Hollywood Immortal

[Chapter 387: Midnight Showdown]

While Independence Day was holding its hot premiere,

New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Boston -- the headquarters of the four major North American critics' associations -- were holding meetings at the same time, laying out plans to attack and ambush Independence Day.

"This is a war, a fight that will decide every critic's livelihood. Everyone has to act. Since they didn't invite us to the premiere, we will go to the midnight screenings of Independence Day immediately. We will publish our fiercest critiques first. We would tell audiences across America that Independence Day was a colossal piece of trash. We would make Universal and Linton Films regret this, and show all of Hollywood what power critics had. . . ."

New York Film Critics Circle President David Denby, Los Angeles Film Critics Association President Kenneth Turan, National Association of Film Critics President Todd McCarthy, and National Association of Film Critics President Claude Hank had attended a party hosted by Roger Ebert in Chicago the night before.

After listening to Roger Ebert's analysis and confirming that Independence Day had not invited any critics, the four had been angered by the move from Universal and Linton Films.

As the saying went, taking away someone's livelihood was like killing their family; when something affected every critic's paycheck, how could they tolerate it or back down? They had to rally all critics to launch the harshest assault on Independence Day and block its box office, so it would completely flop.

Only then would Hollywood understand that the film industry couldn't do without critics' guidance, and that commercial movie publicity needed critics' flag-waving. Publicity money for critics had to be paid in full.

Unfortunately, CAA had been too soft: at the moment it was busy with internal fights, and none of the four senior partners wanted more trouble by angering Universal and Linton Films. They refused to step forward and join the coordinated action, and wouldn't even contribute sponsorship money.

"Bah, no wonder CAA kept sliding downhill -- its voice was getting weaker; WMA was fast catching up."

Fortunately, Disney and Paramount, concerned about their own releases, agreed -- without writing a direct check -- to have their media outlets fully cooperate with the critics' plans. Paramount even promised that CBS would air a Roger Ebert interview on Monday, broadcasting critics' sharpest criticisms of Independence Day to viewers nationwide.

---

In the early hours of July 4, Independence Day opened midnight screenings on a massive scale: 2,600 screens. Because of the film's explosive Super Bowl halftime ad and relentless promotion, plus theater managers' strong support, almost every multiplex scheduled two auditoriums, and some downtown theaters scheduled three.

At 11:50 p.m. on July 3, Roger Ebert walked into a Chicago theater to see the midnight screening of Independence Day and planned to issue his fiercest critique early the next morning.

He saw a huge crowd in the lobby and had his assistant check. He felt a chill: over 95 percent were there for the Independence Day midnight show. That made him even more eager to denounce the film.

Roger didn't get in line to buy a ticket. By long-standing practice between studios and critics, showing a critics' card got complimentary admission, with the studio covering the cost.

Because so many people were waiting, the lobby's benches weren't enough. Though Roger considered himself a renowned professional critic, few fans on site recognized him, and nobody offered him a seat. He had no choice but to stand in the noisy lobby with the other fans and wait for the midnight show, and he grew more resentful of Universal and Linton Films.

Since he had risen to prominence more than a decade earlier, he couldn't remember when he'd last gone to a theater in person to watch a film like this. Previously, whenever a film reached general release, the distributor would send him a special print in advance even if they hadn't invited him to a screening or premiere -- just so he might say something positive in his review.

---

Because of time zones, the midnight screenings in New York began first. David Denby picked a seat in an auditorium that held nearly 300 and found it almost completely full.

'How did so many people get tricked by the distributor's ads?' he thought. 'I have to expose Independence Day as a giant piece of trash before more viewers were fooled.'

A huge shadow swept across the moon. The American flag and the lunar surface trembled beneath it. A massive spaceship left the moon and flew toward Earth.

David furrowed his brow. The film opened with special effects -- starting a movie that way felt off to him. He didn't object to effects per se, but he thought a movie shouldn't start like that; couldn't it have unspooled more slowly?

"At the start--," he wrote the negatives on his notes.

But as the giant ship drew closer to Earth, the vivid, shocking effects provoked gasps and applause from the audience. "It really was the ultimate effects movie," someone whispered, echoing what director Michael Bay had bragged it would be.

Then the White House, the Empire State Building, the Capitol, the Washington Monument, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the Golden Gate Bridge, Hollywood -- America's landmarks were all shadowed by the extraterrestrial vessels.

David saw every person around him staring with wide eyes, as if they'd witnessed the impossible. Their expressions could be summarized in one word -- awestruck.

They gave repeated exclamations and cheers.

"Oh my god, this is incredible -- the special effects are insane. After Independence Day, how can any other effects movie compete?" one person shouted.

"Wow, just like Michael Bay said -- this is a world-destroying effects movie," another cried.

"My God, I'll bet every other special-effects-driven film this year is finished," someone else said.

Ordinary moviegoers loved special effects. When they saw America's cities and landmarks destroyed on screen, the theater erupted in screams and cheers.

---

At the same time, Kenneth Turan, president of the Los Angeles critics' association, sat in the AMG Theater at Santa Monica Place watching the midnight show. Unlike ordinary fans, Kenneth's focus wasn't on the effects. As a critic who prided himself on a sophisticated, unique eye, he paid attention to structure, narrative, human concern, and actors' performances.

To him, Independence Day was relentlessly crude and manipulative from start to finish. Its only selling point was hyper-realistic effects; aside from that it offered nothing -- just explosions and tired old Hollywood cliches. In his view, it was a textbook megaflop.

He sat with his arms crossed, staring coolly at the screen with a look meant to influence those around him.

But contrary to his hopes, the audience spent the entire screening yelling and marveling. When the film ended, they rose and gave a prolonged, spontaneous standing ovation full of cheers and screams. Everyone except him applauded Independence Day.

He couldn't take it. He said angrily, "Vulgar. Disgusting. How could a film like this deserve applause? Is such a rubbish worth applauding? Are all audiences nowadays degenerate?"

"Vulgar? Disgusting? Rubbish? Degenerate?" A twenty-something next to him took offense. He turned and stared at Kenneth.

"Hey, what are you saying?" the young man demanded.

"Jack, what's wrong?" his companion said, sensing trouble.

"That old man is insulting Independence Day," Jack said loudly.

The situation quickly drew attention. Jack said, "That old man not only insulted Independence Day -- he called everyone who applauded it vulgar, disgusting, and degenerate."

As soon as he finished, a dozen angry looks turned toward Kenneth.

Kenneth showed no sign of panic. He was a famous figure in the Los Angeles criticism world and still believed he had influence among viewers.

"I am Kenneth Turan, a columnist film critic for the Los Angeles Times," he said.

"So what? What's wrong with film critics?" Before David could finish his words, he was cut off by another man in his twenties. "You might dislike a movie, but don't insult the people who like it."

"Exactly!" someone else chimed in. "Critics are all a bunch of blowhards who argue to show off how smart they think they are!"

"Critics? What's wrong with critics? Do critics have the right to yap and insult people?"

"Don't think your taste is so superior -- look at the films you praise; who even watches half of those?"

"Fuck, how dare you slam Independence Day."

"Apologize. You have to apologize."

Kenneth had clearly misjudged things. He had provoked the audience's ire and was surrounded by hundreds of angry fans venting their fury.

---

Los Angeles, the media capital, teemed with tens of thousands of gossip sources. The moment a scene like this unfolded in a theater, several audience members slipped out and went straight for a pay phone.

"Chris, I have big news: a famous critic, Kenneth Turan, is surrounded by angry moviegoers in a theater. They're shouting at each other. How much is that worth?"

"Fifty dollars, exclusive."

"Deal. The address is AMG Theater, Santa Monica Place, Auditorium 2. Hurry."

*****

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