King of Hollywood-Chapter 180 - : Return to the Oscars (Part 3)

Chapter 180: Chapter 180: Return to the Oscars (Part 3)

“It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?” said the award presenter, a famous screenwriter named William Nicholson, who just stepped onto the stage from the backstage, sporting a beard and smiling as he began his opening remarks, “Of course, every Oscar night is wonderful, especially when we get our hands on the Oscar statuette. I bet that moment is much more enjoyable than listening to some guy who can only touch the trophy when he’s hosting.”

“Ha ha ha.” Laughter erupted, finding it amusing to see Billy Crystal being teased.

“This is discrimination, and I reserve the right to protest, William,” Billy Crystal said, standing below the stage and folding his arms, putting on a look of great injury.

Unfortunately, Nicholson didn’t even glance at him but continued to address the guests, “As we all know, screenwriting is not an easy task, whether it’s adaptation or original, so even if you don’t win or aren’t nominated tonight, don’t belittle yourself. Believe that you are the best, and one day you will become the best.”

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Applause broke out enthusiastically; everyone cheered for his words, including Adrian. Although he inwardly disagreed with the speech, he wasn’t stingy with his applause.

“Now, let’s take a look at the nominees for Best Adapted Screenplay,” William Nicholson said, beginning to read the list, “‘Enchanted April,’ by Peter Barnes; ‘A River Runs through It,’ by Richard Franqi; ‘Tragicomedy,’ by Michael DeMan; ‘Howards End,’ by Adrian Cowell; ‘Scent of a Woman,’ by Adrian Cowell.”

As each name was read, a small segment on the screen beside him displayed the name of the person being mentioned. Since Adrian had two nominations, the screen was evenly split into four parts.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if someone could get five nominations with five scripts in the future, so the screen could just show their footage without having to split it?” Billy Crystal suddenly remarked wistfully, standing beside the screen.

If it weren’t for the anticipation of the announcement, the hall would likely have been filled with guests’ laughter. Even so, there were plenty of low chuckles.

“If that were the case, wouldn’t it be better just to deliver the trophy directly to their home?” Adrian couldn’t help but laugh and joke, which significantly relaxed the tension he felt due to the imminent revelation.

He quickly noticed this and was surprised for a few seconds, then came to terms. Not reacting wouldn’t be normal; after all, this was the Oscars, and although he had planned and schemed for a long time, the actual moment was still inevitably exciting.

So, would my first Oscar statuette be born here? Adrian looked at the screen showing himself, maintaining a calm demeanor on the surface, but underneath, like many others, he gently rubbed his hands together.

“Let’s hurry and see who will take this trophy home,” Nicholson finally opened the envelope he held in his hand. He glanced at the list, then raised an eyebrow, clearly not surprised by the name on it.

“‘Howards End,’ Adrian Cowell!” William Nicholson announced loudly.

Music instantly started playing and then enthusiastic applause followed. Adrian, though momentarily dazed, quickly composed himself, stood up, and smiling, nodded to the surrounding guests applauding him. He shook hands with the members of the crew who had risen before heading up to the stage.

“Congratulations, Adrian,” Nicholson said as he handed the Oscar statuette to him.

“Thank you, William,” Adrian replied, shaking his hand before stepping up to the microphone.

The applause slowly died down. Adrian took a breath, turned his head to think for a moment, and then began: “Well, my first impression is that Mr. Oscar is heavier than I imagined.”

A burst of light laughter followed.

“The second impression is, thank you to the judges for awarding this prize to me. Thank you very much. At least I won’t be going home empty-handed this year,” Adrian said, deliberately grinning.

There was another round of light laughter.

“The third feeling, I think Billy and Mr. Oscar are getting more and more alike. Perhaps in the future, the judges could consider using his image to replace Mr. Oscar’s. It will soon be quite similar, and it would also be a way to honor Billy for his contributions to the award ceremony,” Adrian said with a grin, looking toward Billy Crystal standing beside the screen.

This time, the laughter turned into a roar, and Billy, not far off, rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching.

It wasn’t until it quieted down a bit that Adrian took a deep breath, “Well, first, I want to thank Cambridge University King’s College for selling me the adaptation rights and production rights to the novel. Secondly, I want to thank those who doubted my adaptation. It was their views that made me extra cautious when writing the script, afraid of making any mistakes. Then, I want to thank those who supported me. Without their support, I wouldn’t have been able to perfectly adapt the novel into a screenplay.”

Here Adrian paused, his expression turning solemn, “Next… I must thank The Godfather and my friend Claude who stood by my side when I was most reckless and chaotic, always helping and encouraging me. Without them, there would be no me today. Finally… I want to thank my parents, my parents in Heaven. I hope… I hope they can see, can see the person I am now and be proud of me! I really want to tell them that I love them! This is my first Oscar statuette, and it will be the most treasured and memorable one! Thank you, thank you, everyone!”

He raised his arms high, his voice choked, and his eyes glistening. Seconds later, the hall erupted into thunderous applause, as everyone, including William Nicholson and Billy Crystal near the big screen, raised their hands in applause and cheers.

Upon leaving the stage amid the fervent applause, Adrian returned to his seat to receive warm hugs from everyone, a few ladies even kissing his cheek.

“Congratulations, Ed, I’m sure your parents would be proud,” Monica said after sitting down, grasping his hand, her eyes sincere with nothing else.

Adrian managed a smile, patted her hand gently, and nodded in thanks. Then, he mumbled to himself, “Maybe the Best Actor could be awarded to me.”

The emotions displayed in his final part of the speech were an impromptu expression; appearance, or rather external appearance, matters a lot, despite everyone knowing what kind of person you are on the inside—surface gloss must be maintained.

Having both scandals and rumors is no big deal; they only bring more attention to the stars. Psychologists have done tests where ordinary people remembered those involved in scandals or rumors more significantly when tested.

However, scandals and rumors shouldn’t be the main strategy. They’re like dessert after dinner—nice to have but not essential as the main course. Despite the open culture in Hollywood, it doesn’t mean you can disregard mainstream values, so those actors and singers who act recklessly always remain fringe figures.

Thus, maintaining a positive image is very important. Clever individuals who desire to be part of mainstream society do not fully expose their true selves. Just as Adrian once told Claude, celebrities only let the public see what they want them to see.

Since some of his appearances would inevitably be known over time, then he might as well supplement it from other aspects; rich emotions became the best annotation. However, Adrian wasn’t completely acting, as his soul blend truly reflected some genuine emotional impulses; otherwise, his delivery wouldn’t have been so poignant.

Alright, let’s turn our attention back to the award stage since Adrian’s earlier remarks were quite heavy, and Crystal wasn’t in the mood to joke too much. After a few witty comments, he introduced the next presenter. Since the previous category was Best Adapted Screenplay, the next naturally was for Best Original Screenplay, as both awards are always presented together.

“Passion Fish, John Swivel; The Crying Game, Neil Jordan; Pulp Fiction, Adrian Cowell; Husbands And Wives, Woody Allen; Unforgivable, David Weber,” announced the presenter, Deborah Cox, reading the nomination list. She was a woman in her late forties, also one of Hollywood’s most distinguished screenwriters.

Adrian took a deep breath, squeezing Monica’s hand tighter, then gave her a reassuring smile when she looked his way. Could he break a record this time? Winning Best Adapted and Best Original Screenplay at the same Oscars? He pursed his lips, his eyes not blinking as he stared at the stage, seemingly captivated by the envelope in Deborah’s hand.

“The winner of the Best Original Screenplay is, ‘The Crying Game,’ Neil Jordan!” Deborah announced, slightly startled before declaring it loudly.

Immediately, music filled the air, and there was fierce applause from The Crying Game’s team, Neil Jordan hugging his colleagues excitedly. However, unlike the applause for Best Adapted Screenplay earlier, noise mixed with the applause notably from the teams of Scent of a Woman, Howards End, and Pulp Fiction, clearly many found this award unfair.

“Alright, everyone, it’s nothing,” Adrian calmed everyone down, noting that while he was disappointed—it was a great opportunity to add to his accolades—it was unrealistic to expect the jurors to believe they had made a mistake. Thus, rather than make a fuss, it was better to greet the decision generously, as long as there were no issues with the more important awards upcoming. (To be continued, for further details please visit www.qidian.com, more chapters, support the author, support genuine reading!)