[Chapter 134: Father and Daughter]
"Sophia, wait! Where are you going?"
In the Beverly Hills Bel-Air neighborhood, Francis Ford Coppola, the acclaimed director, was reading the newspaper when he spotted Sophia chatting and laughing with Milla Jovovich as they headed out. He called out to Sophia with a serious expression.
"Dad, is there something wrong?"
Sophia exchanged a few more words with Milla before turning and walking into the small living room.
"You should be in photography class at school right now. Why are you here?"
"Dad, it's been a while since you've asked about school. Why the sudden interest today? I forgot to tell you, my photography course is over, and I'm learning how to make movies. I want to be a director myself one day."
"A director?"
Coppola looked at her with confusion. They had talked before, and Sophia had expressed her desire to be a cinematographer and costume designer, and he hadn't pressed her on it at the time.
But his wife had mentioned that Sophia still wanted to direct; she just lacked the confidence to say so in front of him.
Now, Sophia boldly admitted her ambitions.
It was both interesting and strange to him.
"Sophia, that's great! I'm working on a new film, and if you want, you can be involved. I'll teach you how to direct myself."
"Thanks, Dad, but no need. I'm part of Link's crew now. We're gearing up for a new movie, expected to start filming in late March."
"What? You're working with Link? What can he possibly teach you about filmmaking?"
Coppola found it ridiculous that his precious daughter wanted to learn from someone else. As one of the most powerful directors in Hollywood, it seemed absurd that she wouldn't want his guidance.
"Come on, Dad, Link's a new director, but every film he releases does amazingly well with audiences. His box office results keep climbing, and the top-grossing film in cinema history right now is one of his. It's not fair to say he can't make a movie! He not only makes films; he understands the audience perfectly. There's no doubt he can teach me."
Sophia laughed.
Coppola huffed, "Buried was decent, but Paranormal Activity was overrated and completely relied on media hype. Without all the buzz, it wouldn't have made over $100,000. Do you want to make films like that in the future?"
"What's wrong with Paranormal Activity? It made over $600 million worldwide, which is more than the entire Godfather series combined, and that high box office means a lot of people love the film and are willing to pay to see it in theaters. The Godfather series is critically acclaimed and artistically superior, but its box office is pretty average, Dad. Do you know what that means?"
Sophia posed the question to herself, smiling. "It means that the average audience doesn't like your movies."
"Nonsense! The first two Godfather films are considered two of the top ten classic films in history by numerous media outlets, and they grossed hundreds of millions worldwide. You call that having no audience?"
"Dad, please pay attention to my choice of words: Ordinary audiences. Most people who like your movies are not ordinary audiences, they mainly consists of intellectuals, middle to upper-class people, and social elites.
Even those critics who praise the Godfather are part of that elite. They hold the power of discourse in society and have influence over media, which is why the Godfather received so many accolades.
The average audience lacks such influence, and those who do have power aren't interested in what they think. This is also why films like Paranormal Activity, while profitable, don't receive praise for Link or the movie itself."
Sophia continued.
Coppola frowned, "What does the average audience know about films? Why should I cater to them?"
Sophia shook her finger thoughtfully. "Dad, that's just the arrogance of you art-house directors. Do you know what the difference is between you and Link? The difference is in perspective. Link focuses on how to make his films appealing and understandable to the general public. He works hard to create movies for the masses, providing them with entertainment.
On the other hand, you're more concerned about pleasing the tastes of elite audiences, making films for the bourgeoisie. Most people in the world are part of the general public, while the bourgeoisie is a minority. That's why Link's films perform well at the box office while yours get good reviews.
If I had to choose, I'd rather be a director making films for the general public than one who only caters to the upper class."
"That doesn't make any sense. Film is a modern art form that combines drama, photography, painting, music, dance, literature, sculpture, architecture, and more. It has always served the elite and not the average person. The general public lacks the appreciation for it; no matter how good your film is, they won't recognize it. If you keep trying to please them, you'll end up being just another director of garbage films."
"Dad, you have a point, but no matter how highbrow the art, its main purpose is entertainment for the public. Is there a distinction between entertaining elites and entertaining the common people? Does making films for elites elevate their worth compared to films for everyday people?
Dad, your thinking is flawed. You have this notion that elites are the only people worth considering, while the general public is just an unimportant crowd to be ignored. That's not right."
"You're being ridiculous! I don't think that way."
Coppola angrily pointed at Sophia, feeling his daughter's words biting deep into his pride.
"Really, Dad? Ask yourself if you've ever considered average viewers when making films. If you truly did, why would your films be so obscure and complex that sometimes even I struggle to understand them? What's the point of making such films? To show off your skills or revel in the praises from critics for their depth while the average viewer remains confused?"
"You!"
"Dad, your face looks awful. Did I hit a nerve?"
"You be quiet!"
Coppola clutched his chest, his complexion fluctuating between red and pale.
"Dad, stop pretending. You don't have a heart condition."
Sophia gazed anxiously at Coppola, pouring him a glass of water and placing it in his hand, gently rubbing his chest.
Coppola gritted his teeth. Although he didn't have a heart condition, he felt a weight in his chest. Perhaps he had gotten so flustered by Sophia that it felt like he had one. He took a few deep breaths and sipped the water, slowly regaining his composure.
"Dad, are you okay now? If you're fine, I'll head out. Milla's still waiting for me outside."
Sophia stood up to leave.
"Stop!"
Coppola sat up, pointing to The Hollywood Reporter on the table. "Did the report say that movie was made by Link and you were part of it? Is that true? Don't lie to me. I remember you said you were filming."
"Uh, well, I signed a confidentiality agreement with Guess Pictures, so I can't tell you too much. But I can say that I had a hand in the film, and about one-fifth of the footage is mine. Oh, and I'll also receive a share of the profits, though it's not much -- $500,000."
Sophia proudly wiggled her five fingers.
"Hmph, what's to brag about with a movie like that?"
"I earned that $500,000 based on my skills, which is more than a lot of my peers in the industry. So why shouldn't I be proud? You're not jealous, are you? I heard Mom say that when you were starting out, you shot adult films in the Valley just to make money for art films."
"Get out of here! Just leave!"
"Okay, see you later, Dad!"
Not wanting to witness Coppola having a fit, Sophia waved her hand and turned, her skirt fluttering as she exited the living room.
*****
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