Pushing open the car door, James Holmes slung a worn-out long backpack over his shoulder. Inside was an AR-15 rifle. After slightly adjusting the backpack, he left the parking lot and, under the bright lights, walked unimpeded into the Santa Monica Shopping Plaza.
It was already past midnight. There weren't many people in the plaza, and even the few who saw James Holmes' bizarre clown costume didn't find it strange—there were too many people dressed like that tonight.
Before nine o'clock in the evening, James Holmes had already visited the Santa Monica Shopping Plaza, chosen the theater and the hall where he would act. Now, without any hesitation, he walked through the long corridor and directly entered the open-style cinema.
There weren't many people in the cinema's lobby. The Dark Knight Rises had already been playing for nearly thirty minutes; most of the moviegoers were already inside the halls.
The staff member behind the ticket counter glanced at James Holmes, then lowered his head and continued his work. To him, this was just another ordinary, fanatical movie enthusiast.
As a graduate student from a prestigious university, James Holmes was definitely sharp-minded. He didn't try to conceal anything, striding openly toward the hall he had scouted. Halfway there, when no one was watching, he quickly left the corridor and turned into a nearby emergency passage. After scanning his surroundings, he unzipped his backpack, took out the AR-15 rifle, and flipped off the safety.
He then felt for the Colt pistol beneath his purple jacket and strode toward the IMAX theater's emergency exit.
Standing outside the safety door, he could hear the thrilling background music inside, which only made his blood boil even more.
It didn't take much effort for James Holmes to open the safety door. Moving like a trained commando, he entered the theater through the emergency exit. His movements were clean and efficient, not drawing any attention.
No one noticed him—every viewer was fully absorbed in The Dark Knight Rises.
Perhaps by coincidence, when James Holmes entered the theater, it happened to be during the first gunfight scene of the movie.
James Holmes took out the prepared tear gas grenade. Pulling the pin, he hurled it toward the center of the theater, then raised the rifle, aimed at the nearest few people, and with "controlled burst" technique, easily made dazzling blooms of blood appear.
The gunfire rang out, but no one noticed. Jessica Garvey heard the shots, thinking they were just sound effects from the film—until the choking smoke drifted over and terrified screams echoed. Having lived through a shooting incident before, she immediately realized she was facing the same nightmare again.
Gunshots, screams, cries of agony—these sounds finally drowned out the film's audio. Countless people scrambled in panic to escape, leading to a stampede tragedy.
Seeing the spurting blood, hearing the terrified wails, and watching the chaotic crowd, James Holmes grew even more excited. At this moment, he believed he was the Joker. The great Joker might have been murdered by Batman's fans, but now, fueled by flames of vengeance, the Joker had been reborn through him.
"I am the Joker!"
Amid the gunfire came James Holmes' crazed laughter. "I am the Joker! The Joker has returned!"
The theater was too chaotic, and there were too many people. James Holmes abandoned precision bursts and began sweeping with the AR-15. He didn't know how many people he hit—after emptying one magazine, he pulled out his Colt pistol and kept firing into the crowd.
Listening to the surrounding chaos, Jessica Garvey was already lying on the floor. Sharp, burning pain came from her leg and head. Staring at the ceiling, she felt the patterns above blur, while a man's voice beside her shouted for her to hold on.
Darkness crept into her vision. For some reason, Jessica Garvey suddenly thought of Final Destination. She had escaped death once in Toronto—was she now unable to escape death's pursuit after all?
Then she lost consciousness.
At the emergency exit, James Holmes had already emptied his pistol. He knew the police must have been called by now; they would arrive soon. Without hesitation, he turned and ran out through the safety door, sprinting along the long passage toward the plaza's exit.
Perhaps it was bad luck—or fate—but the escape route James Holmes had planned was blocked. One of the mall doors had been closed and locked for the night. He had no choice but to take a detour, returning to where his car was parked. Before he could start the engine, several police cars surrounded him.
When facing unarmed civilians, James Holmes had been as arrogant as the Joker himself. But when facing the police?
Reality is not a movie. The self-proclaimed reborn Joker, James Holmes, didn't even wait for SWAT to arrive. Without any real resistance, he was handcuffed by several officers.
"I am the Joker!"
As he was shoved into the police car, James Holmes was still shouting madly.
Before the car even left the Santa Monica Shopping Plaza, large numbers of reporters and paparazzi had already swarmed in. They quickly uncovered the story of the "Joker" massacre. In this age of the internet, no one could suppress such news—at least not on this land.
Not far from Santa Monica, Malibu was unusually quiet. The eye-shaped mansion in Duke's estate was completely dark. In the master bedroom on the top floor, Duke was fast asleep. In his dream, he seemed to have flown across the Pacific Ocean, finding the version of himself living in that same period.
At that time, he was merely a mid-level pyrotechnics supervisor in a small film crew—ambitious, dreaming of becoming a director. He planned to make his mark in television first, then move on to film, hoping to become a somewhat successful film director before the age of fifty.
If he could gain some international recognition, that would be enough to make him laugh in his sleep.
Back then, he even dreamed of leading Chinese cinema to the world stage. But he knew very well—that dream wasn't something one person could accomplish.
Perhaps the dream shifted into reality. Duke suddenly woke up. Opening his eyes, he looked to his side—Scarlett Johansson was still sound asleep.
Turning toward the pitch-black window, Duke couldn't help recalling the dream he'd just had. If he weren't in Hollywood but in China, perhaps he could still become one of the industry's top directors—but leading Chinese cinema to conquer the world? Impossible.
He had read many such claims before—people saying they would "replicate Hollywood films into Chinese films."
Oh… the idea sounds beautiful, but cultural differences aren't something solved by words. Even if one ignored the cultural gap, ignoring that this is a world dominated by Western values and culture, without an integrated industry chain, without a mature agent system, without a perfected production framework, without an advanced visual effects industry, without a powerful financing environment…
These are things that absolutely cannot be accomplished by one person alone.
Shaking his head, Duke dismissed these thoughts and fully returned to reality, his mind shifting back to the far more practical Hollywood.
Hollywood had been developing smoothly for so many years, but in fact, it had already reached its ceiling—the North American market could no longer expand.
To break through that ceiling, it's easy to see that Hollywood has started doing many things. The international market has become increasingly important for Hollywood, especially the ever-expanding Chinese market. In order to attract Chinese audiences, Hollywood's major creative teams now routinely hold premieres in China—it has become a standard configuration—and all kinds of marketing stunts keep emerging one after another.
At the same time, Hollywood has been getting closer and closer to Silicon Valley. Netflix, Amazon, and even Apple have all become Hollywood's partners.
From licensing distribution channels to content collaboration and even technological innovation, Silicon Valley—with its new technologies—has begun to influence Hollywood's development.
Of course, even though Hollywood has reached its own ceiling, it remains the most developed film industry in the world.
Now, many professional critics, unwilling to remain silent, have started voicing their opinions again. They argue that Hollywood's mature genre films and blockbuster model have become shackles that suppress creativity. They claim Hollywood is increasingly lacking in originality and creative ability, that blockbusters, big productions, cinematic universes, and sequels have completely become Hollywood's mainstream, while films that attempt innovation in theme or form all end up suffering miserable box office failures.
However, these people deliberately ignore one fact—the failure of these so-called innovative films in theme or form is not a choice made by the studios, but by the market. To be precise, it is the choice of the audience themselves!
What the mainstream audience likes to watch, and what kind of movies they're willing to spend money on—Hollywood will cater to those demands. If mainstream audiences preferred art films, Duke could guarantee that in the next few years, there would hardly be any major commercial blockbusters in the summer season; instead, a long line of art films would be queued up waiting for release.
A Hollywood film's box office is only part of its income—this is something almost everyone understands. But some people overlook that, in this era, box office performance forms the foundation for all subsequent revenue.
When a film performs well at the box office, its DVD, online streaming, and television rights can all sell for high prices. Naturally, merchandise sales will follow, and image licensing will come effortlessly.
But if a film only grosses a few million dollars, can anyone really expect its DVD, online, or television rights to sell for high prices?
Few of the businesses revolving around this industry are fools. Moreover, with the dollar's continued depreciation, films that rely on years of merchandise sales to finally turn a profit leave their producers wanting to cry without tears.
Just as Duke's thoughts were drifting and he was about to fall back asleep, a series of urgent knocks suddenly echoed from the door.
The knocking woke Scarlett Johansson. She turned over and muttered, "Who is it?"
Someone knocking on their door this late could only be one of two people—either the housekeeper Emma, or Tina Fey, who often stayed at Duke's estate. If either of them had come knocking, it definitely meant something urgent had happened.
..
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