Martin entered the venue, where Drew Barrymore rushed up, breathless. "Boom, Martin, boom!"
Cameron Diaz, curious, asked, "What's booming?"
"The box office is about to explode!" Drew exclaimed. "I just got word—over 3,000 early screenings with 90%+ attendance. The Joker is going to crush it! Theater chains are calling, begging us to rush more prints."
"Wow, Martin, congrats!" Cameron beamed.
"Congrats to us," Martin corrected. "You're the leading lady, Popo."
"Haha, right, congrats to us!" Cameron laughed.
"Enough mutual back-patting," Drew interjected. "I'm calling the print factory to work overtime and get fresh copies to theaters by tomorrow. God, an R-rated film! Even District 9 didn't ignite . Unreal!"
Never underestimate Martin Meyers' influence on moviegoers. Media outlets marveling at The Joker's frenzy agreed. Fueled by the Super Bowl ad and online debates, a dark storm was about to sweep North America.
Warner CEO Alan Horn approached Martin, grinning. "You're our genius. I've never seen an R-rated film this embraced by the masses. You might set a new record!"
Martin shrugged calmly. "The last record was mine too."
Horn blinked, then laughed, recalling The Matrix, which shattered R-rated film records. "Fair point. Breaking records is old hat for you. But good news: Warner's adding $10 million to marketing and distribution to fully support Meyers Entertainment's expansion."
"No issue there," Martin teased, "but profit splits stay the same."
"Of course!" Horn chuckled.
Nearby, Drew overheard, pumping her fist. "Yes!" With Warner's backing and Meyers Entertainment's media resources, The Joker would dominate North American airwaves for a month post-premiere.
As the lights dimmed, the film began. Daniel Kaluuya, seated with the crew in the fifth row, buzzed with excitement. "God, I'm thrilled! My first theatrical release! My mom's gonna be so proud."
Like 80% of Black American kids, he had no father.
[TL/N: I laugh a little at this paragraph, pls don't call me racist.]
"Your first? Didn't you do that… what was it, Killing Gun News?" Chris Pratt, beside him, asked.
"Uh, that was a British indie film, never hit theaters," Daniel admitted, embarrassed.
"Chill, little man," Pratt said, half-comforting, half-bragging. "You're just a side role here—three minutes of screen time, maybe one if we're counting face shots. No big deal. Me? I had over eight minutes in Wanted with Martin, and he punched me!"
Daniel frowned. Eight minutes was brag-worthy, but getting punched by Martin? Why boast about that?
Pratt, catching his confusion, scoffed, "You don't get it. In the Meyers clan, it's an honor to be hit by Martin. Think Matt Damon, Ben Affleck."
"Wow, big stars," Daniel said.
"Exactly. How do you think they got there?"
"Because Martin punched them?"
Superstitious like many, Daniel pondered Pratt's words. Is there some mysticism here? Should I get Martin to punch me too?
In the back rows, Daniel Mann stared at the screen, buzzing with anticipation. His roommate, Adam Davis, was calmer. Though initially hooked by The Joker's 30-second trailer, his excitement had faded, replaced by doubts about a villain-led comic book film.
"Dude, I'm regretting snagging these premiere tickets with you," Adam said. "Eighty bucks! I might suffer through 120 minutes."
"Come on, what's that nonsense?" Daniel snapped. "Do you know how lucky we were to get these? They're scalping for $400 outside! And you loved the trailer!"
As Martin's loyal fan, Daniel was annoyed by Adam's hesitation. "It's just a trailer," Adam countered. "Online, people said trailers are the best bits. Crappy movies can have great trailers. They've got a point."
"Shut it, man. We're here, money's spent. Just watch and see if it's good," Daniel grumbled as the screen lit up.
The Joker was set in 1980s Gotham—economic decay, soaring prices, stark wealth gaps, rampant unemployment. Sound familiar? Yes, it mirrored America's current reality.
The protagonist, Arthur, a kind young man, lived with and cared for his ailing mother, Penny. A clown-for-hire in Gotham, his dream—echoing his mother's hopes—was to spread joy. Plagued by mental illness, his uncontrollable behaviors made him a laughingstock, often at the worst moments.
Onscreen, Arthur applied makeup before a mirror, hooking his fingers into his mouth to force a wide grin. "You can do this, Arthur," he told his reflection.
The screen darkened. Bang, bang, bang. Subtitles appeared:
Line two: "A Martin Meyers Production," in bold, massive font.
The audience stirred with anticipation.
[TL/N: I'm planning to stop uploading after this chapter, but I'll still translate a few more until the end of this screening arc. I don't want to disappoint my readers too much, especially since I've already been on hiatus for 1 month.]