As soon as she finished speaking, a flood of interpretations emerged.
Some said she was treating others like stepping stones—willing to climb higher at the cost of others' sacrifice. Others believed she was saying she'd rather be the stepping stone, supporting others so they could enjoy the view. And of course, some claimed she was simply too angry and had started spouting nonsense. The media, in particular—always eager to twist words to fit a narrative—had a field day with her statement, reinterpreting it in a different way every day for nearly a week.
But what Laila meant was quite simple: if today she was someone else's stepping stone, then tomorrow someone else would become hers. Winning awards didn't mean nearly as much to her as everyone imagined. She had already received nearly every award she'd ever wanted. Her name was destined to be among the most awarded in film history.
Setting aside the less prestigious Golden Globes, she had already racked up an impressive collection of Oscars—for editing, screenwriting, and, more importantly, Best Director and Best Picture.
If it were any other film besides Silence, winning or not wouldn't have mattered much to her. But this particular movie held deep personal meaning for her, so naturally, she wanted to use an award to validate her creative strength.
Unfortunately, the Golden Globes weren't fond of her film. They likely only gave her Best Screenplay and Best Actor as a way to "share the cake." Clearly, those members of the foreign press association were quite savvy—by giving an award to Leslie Cheung, they garnered media attention while also currying favor with Eastern audiences. That way, even if Laila didn't win any more awards, no one could say much about it.
If Laila had gone so far as to say her film was objectively better than Martin Scorsese's, or that her work surpassed George Clooney's The Descendants, it would've crossed the line from confidence into arrogance—and provoked serious backlash.
Still, regardless of what people read into her words, it was true that she had expressed a measure of praise for her fellow nominees. As a result, most of the other directors' fans began to soften toward her, even finding her perspective rather refreshing.
After all, if someone with her status and success could admit to being a stepping stone, who else had grounds to complain? Who could really say, "You're not allowed to step on me to climb higher," without sounding foolish?
A few days after the Golden Globes came the announcement of the Oscar nominations.
Back in June of the previous year, Tom Sherak, president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, held a press conference declaring that starting in 2012, the Oscars would no longer be limited to just five nominees per category—the list could expand to up to ten, allowing the Academy to spotlight more exceptional films.
So, on January 24th, 2012, when the nominations were released, many eagerly tuned in early in the morning to witness the outcome of this new change.
At this year's Oscars, Martin Scorsese's Hugo led the pack with 11 nominations. Right behind it was the much-lauded silent film The Artist, with 10 nominations. Spielberg's War Horse followed with six.
Yet despite Hugo's strong showing, Martin wasn't actually the biggest story—because Laila had one more nomination than he did. The only difference was that her nominations were spread across two films.
Her blockbuster The Avengers, which had narrowly overtaken Avatar to become the new highest-grossing film in history, earned her six nominations. While most were in technical categories—like Best Visual Effects and Best Sound Editing—she was also nominated for Best Director.
Meanwhile, Silence had also pulled in six nominations, but in much weightier categories: Best Director, Best Picture, Best Actor, and so on.
This made one thing clear: the Academy still wasn't all that fond of blockbuster films. Otherwise, even a record-breaking film like The Avengers would've received more than just a few "consolation prize" nominations.
That's not to say those categories are meaningless. Without visual effects and sound, a movie simply wouldn't feel right. But the public tends to focus more on the big-ticket awards—Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress. Ask a few casual film buffs to name past winners of Best Visual Effects or Best Sound Editing, and most of them would come up blank. Even dedicated cinephiles might struggle to name a few.
Twelve nominations across two films was a rare achievement. Historically, the highest number of nominations for a single film had been eleven.
No wonder the media began hailing the 2012 Oscars as The Year of Laila.
When predicting potential winners, Hugo and The Artist were considered frontrunners. According to the media, these two films had dominated the awards season, dividing up nearly every major and minor trophy between them, leaving scraps for the rest.
And now, with 11 and 10 Oscar nominations respectively, they were clearly leading the race. It seemed likely one of them would take home the big prizes.
As for Laila, Silence was indeed a strong contender. But compared to the other two films, its Golden Globe showing had been weaker. It had also been released relatively late, meaning it missed out on many earlier awards shows. That made it hard to gauge how well it had truly resonated with the Academy voters.
Still, one thing was undeniable: whether or not she won anything, the impact of her two films on global audiences had already secured her a place in cinematic history.
A 30-year-old woman who, in the span of one year, had created the highest-grossing film ever and directed a movie that sparked worldwide discussion—if that wasn't greatness, then what would it take?
But for Laila, while being considered "great" was nice, what she really wanted was to win. She had no interest in chasing some abstract legacy. That was for future generations to evaluate. What she wanted was something real—something tangible. Like an Oscar.
Her competition was undeniably fierce. But wouldn't that only make the victory sweeter? Winning against the best would only make her achievement all the more meaningful.