Must Succeed

Happy days are always short-lived; Irene only rested at home for three days before immediately diving back into the post-production work for her film.

Generally speaking, film post-production mainly consists of three categories: editing, visual effects, and scoring.

I don't know how Shelly Ovitz managed to convince both Francis and Jive, but Britney will be singing the theme song for the film with all her heart.

This wasn't in Irene's original plan, especially since the original film didn't have any particularly memorable score, but it must be said that this move binds her and Britney even closer together. It will be very beneficial for the release of her film in the future, so she certainly wouldn't refuse, and at the same time, she felt even more certain about Shelly's work in her heart.

An agent who can think for their client and find opportunities at any time is a good agent.

As for the score, aside from Britney's theme song, they will entrust everything else to George's Skywalker Sound. As for the visual effects, their film basically has no need for them, and even the editing, to be honest, isn't very difficult.

"Hill, sorry to trouble you this time."

"It's my duty."

In the editing room, Francis brought Irene in to introduce her to one of their Coppola Family members. "Let Irene do the rough cut first. Don't worry, I'll be watching by her side, and if there are any problems, leave them to me."

In fact, in Hollywood, the producer always has the final say; it's not often that a director gets to step into the editing room. This symbolizes whether the director truly possesses ownership of the film.

Irene was only able to step into the editing room for her first film because she relied on the "Coppola" surname.

The white editing room was exceptionally quiet, and Irene and Francis focused intently on the footage that had just been spliced together on the monitor.

"Hill, for that last shot, cut it back and forth with shot 067; I need a comparison."

"Hill, add a gunshot when Elle says that last line."

"Hill, this dialogue is too long and dry; it needs some music to build up the emotion."

Irene's gaze remained fixed on the monitor, while Francis turned his head to watch her without ever interjecting.

In two days, the rough cut of the film was completed according to Irene's vision. Although Francis had already marveled at his daughter's talent more than once, he was still shocked by her efficiency.

After watching it through once, he nodded and said, "Not bad. The pacing is clear, and the emotional impact is on point. I can organize a test screening."

"I think the film is suitable for the summer release window," Irene quickly suggested.

"You're right. Your film's primary audience is teenagers; there's no better window than the summer season," Francis couldn't help but agree.

"My little genius's work has basically come to an end. Hill will take care of the rest. The Oscars are coming up soon, and I think you'll need me to accompany you to some social events."

"Of course, Dad."

The Oscars ceremony is about to begin, and as the most attention-grabbing vanity fair of the year, the preliminary social parties are incredibly frequent.

Tonight, Irene arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills accompanied by her father. By the time they arrived, the massive banquet hall was already filled with familiar big names, standing in small groups and whispering about the candidates for this year.

The elder Coppola, this godfather of the film industry, scanned the room with a calm expression, nodding to acquaintances from time to time. His appearance always attracted many gazes of awe and curiosity.

"Francis! Irene!" George Lucas saw them and immediately apologized to the person next to him, striding through the crowd toward them. He first shook his old friend's hand firmly, then turned to Irene and hugged her. "I heard the rough cut is finished? I can't wait to see the work of our future great director."

"Hey, Uncle George, stop teasing me," Irene replied with a smile.

"No, no, I'm not teasing; I'm serious. You don't know how much Francis praises you in private, saying it doesn't look like the work of a student who hasn't even graduated yet. My expectations have been set very high by your father."

At this moment, several friends and film studio executives gathered around, offering their congratulations to Irene.

Words of praise swirled around Irene like champagne bubbles, and Francis looked at his daughter with a proud smile on his face.

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This moment was warm and perfect, as if a legendary tale passed down through generations in Hollywood was unfolding.

However, this harmonious atmosphere was broken by a slightly gloomy voice.

"Oh, look who it is. Francis, and our newest Coppola director."

The crowd parted slightly like a red sea, and Frank Darabont walked over, holding a glass of whiskey with a smirk on his face. His gaze was sharp, lingering briefly on the elder Coppola with an icy coldness that was hard to dissolve, before slowly and deliberately turning to Irene.

George Lucas's smile faded slightly, and a hint of vigilance flashed in his eyes. The surroundings quieted down significantly, and those in the know caught the scent of gunpowder in the air.

"Frank." Francis's voice was steady, but one could hear the distance in it. He nodded slightly, acknowledging the greeting.

Darabont ignored this near-cold politeness, his entire focus fixed on Irene.

"What a touching scene," he took a sip of his drink, his tone flat yet mocking. "Another 'Coppola' director in Hollywood. Tell me, my dear, when you sit in the director's chair and shout 'Action,' do you feel that being a film director is particularly simple? Like a family inheritance, born to be inherited?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Francis's face, which had instantly darkened, and continued slowly: "After all, your father proved long ago that you can just take someone else's hard-earned script, change the name, and make a great film, right? It seems this craft has been passed down to you without reservation."

As his words fell, the air around them almost froze.

The smile on Irene's face vanished. She stepped forward, standing almost face-to-face with Darabont. "Mr. Darabont, hello." Her voice was sufficiently calm. "The most important lesson my father taught me was how to guard my final cut like a warrior. As for the script?"

She paused for half a beat before continuing: "Every word in my film came from my own hand. Perhaps you are accustomed to defining other people's careers by your own predicaments, but I am not."

"If you are interested, I would be happy to hear your opinions after the film is finished. Of course, about the film itself, not about old scores from decades ago."

In an instant, the mockery on Darabont's face froze, turning into a livid shade. He hadn't expected this young daughter of the Coppola family to be a delicate flower; she was a cactus with thorns. He opened his mouth, finding himself momentarily speechless.

A flash of surprise crossed Francis's face, which then melted into a deep, satisfied smile. He didn't interject, just looked at his daughter with pride, as if to say, "Look, this is my successor."

George Lucas stepped in at the right moment to smooth things over, patting Darabont on the shoulder: "Alright, Frank, the younger generation has their own rules. Come on, let's go over there and try their new malt whiskey." He half-forced the stunned Darabont away.

The scene seemed as if nothing had happened, immediately returning to its previous enthusiastic state, but only Francis looked at his daughter, his heart filled with uncontrollable pride.

However, Irene could no longer face this banquet with a relaxed attitude. Perhaps in the corners she couldn't see, there were plenty of people like Darabont, mocking the Coppola family behind their backs.

Francis reached out and patted his daughter on the back. "You responded very well just now. Don't feel pressured."

"Dad..." Irene could be calm and sharp when facing enemies, but in front of her father, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

"You will succeed, won't you?"

"Yes, Dad." Irene said solemnly, "I will definitely be your pride."

"That is enough, sweetheart. Let us continue to enjoy today's banquet; don't let those unpleasant matters occupy our time."

Her father spoke very lightly, but Irene could not let it go so easily. Once this film failed, not to mention that she wouldn't be able to direct another film for several years, the Coppola Family would be reduced to a long-term laughingstock. She absolutely could not let such a thing happen.

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