens, making Titanic even more heavily doubted.

"Leo, given the current situation, Titanic's failure is almost certain. Your next film choice is crucial. If Titanic fails, you'll only lose your salary—people will blame Cameron, and you can still work in indies. But if your next film also fails, it'll be catastrophic."

Leo listened, suppressing his enthusiasm for Sniper Phone Booth. He knew his agent was right—this was his moment of truth.

…

That night, Wu Wu Yuchen received Leo's call.

"Leo, what's your decision?"

"Oh, Wu Dao, I'm sorry—I really love the Sniper Phone Booth script and want to work with you, but my current situation…"

Leo's voice carried regret over the line.

Wu Wu Yuchen immediately frowned: "Leo, what's the issue? Is it the salary? Or the shooting schedule conflicting with your promotion?"

"No, no—those aren't problems. You understand my situation—I'm trapped by Titanic. I can't afford another failure. Two years ago, I'd have taken Sniper Phone Booth without hesitation—but now, I don't have the luxury of being reckless…"

Wu Wu Yuchen finally understood: because this was a low-budget indie with no major studio backing, Leo feared failure.

"Leo, are you worried about promotion and distribution? Don't worry—those won't be problems."

Wu Wu Yuchen knew Leo naturally carried massive exposure after Titanic—but he couldn't say that outright.

At that moment, Leo's agent took the phone: "Sorry, Wu Dao, it's not that we don't trust you—but you know Hollywood: without proper marketing and distribution, a film rarely succeeds. Even Lucas's Star Wars and Indiana Jones relied on major studio channels. Leo can't afford any missteps…"

After hanging up, Wu Wu Yuchen frowned tightly. He'd planned to partner with a second-tier distributor and ride Leo's post-Titanic hype to success—but now it seemed Leo was too cautious; he wouldn't touch anything without a major studio.

Wu Wu Yuchen thought for a moment, then dialed producer James, determined to discuss distribution again.

…

Time passed. Leo now had no time to think—he was fully immersed in Titanic's promotion, and the ship began dominating public attention.

On December 14, Titanic held its U. S. premiere in Los Angeles—five days before its wide release. Fox wanted early buzz to boost opening weekend box office.

But the female lead, Rose, was absent—Kate Winslet attended her ex-boyfriend's funeral, leaving Leo alone on the red carpet. A shadow fell over Leo's heart.

Five days later, under worldwide anticipation, Titanic opened.

After midnight, Leo sat on a chair, legs shaking to ease his nerves. In the room, director Cameron sat silently. A few steps away sat Fox's executives—all sleepless, waiting for box office numbers.

Though everyone had doubted the film's prospects, a sliver of hope remained—what if it worked?

Soon, a staff member entered with data files. Seeing all the big names staring at him, he swallowed hard—he'd just seen the numbers, and they were bad.

"How much?" a Fox executive demanded.

The staff member forced a smile worse than crying: "$8.66 million."

"What?!"

"Are you sure you read it right?"

Shocked exclamations erupted. Cameron stepped forward and snatched the file—but the numbers were clear: Titanic's opening day gross: $8.66 million.

A $250 million epic opening under $10 million nearly shattered Cameron's spirit; his face turned pale.

Others grabbed the file, then erupted in curses.

"Cameron, you bastard! You should've slit your throat with your razor!"

After arguing with Fox executives over editing, Cameron had pulled out a razor blade and declared: if the film failed, he'd cut his editing screen and quit directing.

The shouting snapped Cameron back. He stubbornly said: "It's only day one—it's just beginning!"

Though everyone thought he was lying, Fox had no choice. One executive offered weak reassurance:

"Right, it's only day one. Our premiere got great reviews—tomorrow might be better!"

"Leo, keep promoting these next two days—pull in as many viewers as you can!"

Leo nodded blankly, but inside, he knew the film was dead…

Saturday: $10.67 million.

Sunday, $9.3 million.

Titanic's opening weekend grossed $28.63 million.

As soon as these numbers came out, everyone on the crew, including Fox's executives, felt it was utterly over.

Hollywood had previously conducted professional surveys showing that for commercial popcorn films, the first two weeks accounted for seventy percent of total box office, though the better the word-of-mouth, the lower this ratio became.

But Titanic's opening weekend was absurdly low!

Two years ago, Waterworld opened with over $20 million and ended with a global box office of $255 million. Titanic's budget was significantly higher than Waterworld's!

The media began mocking mercilessly, openly declaring this film a disaster for Fox no less severe than the sinking of the Titanic. Some even said Fox should already begin bankruptcy protection proceedings...

Leonardo and his agent stood frozen, facing each other.

Leonardo stared blankly and asked dully, "Will the Eight still come knocking on my door now?"

The agent said bitterly:

"I never imagined the opening weekend would be this bad..."

"If I'd known, I should've let you take The Phone Booth!"

Leonardo thought of the lead actors from Waterworld—all of whom had seen their careers severely damaged, either shifting behind the camera or switching outright to TV acting.

And now Titanic, in worse shape than Waterworld...

At that moment, his phone rang. Leonardo silently picked it up and answered:

"Hello, Leo, this is Wu Wu Yuchen."

Leonardo wanted to say he wasn't doing well at all, but Wu Wu Yuchen's call still stirred something in his heart—could it be...?

Wu Wu Yuchen continued: "Leo, I watched Titanic. It's truly amazing! Your performance was outstanding. I'm sure everything will turn around from here!"

"Thank you, Wu Dao!" Leonardo replied sincerely. At a time like this, only someone who truly cared would call—not those fickle opportunists who only cling to success.

"Leo, I'm offering you the role again—the male lead in The Phone Booth. What do you say?"

A warm current surged through Leonardo. He hadn't expected Wu Wu Yuchen to still be waiting for him. He asked in return, "Wu Dao, aren't you worried the film will be criticized because of me?"

"Hahaha, Leo, I believe in you! Even this failure means nothing. I'm certain you'll become a star one day!"

"By the way, I'm still offering you $3 million. And you don't need to worry about promotion—I've arranged Sony Columbia for distribution, with a $10 million marketing budget!"

"How's that, Leo? Any reservations left?"

Leonardo's heart jolted at these words!

While his film had bombed in its opening weekend, while the whole world mocked them, in his darkest moment, Wu Wu Yuchen was still willing to offer him $3 million—and add so much more to the promotion budget!

He really... I'm crying now!

Like a beam of light piercing through life's darkest hour, Leonardo's eyes grew moist, waves of emotion flooding his heart—he would do anything Wu Wu Yuchen asked of him now.