nucmednet Chapter 59 The Texas Cowboy's Ambition
Chapter 59 The Texas Cowboy's Ambition
In a villa on Malibu Beach in Los Angeles, California sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled shadows on the carpet.
Matthew McConaughey is shirtless, holding a dumbbell in his hand, mechanically repeating the pressing motion.
His skin had a healthy bronze hue, and his muscles were so perfectly defined that they looked as if they had been copied from an ancient Greek sculpture.
In Hollywood, he is undoubtedly the "King of Romantic Comedy".
From "How to Date in 10 Days" to "The Bachelor," as long as he puts on a well-tailored suit, flashes a bright white smile in front of the camera, and laughs with his signature Texas husky accent, ladies and wives across America are willing to pay for the box office.
But only he knew that this perfection was turning into a vine that strangled him.
The cost of frequently playing the same type of role is becoming apparent. Brian told him on the phone last week that audiences are starting to get tired of it, and the door to romantic comedies has closed halfway for him.
"Matthew, Columbia Pictures has sent over a new script." Brian, the agent and friend, pushed open the door, waving a beautifully packaged script in his hand.
"It's still a romantic comedy, and the asking price is six million US dollars. If you agree, we can start filming next month."
Matthew didn't stop what he was doing; the rhythm of his dumbbell presses remained steady as always, pushing up while exhaling and lowering while inhaling.
"Six million." He put the dumbbells on the mat and wiped his face with a towel.
"They didn't even make me read the script?"
"Your name is the result of the trial reading." Brian tossed the script onto the coffee table, sat down on the sofa, and crossed his legs.
"The female lead's schedule is already being arranged; the director is an old acquaintance."
All you have to do is do what you've always done—smile, show your teeth, deliver a few witty lines, and kiss in the sunset at the end. Their assessment confirms the market will still buy it.
Matthew walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside the glass, the Malibu coastline shimmered like shattered silver in the afternoon sun. Several surfers lay on their boards, waiting for the next wave to come.
"Brian, have you considered how long this screaming can continue?"
Matthew stared at his own handsome yet weary face reflected in the glass window.
"According to the survey report you gave me last week, the audience has begun to experience aesthetic fatigue with my pectoral muscles."
"If I keep taking my shirt off on screen and flirting with those blonde bombshells, by the time I'm forty, Hollywood producers will throw me away like a piece of chewed gum that's been chewed dry."
"I've kissed twenty times in movies. Every time the sunset is the same color, every time the end credits song is the same type, every time I call someone a different name, and every time I play the same character."
Brian's smile faded slightly: "Matthew—"
"Did you see that article in Variety?" Matthew interrupted him, picking up a magazine from the coffee table, turning to that page, and reading it aloud.
"McConnor's abs are still perfect, but audiences have learned to buy popcorn before his movies start because they know that no matter which ten minutes they miss, the plot will seamlessly continue."
He desperately wanted to make a change.
He longed for a role that could prove his acting skills, a story that could shatter the stereotypes that defined him.
Brian didn't refute. He'd been Matthew's agent for ten years and knew when the Texan was just grumbling and when he was genuinely upset.
Matthew is now in a bind.
"So what kind of role do you want to play?"
"I want to play Ron Woodruff." Matthew's voice was soft, but it was like a bombshell dropped on a calm sea.
Brian froze, his hand, which had been reaching for a cigarette, hanging in mid-air. "Who? That Texas electrician?"
"Dallas Buyers Club"
Matthew turned around, pulled a well-worn script from the bottom of the coffee table, and threw it in front of Brian.
Brian looked at the script with disgust in his eyes, as if he were looking at a stack of waste paper covered in bacteria.
"Matthew, we've discussed this. This project has a worse reputation in Hollywood than the cheapest motel."
Woody Harrelson tried it in 1996 and failed; Brad Pitt took it in 1999, and as we all know, Universal was willing to lose its initial investment to withdraw its capital.
Because nobody wants to see a foul-mouthed, homophobic, AIDS-ridden Texas alcoholic slowly rotting away on screen.
This doesn't fit your sunny image!
"But I am that Texas alcoholic," Matthew said, pointing to his chest, his voice becoming impassioned.
"I was born in Texas, so I know Ron Woodruff all too well."
They were savage, selfish, and sweaty, but when they found themselves condemned by God, their will to live was stronger than any superhero's.
He walked to the mirror and looked at his muscles, enough to drive any woman in America crazy.
"I can lose forty pounds for this role. I can starve myself until my ribs are clearly visible. I can tear off all the labels these popcorn movies have given me, skin and all."
Brian's tone turned stern: "But you can't act now! Matthew, be realistic. Universal has no intention of launching it after Brad Pitt left."
"Do you think Universal would give this project to a low-tier commercial star to compete for an Oscar?" Brian sneered, his words carrying the ruthlessness of a professional agent.
"Matthew, I tried to get a feel for the idea of playing different roles from an executive at Universal two weeks ago."
The other party didn't even look at my letter of intent, and replied with one sentence: "Matthew McConaughey? That Texas cowboy who shows off on the beach? Let him continue making his 'Sahara,' that's God's job for him, don't let him tarnish this kind of role that requires acting skills."
Matthew clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the force.
He looked in the mirror and chuckled at himself, "Do they think all I have left is this muscle body?"
A deathly silence fell over the room. Only outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the waves relentlessly pounded the beach, monotonous and dull, much like Matthew's professional career over the past five years.
Just then, Brian's Blackberry phone in his pocket started vibrating violently.
He frowned and took out his phone. It was an encrypted email from one of his informants at CAA.
Brian slid off the roller, his initially nonchalant expression gradually freezing, and finally turning into disbelief.
"Matthew..." Brian's voice was a little hoarse.
"If you're trying to tell me Columbia Pictures has raised its prices again, then forget it." Matthew said, his back to him, watching the sunset.
"No...it's *Dallas Buyers Club*!" Brian jerked his head up, waving his phone. "It's been sold!"
Matthew whirled around: "Who bought it? Universal relaunched? Or is that Pete guy planning to start his own company and make it himself?"
"Neither." Brian swallowed.
"This morning, CAA’s Los Angeles office completed a lightning-fast rights transfer, with Universal Pictures officially signing a waiver of priority rights."
"The buyer is a Chinese director named Ryan Lam." Brian turned his phone screen so Matthew could see the contents of the email.
"According to CAA, he contacted the screenwriter directly through Roger Sutherland, and the acquisition of all the rights has been successfully completed."
Matthew stared at the screen, his brow furrowed. He felt like he'd seen that name somewhere before.
"I know this person." Brian quickly searched his memory.
"He's the Asian director Roger Sutherland recently signed. He won an award in Berlin this year and also has a big project with Fox, which he's also the screenwriter for."
Matthew sat back down on the sofa and let out a meaningful sigh: "A director from China bought a script that chronicles the soul and pain of Texas?"
"This sounds like an absurd lame joke, but if it's true, it's definitely the coolest thing I've ever heard."
"Matthew, you didn't understand my point." Brian stood up and paced around the room, somewhat irritated.
"The key point is that this copyright is now in the hands of an outsider!"
"Brian, do you understand what this means?"
"This means the project might be locked away in a safe, or turned into some kind of weird international co-production!"
No, quite the opposite.
"You told me before that romantic comedies were half-closed to me." He looked up at Brian.
"I've always wondered when my partner would shut the door. Now I don't need to think about it anymore; I'm going to close that door myself."
Brian stared at him for a few seconds. As an agent, he instinctively wanted to list all the risks of this option—no studio guarantee, no director's contract, no start date, and no A-list Hollywood star would turn down a guaranteed six million dollar contract under these conditions.
But looking at the expression on Matthew's face, he swallowed back all the words he had prepared.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"First, find out all about Ryan Lam: where he is, who he's talking to, and what the next step in this project is. Then, arrange a meeting with him."
If he really is the buyer of this project, then he'll need an actor sooner or later.
Brian nodded and began typing rapidly on his Blackberry phone.
"Remember this, I don't care about the pay, I don't care about the order of credits. Even if it means flying to China for an audition, I'll go!"
"Tell that director for me: There's a madman in Texas who's prepared to lose so much weight for this role that his ribs are practically showing. If he's looking for the Ron Woodruff who can make the whole world tremble, I'm his only choice."
Matthew's expression was solemn, but his eyes revealed a wildness that belonged to the Texas wilderness.
In his previous life, Matthew McConaughey wouldn't have been able to officially launch the project until 2011.
And now, in 2005, a year stirred by the flapping of butterfly wings, this hunt for self-redemption has begun six years ahead of schedule.