Each year around the end of December, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences sends Oscar nomination ballots to its six thousand members, who then select nominees from a list prepared in advance. This period marks the peak of Oscar campaigning.
The Black Swan team had begun its intense Oscar push. Cast members showered each other with praise, masking any prior conflicts from Venice. Leading the Oscar Best Actress race, Natalie Portman was pulling out all the stops—she was frequently seen at media events with her visibly pregnant belly and claimed to have trained in ballet for eight months to complete over 95% of her own ballet scenes.
Her pregnancy elicited sympathy and societal goodwill, while her statements about performing her own scenes aimed to sidestep an unspoken Oscar rule: roles heavily relying on voice doubles or body doubles rarely win acting awards. This unwritten rule has become a near-ironclad expectation in the Academy.
By the time nomination ballots were distributed, Natalie Portman's approach had succeeded. Her pregnancy was real enough, and her fiancé, choreographer Benjamin Millepied, verified her ballet performance claims. She'd won over numerous Academy voters, and media coverage had firmly turned in her favor.
At a screening event hosted by Warner Bros., Matthew spotted Natalie Portman and her fiancé. Standing in the massive ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel, he watched Natalie, with her pregnant belly, navigate the crowd. He felt a strange déjà vu, as though Padmé Amidala from Revenge of the Sith had somehow materialized in Hollywood.
"Hollywood stars, myself included," he thought to himself, "are really just a bunch of schemers."
It was impressive, even admirable, how she'd found a way to turn her unborn child into part of her strategy. As he watched Millepied, Matthew recalled what Rachel Weisz had told him and felt a slight pang of sympathy for the New York ballet dancer and choreographer. Whether Millepied was fortunate or unfortunate to have Natalie as his fiancée remained unclear.
In theory, men should dread situations where they find themselves unknowingly raising another man's child. A while back, over drinks with Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy, Matthew had indirectly asked them how they felt about raising a child who wasn't theirs. Both reacted strongly, saying they would find it unacceptable.
Even in the relatively open entertainment industry, such arrangements aren't widely embraced.
There's often a notable difference between biological children and stepchildren; looking at Woody Allen and Morgan Freeman's experiences with their stepchildren demonstrates that well enough.
Then again, not everyone felt that way. Angelina Jolie, for instance, was known to prioritize her adopted Cambodian son over her three biological children.
Reflecting on this, Matthew found himself unexpectedly thinking of Angelina Jolie in a less than favorable light.
"Maybe I'm just too used to being the bad guy," he muttered to himself, "I end up seeing everyone else as villains, too."
He resolved to start doing more good deeds, beginning the next day.
"What's got you so deep in thought?"
Christopher Nolan's voice pulled him back. "What's on your mind?"
Turning to him, Matthew nodded in greeting and pointed toward Natalie Portman. "What a happy couple," he said.
Nolan glanced over and asked, "Jealous?" Without waiting for an answer, he added, "You could find a life partner yourself."
Matthew feigned helplessness, spreading his hands. "Haven't found the right one."
Nolan chuckled and, leaving the subject, said, "I heard you're not joining Warner's campaign for a Best Actor nomination?"
Instead of answering, Matthew asked, "Do I really need Oscar recognition?"
With the box office and critical success of Inception, Warner Bros. wanted to make an Oscar push and submitted the film for awards, including Best Actor, Best Director, and Best Picture. However, Matthew had advised Warner to prioritize other categories rather than waste resources on his Best Actor campaign.
Nolan only paused for a moment before replying, "No, you're already one of the biggest stars in the industry."
Matthew responded calmly, "I have no interest in an Oscar. The Academy voters don't like me, anyway. Better to put those resources toward securing you a Best Director or Best Picture nomination."
"Thank you." Nolan's gratitude was apparent.
Matthew smiled. "We're friends and partners; no need to be so formal."
Nolan nodded appreciatively, then laughed.
The two chatted briefly before Nolan moved off. Matthew was at the screening primarily to support Inception and Warner Bros., while Nolan's Oscar ambitions required mingling with the Academy's older members.
These members, long forgotten by the public, may have clung to Oscar voting to affirm their own relevance.
Matthew couldn't help but imagine their thoughts: Sure, you're Christopher Nolan, a top-tier director of blockbusters. But if you want a Best Director Oscar, you'll need my vote.
Of course, this was his own cynical assumption. Having had little personal interaction with Academy members, he only knew them to be conservative and nostalgic about their so-called "golden age."
These observations led Matthew to believe they wouldn't warm to Nolan or his movies.
With his preference for sci-fi and big-budget films, Nolan still had a long way to go before achieving an Oscar for Best Director.
The Academy's aversion to science fiction films was no secret.
Since the Academy follows a lifetime membership model, the core voters are an aging group of men in their sixties and seventies, whose conservatism reflects a reluctance toward sci-fi, which has been an unspoken rule for decades. 2001: A Space Odyssey, for example, won only a technical Oscar for Best Visual Effects, with the rest of its nominations unawarded.
For Nolan, who gravitated toward sci-fi, this bias presented a major disadvantage.
In Matthew's view, the Oscar was merely a great achievement among many—it was not greatness itself.
Some filmmakers' legacies were unaffected by the lack of an Oscar.
As he mused, Matthew noticed Natalie Portman and Benjamin Millepied heading his way. Their paths happened to cross, and pleasantries seemed unavoidable.
"Hey, Matthew." Natalie took Millepied's arm and approached him. "Of course, I knew I'd see you here."
Matthew smiled and responded, "I'm the lead in Inception, so the crew invited me. I couldn't refuse."
This was one of those rare times when he gave Natalie a completely honest answer.
Looking at her belly, Matthew added, "Congratulations."
Natalie placed a hand over her stomach. "I'm proud of him."
"It's a boy?" Matthew asked.
"Yes." She nodded. "It's a boy."
A soft cough came from beside her, and Natalie seemed to realize something. She introduced them, "Matthew, this is my fiancé, Benjamin Millepied. Benjamin, this is my friend, Matthew Horner."
Matthew shook Millepied's hand and noticed a flash of discomfort on his face.
Did this guy think he had a "history" with Natalie? He was overthinking things.
After a brief exchange, Millepied fell silent. Matthew could guess that he probably misunderstood, but it wasn't as if Natalie was his type anyway.
"I'm up for Best Actress," Natalie remarked, not holding back, given how far she'd gone in her Oscar campaign. "You didn't submit anyone for that category in Inception, right? Could I count on your vote?"
Matthew nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Nat. I'll be voting for you."
He only had one vote, and it wouldn't disrupt Rachel Weisz's broader plans.
Natalie smiled. "Thank you." She stroked her belly before adding, "Can I ask one more favor?"
Matthew was instantly on guard but kept his tone casual. "Go ahead."
"We've known each other for years," Natalie said thoughtfully. "Matthew, would you be my son's godfather?"
Beside her, Benjamin Millepied frowned and looked at her, seemingly about to protest, but Natalie silenced him with a glance.
Having Matthew as a godfather would mean a major influence for her son's future.
Natalie was sharp, but so was Matthew. He found a convenient excuse, saying with a bit of regret, "Sorry, Nat. I can't give you an answer right now. I have a goddaughter already—Johnny Depp's daughter, Lily—and I promised her she'd be my only godchild. I'd have to check with her."
Seeing he wouldn't agree, Natalie didn't press the matter.
After the screening, she and Millepied returned to their hotel and prepared for a media event the next morning.
Millepied, left with free time, went downstairs to run an errand, but on his way out, he was stopped.
It was Mila Kunis who approached him.
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