Your Point?
A $200 Million Hollywood Blockbuster on Trial
Jeff, a radical socialist turned occasional essayist, had accidentally gotten himself invited to an A-list Hollywood party. Wandering about the pool area with his glass of champagne, he ran into a famous director.
The famous director, perhaps a few sheets to the wind and mistaking Jeff for someone of importance, quickly turned conspiratorial and began sharing details of his next movie. The movie had something to do with a heist and new ways of filming car chases. Something like that.
“The movie has a budget of $200,000,000,” the famous director whispered. “Not counting advertising and promoting.”
Jeff smiled. “That $200,000,000 could feed 20,000 families of four for a year.”
“Your point?” the famous director said.
Jeff shrugged. “You see no point in feeding 20,000 families of four for a year?”
“That’s got nothing to do with anything.”
“What about this. 85% of movies break even or come in at a loss.”
“Yes?”
“Not great odds.”
“Your point?”
Jeff shrugged. “This movie, I think you mentioned it’s mostly to massage a certain star’s ego?”
“Pretty much.”
“And that’s okay.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“And—forgive me—it’s got a pretty preposterous premise, doesn’t it?”
“Your point?”
Jeff shook his head. “And it’s likely to lose a fortune?”
“We see it as having great potential.”
“Potential to do what?”
“To make money!”
Jeff couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t have enough money?”
“I have plenty of money. Your point?”
A waiter came by with a tray of fancy snacks.
“Tuna tartare,” the waiter said, “with some zest of lime.”
“Send the potstickers over,” the famous director ordered.
“Right away, sir!”
“You didn’t want the tuna?” Jeff inquired of the famous director.
“Mercury,” said the famous director.
“Ah,” Jeff replied.
The famous director seemed to be sobering up. This suddenly made him suspicious.
“And who are you?” he said.
“Have you ever read Marx?” Jeff replied.
“Which one? Groucho?”
“Ha-ha,” Jeff said. “Good one!” He decided to take one last stab. “You know, that $200,000,000 could build a ton of African infrastructure.”
“I make movies,” the famous director said. “You are very confused about what I do.”
The famous director looked around for a better place to be. He saw a starlet—that was surely a better place to be. On the way, he buttoned-holed a security guard. Jeff could see the famous director mouth the words “Does he belong here?” and point in Jeff’s direction.
Jeff understood that his welcome was about to be revoked. Probably he had just enough time to grab a few more snacks before he got the boot. He looked for the waiter with the tuna tartare, but had to settle for the potstickers. They were also very good.
“Well,” he said to himself as he wandered into the balmy night, “I’m pretty sure I made my point.”