Hollywood Immortal

[Chapter 383: Tearing the Critics' Mask Off]

By mid-June, both Universal and Linton's film company ramped up Independence Day promotion.

TV, radio, newspapers, magazines, posters, and outdoor ads all fired on all cylinders. MCA and the UPN network began running Independence Day trailers during prime time. News about Linton, Cristiana, Nicole Kidman, Bill Pullman, and Jeff Goldblum regularly hit the media.

Nicole Kidman took time off from her set to return to Los Angeles. The five main stars used evening hours to appear on MCA and UPN variety shows.

The tabloid Hollywood Gossip rolled out rumors about Linton and Cristiana, and his playboy image was rekindled in a wave of publicity.

At Linton's request, a print of the film had been sent ahead to the White House and President Clinton and Mrs. Clinton were treated to a private screening. In return, the Clintons publicly praised Independence Day during a UPN interview. Universal and Linton's media outlets then promoted the "presidential praise" widely.

After a theater screening for exhibitors, the trade response was positive. Conversations suggested opening could exceed expectations, possibly reaching a record 3,500 screens.

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In the pre-Internet era, there wasn't much one couldn't do with promotion. The two companies alone budgeted $25 million for North American publicity.

But Linton had vetoed the usual press strategy around critics.

"I know it's Hollywood routine to invite critics to early screenings and spend a lot on courting them for summer and holiday blockbusters. Studios pay critics big sums to get them to cheerlead and pull fans into theaters," he said. "But has anyone ever built a concrete model showing how critic praise correlates with box office? No. Everyone's just guessing."

"You can't say there's no evidence that critic buzz influences ticket sales -- we can't take chances with Independence Day," Levitt protested, apparently believing critics still moved box office.

"I'll give three examples. Remember Star Wars?" Linton asked. Everyone laughed at the reminder -- Star Wars had indeed been a cultural phenomenon at the time.

Back then most critics hated it, and distributors weren't convinced. George Lucas nearly couldn't find a distributor, and Fox took it on under tough terms. That turned out to be lucky for Lucas: he retained many rights and merchandise deals and became enormously wealthy when the film exploded.

"Another example: Last year's The Man from Nowhere." Linton continued once the laughter died down.

"Of course -- what a heart-stopping sequence," someone chimed in.

"We spent $1.5 million courting critics before The Man from Nowhere opened. Most of those critics took the money and did nothing -- some even swung to other big studios and then savaged The Man from Nowhere. But you know the result: it still grossed $256 million in North America.

Let me give you another negative example. Don't be angry, everyone. Waterworld is still in theaters right now. You must have spent a lot of money on PR with critics before it was released, right?"

"Two million dollars," When mentioning Waterworld, the people at Universal all looked grim. In the end, Levitt gave a weak answer.

"They hyped it and we saw the result: negligible impact. From my view, popcorn summer blockbusters don't need critics to lead audiences. Critics' endorsements have limited effect on the box office. What really moved tickets were promotion and post-release word-of-mouth. Critics matter in awards seasons and for prestige films chasing honors. Instead of giving that $2 million to critics, we should inflate the promotional push."

With his well-reasoned and well-founded arguments, Linton completely ripped the critics' cover off. Of course, no one would believe that Linton's behavior has nothing to do with the collective backlash against The Man from Nowhere when it was released last year.

In the end, Universal and Linton's distribution teams accepted his view. Independence Day would not hold pre-release critic screenings nor spend on critic courting. The $2 million critic budget would go straight into promotion.

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While the publicity for Independence Day was in full swing, Linton continued shooting Mission: Impossible. He returned to the estate at night occasionally to check on Madonna's pregnancy and to spend time with Hillary Clinton, but otherwise he stayed focused on the set.

It wasn't like he could relax at the hotel: five top beauties were waiting for him nightly to throw parties. Time flew. By the end of June, Mission: Impossible production had neared wrap.

On June 26 the crew filmed the last scene -- the film's climax set atop a train.

He was supposed to have an intense life-and-death fight with his adversary Jim on the roof of a speeding, violently bucking train, preventing Jim from boarding a helicopter. During the sequence, the helicopter was supposed to explode inside a tunnel, making the whole sequence a visceral, high-stakes cinematic moment.

Of course, such a scene couldn't be shot practically. Even if Linton had no issues performing it, the other actors John Voight and Jean Reno couldn't have pulled it off, and insurance would never approve. Even with stunt doubles it wasn't possible.

The solution was straightforward. The location unit shot the train exteriors in England and France -- capturing high-speed runs and tunnel entries. On the sound stage they rebuilt the set: two connected train cars and a broad structure mimicking a tunnel.

All the rooftop action was filmed with the train stationary. The helicopter was real, but the pilot was a professional stunt pilot -- not Jean Reno. Jean sat in the grounded helicopter, performed staged movements, and the camera recorded those takes so the pilot's face could be digitally substituted later.

There was one risky move in the tunnel sequence. After a staged explosive effect on the helicopter, Linton's character was supposed to be hurled and land on the train's nose. In reality, the helicopter wouldn't be demolished on set -- that would be handled by visual effects.

The stunt team rigged Linton with five lines; the train's nose had thick padding. When he planted the mock charge on the helicopter, the stunt coordinators pulled the ropes on cue, sending Linton from the helicopter down onto the padded train nose. With that footage and the location plates, Sky Digital could composite, render, and deliver the final sequence: an intimate, dangerous encounter on a speeding train roof, a helicopter exploding in a tunnel, the whole breathtaking climax.

After that scene wrapped, Linton announced the Mission: Impossible crew had officially wrapped production.

*****

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