"Sigh…"
David Fincher sat at his desk, newspaper in hand, letting out a long sigh, his face filled with gloom.
Time flew by; three years had passed, yet he still hadn't fully recovered from that heavy failure.
His last directed film, alien 3, had box office results far below expectations.
In North America, the film only sold 55 million US dollars—at first glance, this figure might not seem small, but one must know that the film's cost was as high as 60 million US dollars, meaning it definitely lost money in North America.
"At least the overseas box office exceeded 100 million…"
David Fincher murmured to himself in self-consolation.
But the success of the overseas box office was not enough to reverse the decline brought by alien 3.
Ultimately, 20th Century Fox unceremoniously kicked him off the list of directors for the sequel.
To put it bluntly, David Fincher was largely to blame for the disastrous failure of alien 3.
Now, no one in the film industry dared to easily approach him for a movie, and his directorial path was bleak, as if shrouded by a thick dark cloud.
He felt suffocated, shook his head helplessly, and tossed the newspaper aside.
Just then, he faintly heard the sound of someone putting something into the mailbox outside.
Since he was idle anyway, he might as well go out and see what was happening.
"I didn't order anything; could it be a bill?" he muttered to himself, quickening his pace.
By the time he stepped out, the mailman was long gone.
He walked to the mailbox and found a thick stack of bulging documents inside.
"Kazier Gray…"
David frowned; the name sounded very unfamiliar. He racked his brain, searching his memory, but couldn't recall any interaction with this person, yet out of curiosity, he took out the documents.
Closing the door, he returned inside, eagerly tearing open the documents and looking at them intently.
"This is…!"
After only a few pages, half an hour later, David Fincher suddenly sat upright in his chair, his eyes filled with shock.
This script was like a key, precisely opening the creative door that had been shut deep within him for so long, speaking right to his heart.
The more he read, the more excited he became, and the more he felt that if this story wasn't brought to the big screen, it would be a huge loss to the film industry.
With uncontrollable excitement in his fingertips, he quickly flipped through the pages, as if afraid this wonderful story would suddenly disappear.
After finishing the script, he immediately began searching for Kazier Gray's contact information, his gaze revealing determination and urgency.
David didn't hesitate for a moment. He immediately got up, took a hot shower, carefully shaved, and changed into clean, tidy, and presentable clothes.
He knew in his heart that he had to meet this person, and he had to secure the opportunity to direct this project—even if he had to beg humbly, he would get this chance.
Grabbing the phone, he took a deep breath, tried to calm himself, and then slowly dialed the number.
"Hello? Is this Mr. Kazier Gray? Yes, I'm David Fincher… Wait, what did you say? Sent to the wrong address? No, no! Mr. Gray, can we talk? Okay, I'll be right over, thank you!"
After hanging up the phone, David's heart was still pounding, both nervous and expectant.
On the other side, Kazir stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting his hair to make sure he looked energetic and good.
"What a pity…"
He looked at his slightly bulging belly and gave a bitter smile.
Even though he was only in his twenties, he had developed a "beer belly," and this image was far from his ideal self.
There was nothing he could do; his original body loved to snack on high-fat foods and was too lazy to exercise, so over time, his belly grew bigger and bigger.
"Once this is sorted, I'm getting a gym membership right away," he secretly resolved in his heart.
Since he was living again, he had to live a more decent life.
Heaven had given him a second chance; he couldn't be like he was in his previous life.
At this moment, Kazir was sitting in a restaurant near the Hollywood Walk of Fame, surrounded by bustling crowds. He looked out the window at the shining stars, thinking to himself, 'One day, my name will also be carved on one of those stars.'
Although it seemed that in Hollywood, money could get you a star on the Walk of Fame, to truly become one of them, you had to make a real name for yourself in the entertainment industry.
Someone like him, without a name or reputation, couldn't even dream of it—unless he became a top director and left an indelible mark on film history.
'But for now, it's better to achieve something first. I'm confident in this script; after all, it proved itself in my previous life,' Kazir encouraged himself in his heart.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Kazier Gray?"
"Yes, Mr. David Fincher."
David Fincher greeted him and sat down opposite him.
"I've seen your alien 3; it was wonderfully made."
"Thank you."
Kazir responded politely, feeling quite pleased.
Even if there was a bit of flattery in his words, it was already quite difficult for someone to acknowledge his work.
Moreover, David Fincher now needed his help to get Kazir to agree to give him the directing rights, so this praise seemed especially sincere.
"Kazir, I'll be direct. I want to direct your script and turn it into a powerful film," David said, summoning his courage and speaking bluntly.
"I'm honored that Mr. Fincher thinks highly of my script. To be honest, I went to many companies, and not one of them gave me a serious look," Kazir shook his head helplessly, a hint of bitterness on his face.
"That happened?"
David was quite surprised, his brows furrowing slightly.
In his opinion, this script was clearly full of highlights, like a brilliant gem, so those companies shouldn't have passed up such a treasure.
"Yes," Kazir adjusted his hair and continued, "I told them I wanted to direct it myself, and they all shook their heads as if I were a crazy dreamer."
David remained silent, deep in thought.
He knew all too well that in the fiercely competitive and profit-driven film industry, if it were him, he wouldn't agree to let an unknown director handle a 30-million-dollar budget film. This would undoubtedly be a huge gamble, something only a madman would do.
"Kazir, listen to me, let me direct it! I have the experience and the ability to make this story well," David looked up, speaking earnestly.
Kazir nodded: "David, I understand, no one will let me direct. After all, I don't have much reputation in this circle, but if it's you, the chances are much greater. However, I have a condition."
"As long as it's not excessive, I'll agree."
David's expression was solemn, his eyes showing determination.
He was truly captivated by this script and had to direct it. For this opportunity, he was willing to make some compromises.
"Don't worry, the condition is very simple. I want to be credited as a screenwriter," Kazir said with a smile.
"That's no problem. I originally wanted to invite the original author to help polish the script, and having you involved is even better," David readily agreed.
"Then thank you."
Kazir smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
He wanted the screenwriter position because he wanted to join the crew and see firsthand how David Fincher directed a film.
Learning from such a great director would definitely be worth it, and this would have crucial significance for his future directorial path.
'David Fincher will definitely become famous later. Fight Club is a masterpiece.' In Kazir's eyes, David was a genius, worth learning from to draw creative inspiration and experience.
Besides, he also wanted to personally witness the story he wrote become a blockbuster on the big screen; that sense of accomplishment was indescribable.
The two shook hands, and the deal was pleasantly settled.
Afterward, David Fincher and Kazir began to seek investment together. They went from company to company, not missing any potential opportunity.
Finally, someone did respond—it was Arnold Kopelson (a CBS producer).
Upon hearing that David Fincher was directing, Arnold became interested.
In his opinion, David was far more reliable than the unknown Kazir. After all, he had experience with major productions, having directed a big film like alien 3. Although the outcome was not ideal, it at least proved his ability to handle large-scale productions.
Now, the two were even more motivated, determined to convince Arnold.