Script

The next day, Sophia walked into the studio looking slightly weary, carrying a coffee Ophelia had brewed for her by hand.

"Did you go to a club again after we parted ways last night?" Julie handed her the newly received location scouting materials and asked with a hint of teasing.

"No, I went straight to Irene's place after dropping her off. But she pestered me with questions all night, and didn't let me sleep until almost dawn." Sophia sighed.

When she was that age, she had been just as thirsty for knowledge, but she hadn't wanted to bother her father too often, so she had to intern on sets everywhere herself. Irene, on the other hand, was getting firsthand information directly from her.

"Hahaha, she is exactly like you were when you were young."

Who could deny it? Whether it was her looks or her personality, Irene was a carbon copy of the young Sophia. This was also the reason why she was infinitely indulgent toward this younger sister; it was as if she were always seeing her former self.

In the days that followed, Irene requested the proposal for The Virgin Suicides from Sophia as a reference and began to formally draft her own screenplay proposal.

With a template, her progress was much faster.

The movie itself was not complicated: it told the story of a blonde beauty, Ellie, who, in order to win back her ex-boyfriend, worked hard to get into Harvard Law School, broke prejudices with her unique style, won respect, and ultimately found true love.

Such tropes were not uncommon in Hollywood, so to make it stand out, the focus had to be on subverting stereotypes, celebrating the value of one's true self, and sharply criticizing the social prejudice of judging people by their appearance.

The script also needed brilliant, sharp dialogue, just the right amount of humor, and most importantly, character charm.

The optimism, resilience, kindness, and self-confidence of the protagonist, Elle Woods, were the keys to success.

The film needed enough drama, but the core could not waver; it had to be a journey of a girl's self-awakening and growth. Moreover, it could not be too preachy; it had to start from real emotions to attract teenagers into the theaters.

If Irene had to conceive such a script entirely on her own, it would likely be fraught with difficulties.

But she had a "Golden Finger." She only needed to record the plot of the original film one by one, then expand it appropriately to make the story look less "perfect" and "precise."

After all, there would be editing later, so she had to leave some room for the editor to work with.

Therefore, she also needed to add some campus friction as an expansion to make Elle's path of growth seem less smooth sailing.

Before school officially started, Irene basically stayed in her small apartment.

Except for Britney, she didn't have any other friends. Her classmates at school either discussed the latest Chanel designs, compared which football team captain had more developed pecs, or obsessed over the little thrill of their "first night," none of which Irene could find any interest in.

Although she could occasionally get tickets to premieres that only industry insiders had access to, and she was never short of people wanting to get close to her, she never truly opened up to anyone.

Her sister was busy filming, and her parents were not suitable for discussing topics like "fake campus friendships," so in the end, she could only turn her gaze toward Ophelia.

At the dining table, Ophelia set the plates for Irene, squinted her eyes, and smiled: "My dear little miss, please forgive me for being over forty; the events of my youth have long since blurred. Even if I remembered them, I'm afraid they wouldn't be exciting enough to add luster to your script."

"Sigh, my Ophelia... it seems being a screenwriter really isn't a simple task."

Or rather, no profession was simple.

A week before school started, Irene returned to the Napa Valley Estate, bringing back the script she had completed during this time to submit to her mother, Eleanor, for review.

She didn't show it to her father right away, mostly out of a "stereotype" about great directors that he might not be interested in teenage girl subject matter.

"I am a bit surprised; strictly speaking, you haven't even reached your seventeenth birthday yet, and you've managed to write such incisive and vivid dialogue." At the dinner table that night, her mother brought it up.

Their family didn't have strict dining etiquette; on the contrary, they always believed that mealtime was a great opportunity to bond.

Her father hurriedly swallowed the food in his mouth and wiped his mouth with a napkin before asking, "What dialogue?"

"Irene gave me a script when she came back this afternoon; she completed it independently." As she spoke, her mother stood up and retrieved the script from the kitchen island.

"Does Mom think it's pretty good?" Irene ate unhurriedly, appearing not at all anxious.

"Yes, I think it's good. The characters might lack depth, but at least the logic is clear, the plot is clean and crisp, and there will be a market for it."

Eleanor meant: the commercial value was good, but the artistry was a bit weak. However, Irene wasn't particularly fond of the word "art" anyway.

"Let me see. I didn't expect little Irene to be able to write an original script. Sophia is ten years older than you, and for her first attempt, she only dared to do an adaptation."

Francis took the script and began to read. Irene and her mother didn't disturb him and continued their meal. Irene whispered to her mother, "I thought Dad wouldn't have any interest in our little girl stuff."

Her mother gently squeezed her upper arm: "Then you underestimate your father. Sophia's current scripts are all polished with his help, so yours is even less of a problem. He has always attached great importance to your work."

Irene nodded. She could certainly feel the importance her parents placed on them, as evidenced by her sister's team, which was composed entirely of the "Coppola Faction."

When her father finished reading the script, dinner had also ended. He signaled to the servants that they could clear the table, then led Irene to the living room to sit down. Her mother followed as well.

"I can understand your mother's exclamation at the dinner table now. To be able to write such a script at your age, I can finally officially announce to the world: I, Francis Coppola, have indeed fathered a genius! Hahaha!"

His proud laughter echoed throughout the house.

"If you were twenty-seven, or even had systematic training after graduating from college and achieved such results, I wouldn't be surprised at all.

But you've only seen a few shooting sets, and the only work you've directed independently is a music video... Under such conditions, to still be able to write a script that meets Hollywood standards so well, I can only say: you were born to do this."

"Father also thinks my script is excellent, right?"

"If I didn't know you wrote it, and it was just someone else submitting it to me, I might have looked at it and tossed it aside. After all, the plot is a bit cliché, some of the transitions are stiff, it lacks criticism of reality, exploration of human nature, and also..." Seeing his daughter's face turning darker, he laughed and stopped his criticism, "It's just a pink bubble. But I have to say, such a script does indeed have more of a market."

Those "stiff transitions" were probably the parts she had made up herself. Well, at least this content made her look less like a "genius."

"But you are only seventeen. No matter how smart a screenwriter is, they couldn't write content that fits the Hollywood market so well at this age. Even though in my eyes it's just 'kids playing house,' Hollywood needs these lighthearted films."

Irene really couldn't take these compliments as praise for herself, after all, she knew where the script came from.

But at least, her choice wasn't wrong, was it?

And seeing Irene's calm expression, her father sighed even more at her humility and low profile, feeling that his daughter was truly excessively outstanding.

The father and daughter were completely on different wavelengths, yet the scene remained warm and natural.

At this moment, the mother interrupted Francis's mental reverie: "So sweetheart, you're planning to direct this movie yourself, right?"

Irene suddenly remembered the storyboard she had drawn, so she ran upstairs with a thud-thud-thud to dig out her sketchbook, then hurried back to her parents and handed it over.

Her father took it first. Just like the previous music video, these storyboards possessed an intense sense of realism, already revealing her preliminary vision for cinematic language. Although time had been limited and there were only a few pages, he finished looking through them quickly and passed them to his wife.

If you can't find the book title, try searching for the author; perhaps it was just renamed!

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