After cleaning up at Toronto, Slumdog Millionaire finally kicked off its North American promo tour with the tagline: "Back from conquering TIFF!"
The marketing wasn't exactly carpet-bomb level, but come on, it was a Joy Grant joint. People were gonna pay attention no matter what.
She hit up talk shows, did the whole circuit, including The Ellen Show, because of course she did.
A lot of the marketing team didn't get why Joy kept hammering words like "sudden windfall," "overnight riches," and "rags-to-riches peak." MGM sure didn't.
But damn if it didn't work. In the middle of the recession, those magic words lit a fire under people. Everyone was broke and dreaming of hitting the jackpot. The weird, in-your-face campaign actually had folks lining up.
Thanks to the Toronto halo, the word-of-mouth train left the station fast.
Of course, the haters were loud too.
"It's just poverty porn dressed up for awards season."
"R-rated? Kiss that wide audience goodbye."
"This is straight-up Oscar bait. Main-character syndrome: the movie."
Plenty of critics slapped it with labels: "exploiting poverty," "feel-good propaganda," "engineered for Oscar." They swore Joy deliberately made the Asian characters look as miserable as possible to farm sympathy votes, and that might work for statues, but it'd tank at the box office.
Everyone said the same thing: nobody's paying to watch poor people suffer, especially not in an R-rated flick.
Then it actually opened.
And MGM, in all their infinite wisdom, only gave it 500+ screens to start. They were scared. R-rated, niche story, no huge stars; they figured it'd flop hard and didn't want to lose their shirts.
Limited release first, then scale up if it somehow didn't suck.
Yeah… about that.
One week later, fans were losing their minds.
People were driving two hours and waiting in line just as long because every single showtime was sold out. The official site got flooded with complaints:
"500 screens? Are you kidding me?"
"I just drove to the next state to see it. Expand already!"
"Two-hour wait for tickets and the theater's still packed. MGM broke or just stupid?"
MGM panicked (in a good way) and bumped it to 1,000+ screens.
Still not enough.
Phones rang off the hook, the website crashed, people begged for real begged for it to play in their town.
2,000 screens… 3,000 screens… the rollout snowballed.
And the box office? It didn't creep up; it punched everyone in the face.
"Slumdog Millionaire shatters 10-year R-rated record in just 4 days!"
"Low-budget indie becomes cultural phenomenon!"
No one could figure it out. Tiny budget, unknown lead, R-rating, zero A-listers in the traditional sense; every single thing that usually kills a movie's chances, and yet it was printing money.
First weekend: $60 million.
Week two: $90M. Week three: $120M. Week four: $140M…
By week six it was sitting at $180 million domestic and still climbing. A $15 million movie. Hollywood execs were having existential crises.
Critics kept asking the same question: why the hell is this thing so huge?
There were plenty of great "inspirational" movies that year; The Reader, The Pursuit of Happyness vibes, all Oscar hopefuls. Decent reviews, meh box office.
So why this one?
If you scrolled through the audience comments, the answer was screaming at you:
"Lost my job, house is underwater; this movie is the only thing keeping me going."
"We're all broke, but at least on screen someone wins the lottery."
"I want to be Maggie Q; claw my way out of nothing and end up on top."
"Stocks wiped me out. Needed this chicken-soup-for-the-soul cheese so bad."
It wasn't about taste suddenly dropping. It was 2008. The whole world was on fire financially, and people were desperate for a fairy tale where the little guy actually wins.
Joy gave them exactly that: an Asian girl from the slums hits the jackpot, finds love, lives the dream. Pure, unfiltered hope in two hours.
In any other year it might've been "cute indie that could." In 2008? It became a damn lifeline.
And now Joy was laser-focused on the next battlefield: the Oscar campaign.
Winning an Academy Award isn't just talent and luck. It's a full-contact sport. You've gotta glad-hand all 5,000+ voting members of the Academy and make damn sure they've seen your movie.
That costs money. A lot of it.
Joy asked MGM for $6 million in campaign funds. Approved in about five seconds flat. The movie was already a cash volcano; if they slapped some Oscars on it? The extra revenue from re-releases, DVD, streaming deals would be obscene.
One summer afternoon, Joy hopped a flight to Switzerland, guest of honor at the UEFA Euro 2008 opening ceremony. Front-row seat, right in the VIP section with presidents of FIFA, UEFA, the whole circus.
The stadium was electric. The global broadcast kicked off, cameras sweeping the field, the performers, the players… and every once in a while panning across the front row of dignitaries.
When the lens landed on Joy for a split second, announcers did a double-take. "Wait… who's the Asian woman sitting between the UEFA president and Platini?"
Viewers at home were typing the same thing into Google.
Boom. Top result: Joy Grant, director of the Euros promo reel, the woman behind Source Code, Juno, The Blind Side… and the hottest movie on the planet right now.
Sports fans who'd never cared about "director people" suddenly went, "THAT tiny woman made The Blind Side? And that insane Euros hype reel that gave me goosebumps?"
Then they Googled her photos.
Street style: ripped jeans or leather pants, hoodies, blazers, sneakers; total laid-back boss energy. The internet lost its mind over how someone so casually cool could make billion-dollar feelings on screen.
One fashion blog summed it up: "Off-duty Joy is minimalist street king. On set? Tailored coat, boots, scarf; straight-up elite."
Somebody even started a viral thread: "Whitened Joy Grant" where they Photoshopped her skin pale white.
The comments were savage:
"Nah, the tan version eats. Don't whitewash her, that's low-key racist."
"She looks way better with her natural skin tone, the Photoshop is giving uncanny valley."
Asian fans across the planet saw that one yellow face in a sea of white VIPs and lost it in the group chats: "YO THAT'S JOY GRANT REPping FOR US AT THE EUROS!"
Right after the ceremony, her phone buzzed. Hughes.
"You planning on partying with the soccer bros in Switzerland, or you coming back to lock down that Oscar?"
"Relax, Mr. Redstone, I'm on the plane tomorrow."
Back in L.A., inside MGM's towering headquarters, Hughes slid an email draft across the desk.
"Read it. If it looks good, I'll send it to every voting member."
Joy frowned at the screen. "Don't they have rules against campaigning? Like, you can get disqualified for this."
Hughes pulled out a cigar, smirking. "Rules are for people who don't know how to read between the lines. We're not vote-buying, we're just… reminding them a really good movie exists."
He leaned over her shoulder. "Look, 5,000 members, thousands of movies a year; they're never gonna watch everything. We make sure they watch ours. That's it."
The email was masterclass-level subtle: glowing praise for the film, a gentle mention of Joy's journey as a minority director overcoming prejudice, discrimination, comeback story, then a line about how the Academy has been "criticized for lack of diversity lately…"
Classic guilt-trip marketing without ever saying the quiet part out loud.
Joy raised an eyebrow. "So we're playing the race card?"
"We're highlighting facts," Hughes said, lighting the cigar. "And we spent $3 million burning 5,000+ encrypted DVDs. Every single member is getting one hand-delivered. Encrypted so they feel special."
Joy exhaled. She knew exactly how this game was played in her past life, but seeing it up close was still wild.
Next came the phone squad: a whole room of people cold-calling Academy members.
Script went like this:
"Hi Mrs. Lisa, just checking; did you receive the Slumdog screener we sent?"
"Yes, it's on my coffee table…"
"Wonderful! We'd love to hear your thoughts whenever you watch it; it's done huge numbers worldwide…"
A week later: "Mrs. Lisa! Did you get a chance to watch?"
"Yes, it was… actually really good."
"Isn't it amazing? It just won TIFF; do you think a movie this inspiring deserves an Oscar nod?"
Cue polite humming, then hang up and log the response.
They did this thousands of times. Joy watched the call center like it was a sweatshop for dreams.
Hughes sat in his glass office like a king, cigar in one hand, red wine in the other, looking way too pleased.
Joy walked in. "You're literally harassing senior citizens."
He smirked. "I'm making sure they watch the movie. Every vote counts. Some of these folks are in nursing homes. Lifetime membership, baby."
He pulled up spreadsheets with members' holiday schedules, nursing home addresses, everything.
"If they're in a home over Christmas, we set up a private screening room right there in the rec hall. If they're snowbirding in Palm Springs, we rent a theater nearby and fly their whole family in. One voter at a time if we have to."
Joy laughed in disbelief. "You're insane."
"Insane wins Oscars."
The campaign went full war-mode: private screenings, cocktail hours, gifting suites (totally not bribes), Joy forced to attend every random critics' circle award, no matter how small, to look "humble."
Media started sniffing: "Joy Grant is literally everywhere; is this campaigning or stalking?"
Hughes didn't care. The results spoke.
BAFTAs, Directors Guild, Golden Globes, Spirit Awards; Slumdog racked up nominations like it was printing them.
102 nominations. 73 wins before the Oscars even dropped.
January 14th: the Academy announced nominees.
"SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE LEADS WITH 10 OSCAR NOMINATIONS!"
Best Picture, Director, Adapted Screenplay, Cinematography, Editing, Sound Mixing, Sound Editing, Original Score, Original Song…
Ten. Freaking. Nominations.
The internet exploded. How did a "poverty porn" indie about an Asian girl just body every prestige darling (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon, The Reader)?
Answer on every forum:
"Because the country is broke and we needed to believe someone can still win."
"Financial crisis made this the perfect feel-good underdog story."
"If this doesn't win, it's straight-up racism at this point."
Joy picked up the Directors Guild Award; biggest Oscar bellwether there is. Variety cover: "DGA Win Fuels Slumdog's Oscar March"
The night before the Oscars, legendary critic Roger Ebert dropped a bomb in his annual movie yearbook:
"If Slumdog Millionaire wins Best Picture, it will be a sad day for cinema… This is poverty porn rewarded because of perfect timing, not artistic merit."
He basically called it the cinematic equivalent of winning the lottery.
Twitter (well, the 2008 version) went to war. Half the industry agreed it was overrated, the other half said shut up, the audience has spoken.
And on Oscar night, at the Kodak Theatre, the red carpet was pure chaos.
Joy kept it low-key: simple black gown with a cut-out waist, hair in a sleek bun. No drama.
While A-listers posed like statues, Joy spent two straight hours walking the 60-yard carpet shaking fans' hands, signing autographs, smiling till her face hurt.
The Slumdog crew had already gone inside; she was still out there like a politician working the rope line.
Finally dragged in, she ran into the whole squad: Meg Ryan, Bradley Cooper, Rebecca Ferguson, Emma Stone, Will Smith… and the couple currently breaking the internet: Emma Watson and Henry Cavill looking stupidly in love.
And then there was Maggie Q.
Girl showed up in a backless, low-rise gown looking like a panther that learned how to walk in heels. She owned that carpet. People were whispering: new reigning sex symbol, and she's Asian? Joy just keeps creating gods.
Inside, everyone circled Joy like she was the sun.
"You've given us the movie of the year."
"History in the making tonight."
Ellen DeGeneres hosted (Joy's old pal), came out and killed:
"If you wanna make movies but don't have a script; wait. Got a script but no money; wait. Got money but Tom Cruise says no; wait." (camera cut to Tom Cruise cracking up)
The ceremony began.
First award of the night for Slumdog: Best Original Score; A.R. Rahman.
He climbed the stage practically in tears, thanked Joy on live TV: "She believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."
Joy stood and hugged him like a proud mom.
Second statue: Sound Editing.
The night was just getting started…