Chapter 20: The Sixth Sense Premiere

As the last rays of the setting sun slowly faded, darkness quietly cloaked the sky. Under the nightfall, the City of Angels glittered with neon lights and a sea of illumination.

Outside the TCL Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, the crowd buzzed with excitement. A long red carpet stretched far into the distance, and as one celebrity after another stepped onto it, the shutter clicks of cameras rang out in rapid succession. Simultaneously, fans' cheers, reporters' questions, and paparazzi's shouting erupted into a chaotic symphony.

Putting down his camera, Mick Taylor finally let out a breath. He was an entertainment reporter for the Los Angeles Times, no stranger to grand events. If it hadn't been the off-season for film releases, or if Miramax hadn't stirred the waters with their promotional claims, a movie relying solely on Al Pacino's presence wouldn't have warranted the appearance of this star journalist.

"Mick, do you think Miramax is deliberately hyping this up?" his assistant asked. "A ten-year-old kid being able to read fluently is already impressive. Writing a movie script? Come on, unless he's from Mars."

"Did you not see it?" Mick replied. "There's only one name listed under 'Screenwriter,' and it matches the name of one of the actors. Who the hell is this Ryan Jenkins? Did he just crawl out from under a rock?"

From Mick Taylor's point of view, since Miramax dared to openly claim in their marketing that the screenplay was written by a child and adapted from his and his guardian's personal experience, they must have had absolute confidence. Otherwise, even with Harvey Weinstein's famously thick skin, he wouldn't risk making a fool of the public.

"Hey, Mick, here they come—I think that's them!"

A tall, coldly beautiful and sensual woman was walking the red carpet, holding the hand of a boy who looked to be around ten years old. The assistant quickly pointed them out to Mick Taylor.

Though he was a little nervous inside, Ryan forced himself to stay calm. After all, having worked for years at a major cinema chain in his previous life, he'd seen his fair share of red carpets—somewhat of a help in moments like this.

"Smile, Ryan. Your face is so stiff it's turning to stone," Nicole Kidman whispered.

Alright, fine. Everyone around is made of stone, and the reporters and paparazzi are rotten eggs. Ryan began his self-hypnosis. Even though the flashing lights made him uncomfortable, he managed to squeeze out a smile.

"Ms. Nicole Kidman, this is said to be your first film in Hollywood. Are you planning to stay here and continue your career?"

"Ms. Kidman, it's said this movie is based on the real-life experiences of you and… this young Mr. Ryan. Is that true?"

As they reached the press area, a barrage of questions came flying at them. But Nicole showed no interest in responding. She ignored the shouts and, still holding Ryan's hand, walked straight toward the theater entrance.

Ryan glanced up at the famous theater. Honestly, to him, the name "Chinese Theatre" was totally misleading. It didn't have any Chinese architectural features at all. In fact, it looked more like something you'd see in a certain country known for its ladyboys. Maybe they should call it the Thai Theatre?

"Hey, Al, David—it's been a while." Ryan greeted them proactively.

"Ryan, you've grown a lot," Al Pacino walked over and instinctively reached to pat the boy's shoulder, but then he remembered a past incident and awkwardly froze, his hand suspended in mid-air.

"Al, don't worry. I'm not hiding thumbtacks under my tuxedo."

Ryan's joke drew laughter from the surrounding crew members. They remembered all too well how, during filming, Ryan had once retaliated against Al Pacino's constant shoulder-pats by hiding blunted thumbtacks under his sweater—waiting for him to take the bait.

After the group photo with the film's creative team, he and Nicole headed into the theater. The premiere wasn't a huge affair, and the number of stars in attendance wasn't large either. Plus, it was still the early '90s, so Ryan didn't recognize most of the Hollywood celebrities there. Even if he had seen them in a few films, he'd long since forgotten their names.

Besides, he was just a kid with no fame to his name—few people were going to bother chatting with him. Not wanting to get in the way of Nicole's socializing, he slipped away to a quiet corner, intending to wait until showtime to head into the screening room.

Unexpectedly, as he strolled off, he spotted a small group of people chatting nearby. One of them stood like a mountain—solid and imposing. With that iconic physique and slightly expressionless face, Ryan instantly recognized who it was.

He decided to stay put. He couldn't exactly walk up and say hello, so instead, he lingered nearby to eavesdrop. He recognized the bearded man speaking too.

"Carolco Pictures has already consolidated the rights. I've worked out the story's main arc—though there are still quite a few issues, the basic framework is in place. But we need funding. Without it, there's nothing I can do," said the bearded man.

"Jim thinks the film will need at least an $80 million investment."

"Eighty million? That's not nearly enough—it'll take a hundred million at least!" the bearded man held up a single finger.

"God, Jim, you're going to scare away every investor."

"This time, Arnold will be playing a good guy? A friendly T-800?" someone else asked.

"That's right," the bearded man sighed, as if burdened by creative dilemmas. "I have a few ideas for the villainous robot, but I still haven't figured out what kind of machine could really embody the threat of a future Terminator."

"A liquid robot!" came a slightly youthful voice from behind them. "The machine assassin from the future should be made of a liquid metal alloy. It could mimic any object it touches, as long as it's of similar size—including people. It could also morph its body into various melee weapons, killing mercilessly, devoid of emotion or reason!"

The group turned in surprise. Ryan stood there, completely unembarrassed. "Hello, Mr. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mr. James Cameron. I assume you're discussing the sequel to The Terminator, right? I happened to overhear your conversation—hope you don't mind."

"No problem," the polite young boy instantly gave off a favorable impression.

"Kiddo, how'd you come up with that robot idea?" Cameron asked curiously.

"I've seen The Terminator," Ryan quickly stuck out his tongue. "Please don't tell anyone, okay? Actually, a lot of the scenes from the first movie are ripe for expansion. For example, the future savior—surely there's a sequel in the works. Sometimes I just let my imagination run wild. If Mr. Schwarzenegger were to play a protector this time, then his enemy should be totally different, right?"

"If the T-800 is like a heavy tank, then his opponent should have completely different traits. I also really like Transformers, so I thought—what if the new robot could shift forms at will? Like a Porsche—fast, sleek, deadly. A liquid metal robot!"

Everything Ryan said was logical and clearly structured, as if he'd genuinely come up with all these ideas himself.

His words clearly struck a chord with James Cameron, who looked at Ryan thoughtfully. After a long pause, he asked, "What's your name, kid? You look kind of familiar."

"Ryan Jenkins. You can call me Ryan."

"Ryan Jenkins?" Arnold Schwarzenegger, more socially savvy, suddenly remembered something. "You're the kid from The Sixth Sense, right?"

"Yes. I had a small role." Just then, Ryan noticed Nicole waving at him from across the room. "Sorry, I've got to go."

"No worries."

As they watched the precocious boy walk into the screening room holding Nicole's hand, Schwarzenegger turned to Cameron and said, "Jim, that idea sounds pretty solid."

"Solid? It's brilliant." James Cameron let out a quiet breath—something that had been troubling him for a while had just been solved. "Absolutely brilliant."

He and Schwarzenegger also made their way into the screening room. Just before entering, Cameron instinctively glanced at the Sixth Sense poster on display. In his hurry, he only caught one line—Screenwriter: Ryan Jenkins.

After the Miramax intro played, the film began. The protagonist was unmistakably a tragic figure—he died right at the beginning, though that fact only becomes clear at the very end.

Unlike everyone else, Ryan watched while subconsciously comparing it to a certain other movie from his past life.

No doubt about it, David Fincher was called a maverick director for a reason. Though this version of the movie was only 60 to 70 percent similar to the one from Ryan's past life—and shared a common flaw of early '90s films: slow pacing—it was still solid.

But then again, it was the early '90s. Fast-food culture hadn't fully emerged yet. And when it came to suspense and emotional conflict, Fincher's direction was exceptionally nuanced and effective. Many scenes subtly hinted at the true nature of the psychologist's character.

Themes like communication, connection, and family are timeless in North American cinema. What's more, the film pulled off a massive twist. In the 21st century, this kind of trick would be overused to death, but back in this era, it was rare—if not entirely unheard of.

Just as the audience was deeply moved by the emotional climax between Cole and his mother—thinking it was the ending—the psychologist returned home… and discovered the shocking truth: he was already dead.

Suddenly, everyone recalled what the boy had said earlier: I see dead people, they don't know they're dead, they walk around like regular people, they only see what they want to see, and everything clicked into place.