AN: So, I kinda watched a recording of Oscar and thanks to that, I added a bit more dialogue and scenes that I didn't know about previously. So this chapter got big with 3.2k words. I will need 1 more chapter to wrap it up. See ya on Sunday. Oh, gimme those powerstones.
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Alex stepped up to the microphone, the weight of the statue finally registering in his hands. He glanced down at it once, then back at the audience, smiling like a man who had just realized this was not a prank. No matter how many times he got up on that stage, the feeling of accomplishment still remains.
"Wow," he said softly, earning a small laugh. "Okay. I promise I practiced this part. My brain has decided to take the night off."
More laughter. He relaxed a little.
"Lost in Translation started as a very quiet thing. It was just me, a notebook, a lot of bad coffee, and a story I did not know anyone else would care about. I wrote it because I needed to understand those silences, those moments where people feel close and far at the same time. I never imagined I would one day be standing here for it."
He took a breath.
"Directing this film was a great experience. But it only worked because of the people who trusted me enough to bring those words to life."
He turned slightly, looking out into the audience.
"Scarlett. Thank you for your honesty, your courage, and the way you listen between the lines. You gave this story a soul I could never have written on the page."
Scarlett covered her mouth, eyes shining.
"And Tom," Alex continued, smiling wider now. "Thank you for your generosity, your calm, and for showing up every day with more heart than anyone has a right to expect. I learned from you constantly."
He nodded, grounding himself.
"To the entire cast and crew. Every actor, every scene partner, every person who trusted a director who cared maybe a little too much. This belongs to you as much as it belongs to me." He paused for a second before saying. "To the Academy. Thank you for listening to something small. And finally, thank you to everyone who supports stories that are gentle, strange, and human. They are harder to hear, but they stay longer."
He lifted the statue slightly.
"I promise to keep trying to earn this. Thank you."
The applause swelled as he stepped back.
Alex stepped off the stage and into the soft chaos backstage, where applause faded into the sound of camera shutters, congratulatory hands, and people moving with the efficient joy of a well-oiled machine.
A production assistant gently guided him toward the photo backdrop. "Right this way, Mr. Wilson."
He blinked once. "I still respond to that? Incredible."
A photographer laughed. "Hold the statue a little higher. Yes. Perfect. Look proud."
Alex glanced down at the Oscar, then back up. "I am proud. I am also mildly afraid I might drop it."
"That would still be iconic," another photographer said.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
He shifted the statue to his other hand. "If I drop it, please tell everyone it was a bold artistic statement."
Someone behind the camera snorted.
A publicist swooped in with the speed of a trained falcon. "Two interviews. Very quick. Then engraving."
"Of course," Alex said. "The holy ritual."
The first interviewer stepped forward, mic already up. "Alex, congratulations. Another Oscar. Does this one feel different?"
He thought for half a second. "Yes. This one started as a whisper. The others started as full sentences. This feels like the room listened."
The interviewer smiled. "That is a beautiful answer."
"I have had practice," Alex replied. "Mostly in bathrooms before meetings."
The second interviewer jumped in immediately. "You thanked Scarlett Johansson on stage. What was it like working with her?"
Alex smiled, softer now. "Easy. She is fearless in quiet moments. That is rare. And dangerous. In a good way."
The interviewer nodded. "People are already calling this one of the most emotionally restrained screenplays of the decade."
Alex blinked. "That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my restraint."
They laughed, the red light clicked off, and the publicist waved him forward again.
The engraving station sat just off to the side, calm and oddly reverent. A man with careful hands and the focus of a watchmaker gestured to the base of the statue.
"Name and category?" he asked.
Alex read from the card, then paused as the engraving machine began its quiet work.
Alex Wilson
Best Adapted Screenplay
Lost in Translation
2006
He watched the letters appear, something settling in his chest that had nothing to do with trophies.
"Still surreal?" the engraver asked without looking up.
Alex nodded. "Every time."
The man smiled knowingly. "Good. That means it still matters."
When it was done, Alex thanked him and turned, statue finally feeling real now that it had his name on it. He adjusted his jacket, took one steadying breath, and headed back toward the auditorium.
As he walked down the aisle, people reached out to touch his arm, shake his hand, whisper congratulations. He nodded, smiled, and accepted it all with a practiced calm.
Scarlett stood as he reached their row.
She hugged him tightly, careful of the statue but not of the emotion. "You did it," she whispered.
He leaned in just enough to reply, "This is just the beginning. Just wait till the end." He then sat.
The ceremony rolled forward...
After a brief musical performance and an ad break that reminded everyone why they owned fast-forward buttons at home, the presenter for Best Film Editing took the stage. A quick joke about pacing earned polite laughter, and the nominees appeared on screen.
When the envelope opened, there was barely any suspense.
"Crash, Hughes Winborne."
Applause filled the room. Winborne stood, nodded once like a man who had cut exactly what needed cutting, and accepted his Oscar with calm gratitude. Alex clapped appreciatively. Editing was invisible when done right, and this one had been surgical.
The ceremony flowed on. Another montage. Another musical cue. Another reminder that the orchestra was very serious about time.
Then came Best Sound Mixing.
The presenter spoke about immersion, about how sound was the invisible hand guiding emotion. The nominees rolled.
War of the Worlds.
Walk the Line.
Memoirs of a Geisha.
Alien.
Leo's Odyssey.
Alex straightened slightly at the mention of Alien. Scarlett noticed and smiled.
"And the Oscar goes to…"
A pause, then a grin.
"Alien. Jack Winston, Kelly Pressley, and Jane White."
The room erupted. The sound team rose together, stunned and laughing, hugging like people who had spent years arguing over decibels and finally won. Alex clapped hard now, pride clear on his face. That film had lived and breathed because of them.
Another break followed. A live performance washed over the room, beautiful and indulgent, the kind that reminded everyone this was still Hollywood.
Then the lights dimmed again.
A familiar voice filled the theatre.
Morgan Freeman.
The applause was immediate and warm, the kind reserved for voices that felt like home.
Freeman stepped to the podium, smiling calmly. "Good evening. Best Actor is often where a film's heart becomes visible. It is where performance carries story, weight, and sometimes the entire room."
He gave a small speech before announcing the nominees.
The nominees appeared one by one.
David Strathairn, Good Night, and Good Luck.
Joaquin Phoenix, Walk the Line.
Heath Ledger, Brokeback Mountain.
Terrence Howard, Hustle & Flow.
Tom Hanks, Lost in Translation.
The camera cut to Tom Hanks, who smiled modestly and nodded, hands folded, like a man waiting for a weather report.
Alex's jaw tightened just slightly. Scarlett leaned closer. "Whatever happens," she whispered, "he was extraordinary."
Alex nodded. "He always is."
Freeman opened the envelope.
"And the Oscar goes to…"
A pause that felt longer than necessary.
"Tom Hanks, Lost in Translation."
The theatre rose in a standing ovation.
Tom Hanks blinked once, then laughed softly, hugging the people around him before standing. He embraced Alex briefly as he passed their row.
"You did this," Hanks murmured.
Alex shook his head. "We did."
Hanks took the stage to thunderous applause, the kind that came from affection as much as admiration. He accepted the statue with gratitude and humility.
He then reached the microphone.
He waited for the applause to settle, holding the statue with both hands, then smiled.
"Well," he said, letting out a quiet laugh, "this is still wildly surreal. You would think that after a few years, I would get used to this feeling. I have not. I hope I never do."
Soft laughter rolled through the room.
"Lost in Translation was not a loud film. It did not shout. It did not chase you down the street. It sat beside you and waited. And that takes courage. Especially in a business that loves noise."
He paused, then turned slightly toward Alex's section of the audience.
"Alex," he said clearly, voice warm and sincere, "thank you for trusting me with this role. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to live inside silence, uncertainty, and restraint. You wrote something honest, and then you directed it with patience. You gave me room to breathe, to listen, and to simply be. That is a gift to an actor. I am deeply grateful."
The camera cut briefly to Alex, who nodded once, visibly moved.
Tom continued.
"And Scarlett," he said, smiling now, "thank you for your generosity, your intelligence, and your fearlessness. Acting is a conversation, and you never stopped listening. Every moment we shared on screen felt real because you made it real. I could not have done this without you."
Scarlett pressed her lips together, eyes shining.
Tom looked back out at the audience.
"To the entire cast and crew, every person who showed up believing that small moments matter. This belongs to all of you. To the Academy, thank you for honoring quiet stories."
He took a breath, voice softening.
"And finally, to the audience. Thank you for leaning in. Thank you for sitting with us in the pauses. Thank you for finding yourselves in a story about feeling lost and unexpectedly found."
He lifted the statue slightly.
"This is an honor I will carry with me always. Thank you. Truly."
The applause swelled again as Tom Hanks stepped back, smiling, the kind of smile that said he meant every word. He then stepped backstage. There was a brief break before the event resumed.
The house lights dimmed again, and a ripple of anticipation moved through the room like a held breath.
The orchestra softened. The screen behind the stage shifted to gold.
Meryl Streep and Samuel L. Jackson walked out together to thunderous applause.
Meryl smiled with that familiar warmth that somehow carried authority too. Samuel adjusted the microphone and looked out at the audience with a grin that promised honesty.
Meryl spoke first. "Best Actress is a category that reminds us why we come to the movies. It is where vulnerability becomes strength and where risk is rewarded."
Samuel nodded. "This is where you see someone walk straight into the fire and come out holding the room in their hands."
Polite laughter followed.
"These performances," Meryl continued, "were fearless, layered, and deeply human."
Samuel lifted the envelope. "And every single one of them made our jobs as audience members very easy."
Meryl announced the nominees.
The nominees appeared on the screen.
Felicity Huffman, Transamerica.
Charlize Theron, North Country.
Judi Dench, Mrs Henderson Presents.
Keira Knightley, Pride and Prejudice.
Scarlett Johansson, Lost in Translation.
The camera cut rapidly between them.
Felicity Huffman smiled tightly, hands clasped. Charlize Theron looked composed, jaw set with quiet confidence. Judi Dench sat serenely, already smiling like someone who had made peace with any outcome. Keira Knightley looked stunned just to be there, eyes bright.
Scarlett froze.
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, as if her brain had lost signal. Her hands tightened together in her lap.
Alex noticed immediately.
Samuel opened the envelope slowly, letting the moment stretch.
"And the Oscar goes to…"
A pause. Long. Deliciously cruel.
"Scarlett Johansson. Lost in Translation."
For a heartbeat, Scarlett did not react.
Then Alex turned toward her, already smiling, and pulled her into his arms.
She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth as tears instantly filled her eyes. Her shoulders shook as the realization hit all at once.
She laughed and cried at the same time.
Angelina stood immediately, clapping hard, her smile wide and proud. Halle rose beside her, hands over her heart. Evangeline was already reaching forward. Max let out an unfiltered yell of "YES" that echoed just a little too loudly. Caroline hugged her so tightly she nearly knocked her balance.
Scarlett stood, still crying, hugging everyone she could reach. Her mother wrapped her in a fierce embrace, whispering something that made Scarlett nod through tears. Her sister kissed her cheek, eyes just as wet.
Alex leaned in and they kissed softly. He whispered, "Go get it."
Scarlett nodded and stepped into the aisle, her hands trembling as she made her way toward the stage. The applause followed her like a wave, rising higher with every step.
Meryl greeted her with open arms, hugging her warmly.
Samuel handed her the statue with a grin. "You earned this."
Scarlett took it with both hands.
The weight of it surprised her.
She laughed softly through tears as she stepped to the microphone, blinking rapidly, trying to see through the blur of lights and emotion.
"Wow," she said, voice shaking. "Okay. I am definitely crying. I promised myself I would not cry. That promise lasted about three seconds."
Gentle laughter filled the theatre.
She took a breath, steadying herself, fingers tightening around the statue.
"This film changed my life," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Lost in Translation found me at a moment when I was still figuring out who I was as an actress and as a person. I felt unsure. I stumbled. And I was scared to trust silence."
"Alex," she said, emotion swelling again, "thank you for believing in me when I doubted myself. Thank you for your patience, your guidance, and your quiet confidence. You taught me that doing less can mean saying more. You gave me courage when I lost my footing. I will always carry that with me."
Alex nodded once, eyes shining, hands clasped together.
Scarlett turned back to the room.
"Tom," she continued, smiling through tears, "thank you for your generosity and kindness. Acting with you felt like being held up by someone who always knew where the ground was. You made me braver in every scene."
She swallowed and laughed softly.
"Thank you to Anna Faris and Giovanni Ribisi for bringing so much heart and honesty to this story. Every moment with you felt alive. Thank you to every member of the cast and crew who trusted a quiet film and showed up fully."
She took another breath, her voice steady now.
"To my family. My mom. Vanessa. Thank you for keeping me grounded, for loving me through every version of myself, and for reminding me why I started doing this in the first place."
She lifted the statue slightly, looking at it like she was still not entirely convinced it was real.
"And to the Academy, thank you for listening. Thank you for honoring stories that breathe. This means more to me than I can say."
Her voice softened.
"I will never forget this moment. Thank you. Truly."
Scarlett stepped back, wiping her cheeks, laughing softly as she hugged Meryl and Samuel once more before walking off stage with the statue held carefully against her chest. She went backstage.
Backstage, the noise softened into something warmer and closer. The roar of the theatre became applause leaking through walls, replaced by camera shutters, hurried footsteps, and voices layered with excitement.
Scarlett stepped off the stage and immediately had a headset placed gently around her neck, the statue still cradled in both hands like it might wander off if she loosened her grip.
A production assistant beamed. "Congratulations. Straight ahead for photos, then two interviews. Very quick."
Scarlett laughed softly, still catching her breath. "I feel like my legs are pretending to work out of habit."
"They are doing great," the assistant said confidently. "Olympic level legs."
That earned a small laugh, which helped.
She reached the photo backdrop. The gold wall gleamed under clean white lights. Photographers clustered in front of her, energy buzzing but respectful.
"Scarlett, right here."
"Just a little higher with the statue."
"Beautiful. Hold that."
"Look proud."
She lifted the Oscar slightly, then looked down at it and laughed again, shaking her head.
"I am proud," she said honestly. "I am also scared I will wake up."
Flash. Flash. Flash.
She shifted her weight, turning slightly to her left, the gown catching the light. Her smile settled into something calmer now. Less shock. More quiet joy.
"That's it," a photographer said. "That one's the cover."
Scarlett blinked. "Already?"
The photographer grinned. "Trust me."
A publicist appeared instantly. "Interview time."
The first interviewer stepped in, microphone raised, eyes bright.
"Scarlett, congratulations. First Oscar. What is going through your mind right now?"
She laughed softly, thinking for half a second. "Everything. And nothing. I feel grateful, overwhelmed, and very aware that I am holding something extremely heavy."
The interviewer smiled. "You thanked Alex Wilson on stage. What did working with him mean to you?"
Scarlett's expression softened. "It meant feeling safe in uncertainty. Alex has this quiet trust in actors. He lets you sit in silence and does not rush you to fill it. That changed how I approach my work."
The interviewer nodded. "People are calling this performance career defining."
Scarlett shook her head gently. "I think it is chapter defining. I hope there are many more pages."
Another microphone slid in smoothly.
"You shared the screen with Tom Hanks in a very restrained film. What did you learn from him?"
Scarlett smiled. "How to listen without preparing your response. Tom is present in a way that makes you better just by standing next to him. He raises the floor."
The interviewer smiled appreciatively. "Thank you. Congratulations again."
Scarlett nodded. "Thank you."
The red light clicked off. She exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Engraving," the publicist said, already guiding her forward. "Last stop."
The engraving station was quieter, tucked just to the side. A man with careful hands gestured to the base of the statue.
"Name and category."
Scarlett read from the card, her voice steady now.
"Scarlett Johansson. Best Actress. Lost in Translation. 2006."
The machine began its precise work. She watched the letters appear slowly, each one making the moment feel heavier and more real.
She swallowed. "That is my name."
The engraver smiled without looking up. "It usually is."
She laughed quietly.
When it finished, he turned the statue slightly so she could see it clearly.
She reached out and touched the engraved letters with her thumb.
"Oh," she said softly. "Okay. Now I believe it."
He nodded. "That usually does it."
She thanked him and turned away, Oscar now officially hers. She then went back inside.
As she reached her row, Alex stood and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
"You did it," he said quietly.
She laughed against his shoulder, still crying. "I cannot believe this is real."
He smiled. "It is. And it is only the beginning."
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[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[5 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]
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