Chapter 97 – Persuasion
Naomi Watts held onto Wayne's arm as they walked out, exchanging polite nods and smiles with others along the way.
"You sure about this?" Wayne glanced back at the group of girls they'd just left. "It looked like you were getting along with them pretty well."
Naomi shook her head. Only once they were inside the car did she finally speak. "It was all just for show. Don't pay them any mind—they're just a bunch of bitches."
"Alright, don't overthink it. Winners never worry about what losers think," Wayne said, offering her a bit of comfort.
This kind of thing was inevitable. Naomi had once been one of those girls herself—maybe even worse off. At least they didn't have to work convenience store jobs.
Now, after starring in two films that had earned her serious name recognition, it was natural for some people to feel bitter.
Back at the estate, Naomi automatically followed him up to the third floor and changed clothes with practiced ease. She understood Wayne's tastes better than anyone. He liked it rough—and she happened to enjoy that kind of play, too. In her mind, they were well-matched in more ways than one.
"Maybe we should look into getting some new outfits and toys," Naomi said, lying on his chest, pulling the covers up as she eyed the torn clothes scattered on the floor.
"Sure. Got any new ideas?"
Feeling the man's reaction beneath the sheets, Naomi rolled her eyes.
"You're an animal, Wayne. Anyway, I'm tired—let's talk about something serious."
Wayne pulled his hand out from under the covers, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the headboard. Blowing out a plume of smoke, he asked, "What's on your mind?"
Naomi casually took the cigarette from his mouth, took a long drag, and passed it back.
"I know I shouldn't keep bothering you... but I'm really unsure this time. I promise, this is the last time I'll ask." She watched his expression carefully. Seeing no signs of annoyance, she continued with relief.
"There are two films interested in me. I passed both auditions without a hitch. I just need your advice."
"Naomi," Wayne frowned slightly. "I'm not some all-knowing god. I can help you analyze things, but this is your agent's job. Anyway, what kind of films are they?"
Since he agreed, Naomi jumped out of bed stark naked and pulled two crumpled script summaries from her purse.
If someone else had said this to her, she might've believed it. But no one understood Wayne better than she did. As a director, he was a genius—but as a producer with a sharp eye for projects, that's where he truly excelled.
She dropped the two scripts onto his chest and sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him with serious intent.
As soon as Wayne glanced at the pages, he'd already made up his mind. One of them looked incredibly familiar—he even remembered the story in detail.
"Take this one—Mrs. Doubtfire. Directed by Chris Columbus, right? Go all in on this one. He's got a flawless track record with this kind of family comedy."
He handed her the Mrs. Doubtfire summary and tossed the other script aside without even reading it.
Was there even a choice here? This was one of Chris Columbus's peak works. Most people only remembered Home Alone, forgetting that Mrs. Doubtfire actually had the higher box office.
Later movie buffs would even coin a golden rule: when it comes to feel-good, family-friendly movies, Chris Columbus is the undisputed king. His weakness? He's great with originals, but sequels—not so much.
"Thanks. I'll tell my agent to negotiate the contract tomorrow. This time, I'm asking for a big payday."
Wayne knew she was teasing him—she'd been the female lead in two films and still hadn't made much money.
"They're drawn to your youthful charm, that sweet, marketable face, and your momentum from two hit films. Don't hold back—tell your agent to name a high price."
People think Westerners aren't superstitious, but truthfully, their belief in such things can surpass that of the East. Just look around—tarot readers, crystal ball fortune tellers, astrology shops—they're everywhere and thriving.
Hollywood's production companies were the cream of the crop when it came to investing in bankable actors. For those who could guarantee box office success regardless of their acting talent—even if they were just eye candy—studios were more than willing to pay top dollar.
Naomi Watts carefully tucked the script back into her bag, not even sparing a glance at the discarded copy. Crawling into bed, she pulled the covers over herself and mumbled under the sheets:
"This is a reward, Wayne. You damn beast."
The Los Angeles sun knew no seasons, shining all year round and blurring the boundaries between them. Toward the end of July, Jimmy finally brought Wayne his first good news in weeks:
Warner Bros. had completed the calculations for his director's profit share. He was told he could bring his accountant to settle the earnings anytime.
It was the most uplifting news Wayne had received in a while. He immediately called Colin Howard in New York, asking his accountant to fly out to LA to help handle the accounting.
The next morning, Wayne arrived at the Warner Bros. building with his assistant Nina, his agent Jimmy, and Colin Howard. Once inside, Jimmy and Colin followed a Warner staff member to go over the profit statements, while Wayne and Nina went directly to CEO Kevin Tsujihara's office.
The new project required Wayne to personally pitch it. Without Warner Bros.' backing, much of his early prep work would go to waste—and worse, his entire future plan could be derailed.
The project — Joker — didn't necessarily require DC's authorization. Like the version he'd previously registered with the WGA, the story could be adjusted to remove overt comic book elements and stand on its own. But that was a last resort. Doing so would mean leaving the Warner umbrella and finding another production partner, throwing off everything he had in motion.
"Wayne, this is Jonathan Keller, President of DC Comics," said Jeff Robinov, enthusiastically introducing them.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Keller."
"Hello, Director Garfield," Keller replied with a courteous nod.
After brief greetings, they all sat down. Wayne took the briefcase from Nina and pulled out a neatly organized project proposal.
"Any questions about the project?" Wayne broke the silence first. "Please feel free to bring them up — I'm happy to explain anything."
Jeff and Kevin both turned to Jonathan Keller, who silently observed Wayne. He had already read the proposal and script multiple times and didn't need to look again.
Despite Wayne's youth, there was a maturity in his demeanor that didn't match his appearance. He didn't look like someone capable of making such dark and psychologically intense films — and yet, the past two years of success couldn't be ignored. This wasn't some ordinary young man.
"Director Garfield, I've studied your proposal and script in detail," Keller began, pointing to the documents. He pulled out the script specifically. "The production side isn't really our concern. My main issue is the story. You've created a version of the Joker, Arthur, that draws heavily on real-world social commentary.
"I'm concerned — how do you plan to deliver such a complex narrative? Batman's declining public image has already impacted DC Comics' revenue. We can't afford to see another iconic character fall from grace in the eyes of comic book fans."
Wayne understood the concern. In fact, Keller was underestimating just how badly Batman had already been mishandled. If not for Wayne's intervention, Warner's own missteps would have continued dragging the character further into ruin.
He even remembered another Batman movie set to flop later that year — yet another blow to the mythos of Bruce Wayne.
"Mr. Keller, this script is the product of my own creative philosophy and filmmaking style," Wayne said. "You'll notice there's no humor here — none. After testing the waters with my last two films, I'm confident that audiences are more than ready for something this dark and grounded. And I have every confidence I can pull it off."
His confidence was clear — in both himself and the project.
"This is a dystopian film, just like my last two projects," he continued. "Only this time, it's taken even further. This Joker isn't your usual comic book villain — he's not driven by random chaos or unknowable motives. I've given him a core — tragic, but traceable.
"If I had to give it a title straight out of a comic book, I'd call it Joker: Origins."
Jonathan Keller listened intently. As Wayne finished, he asked, "You mean to completely reimagine the Joker? You want to show audiences how a regular person became that villain?"
"Yes, Mr. Keller. Arthur, the Joker, wasn't born evil. He was shaped by the world around him."
Wayne picked up his coffee and took a large sip.
"DC Comics has always embraced darkness, complexity, and broken humanity," he continued. "And Arthur is the embodiment of that. Are villains born evil? I don't believe so. Arthur was once good — the tragedy is in what he became."
Keller frowned slightly, deep in thought. He wasn't sure if this bold direction was genius or a mistake. In comics and films alike, villains had always been evil from the start. Few had ideologies or origin stories worth telling. They were simply obstacles for the heroes.
But this… this was something new.