Chapter 901: Revelation

"Is the script revised?" She directly asked Leonardo.

To her surprise, she had asked the right person—he had the script in his hands.

Leonardo pulled out a printed copy from his bag and handed it to her. "Take a look. I went through it once, and I think the changes you marked have been handled well. If there's anything else that needs tweaking, we can discuss it."

From his perspective, this version was noticeably better than the previous one. Some abrupt transitions had been smoothed out, and the conflicts were heightened. The overall structure remained intact, but the quality had improved significantly.

Laila took the script.

Meanwhile, Andrew was so nervous that his breathing became uneven as if he were awaiting execution.

Leonardo couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. "What are you so tense about?"

"I'm not nervous!" Andrew stubbornly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Leonardo grabbed a few tissues from the table and handed them to him. "She's not going to eat you. Do you need to be sweating like this?"

Andrew silently dabbed his forehead. The soft tissue was instantly damp with sweat, leaving a visible mark that made any denial pointless. He didn't want to seem this cowardly! But this was Laila Moran standing in front of him—a living Hollywood legend, someone bound to have documentaries made about her legacy. Having her read his script? That was beyond an honor!

Honestly, if they had sent the script to Laila in advance and discussed it upon her arrival, he might not have been this anxious.

But instead, they were stuck waiting, anticipating her feedback, which made the whole experience excruciating.

Andrew dreaded hearing criticism from his idol. He had spent so much time refining the script, believing it was near perfect. If even this version failed to satisfy her, would he have any confidence left to continue as a screenwriter?

Laila, however, paid no attention to their conversation. Her focus was entirely on the script.

She had been reading this script for months, meticulously annotating it, making her deeply familiar with the entire story.

And now, upon reading it again, she gained an even deeper understanding. For a director like her, the written words transformed into vivid imagery in her mind. She wasn't merely reading a story—she was constructing a world, bringing the characters on the pages to life.

A film script wasn't particularly long. If converted into Chinese characters, it would typically be around 30,000 to 50,000 words. English, being less compact, would take up more space—possibly a third to two-thirds more in length.

Even so, reading through a script roughly didn't take much time.

Laila read quickly. Half an hour was enough for her to thoroughly review it. As she set the script down, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

Without even looking up, she knew exactly who it came from.

Laila, out of courtesy, pretended not to notice. Ignoring Andrew's flushed face, the atmosphere in the meeting room remained pleasant.

"So? What do you think?" Leonardo eagerly asked.

Laila considered for a moment, carefully choosing her words. "It's good. The revisions I suggested have been executed well."

Andrew stared at her anxiously, not daring to relax. In his experience, praise like this was usually followed by a 'but'.

Yet, that 'but' never came. Instead, Laila directly pointed out areas that still needed improvement or had slight misinterpretations.

"This section is still a bit stiff." She underlined a passage with her pen. "While this change does increase the dramatic tension, it might also make some viewers uncomfortable."

Andrew caught up in the discussion, momentarily forgot his nervousness, and was drawn into the script's world.

He frowned. "But our story is inherently conflict-driven. Should we be concerned about the audience's comfort?"

From his perspective, this script was meant to compete for awards. Scripts like these weren't about appealing to the masses but about exposing the darker sides of society, warning people about harsh realities. Who cared about box office performance? Wasn't it enough that it conveyed a strong message?

Laila shook her head. "Of course, you should care. Never forget who your film is made for. If the audience is turned off by your approach, do you think they'll still appreciate your work? If the same conflict can be presented in a way that resonates with viewers, why not do it?

"As far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as an 'art film' that doesn't need a box office or a 'commercial film' that doesn't need a good reputation. If you're going to make a film, make it the best it can be. That's my principle."

Andrew stared at her, his mouth slightly open in realization.

Suddenly, he understood why her films were beloved by so many. Why she could turn any movie into a financial success.

She was right. The same story, presented differently, could evoke completely different responses from the audience. So why not consider their perspective?

"You get it now, don't you?" Laila said, watching him carefully. "You're a writer. Don't you want your script to generate better returns? Think business—if even a script like this can achieve commercial success, don't you think more people would be interested in your work?"

In Hollywood, no one disliked profitable scripts. Even if it wasn't a massive blockbuster, as long as it made money, people would fight over it.

Andrew felt his heart race.

She was right! He shouldn't just be satisfied with selling the script. A successful script and a profitable script had entirely different impacts.

What was the true value of a good script? It wasn't just about telling a meaningful story—it was about generating revenue!

Put it this way: If two scripts had equally deep themes, would you buy the one that wasn't profitable for a cheap price, or would you pay several times more for one that could sell?

That was exactly Laila's point. If he could write a compelling story without compromising its integrity, why not make it more appealing to audiences?

"You're right!" Andrew nodded enthusiastically.

He was certain—this conversation would have a profound impact on his future as a writer. If he ever became a great screenwriter, it would be because of the revelation Laila had given him today.

"If we reframe this part like this, would it work better?" He proposed an alternative approach, modifying the delivery of the scene without altering its essence, ensuring the audience wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

Even Lao Zhuang had the same opinion—those who claimed that "art films don't need a box office and only need depth" were talking nonsense.

If no one watches your film, what's the point of all its so-called depth?

That's just self-indulgence.

If the audience abandons you, no matter how profound your film is, what's the use? If it flops, you'll just blame viewers for not understanding its brilliance.

Well, guess what? They don't understand!

Creating something that no one can connect with—how is that even justifiable?.