When Berg arrived, Gance and I were in the yard discussing the movie. Seeing each of us holding an apple, he plopped down and snatched one from Gance's hand.
"Fat man, did you get the money?" Gance asked with a flattering smile.
"Here, 38,000intotal.Mydadchippedin38,000intotal.Mydadchippedin20,000, and the rest is mine. Let me tell you, my dad said he won't give me another penny this year. So, from now on, I'm on my own! Guys, this movie better not flop," Berg said, looking at us with a bitter smile.
"Don't jinx it! Can't you see the boss and I are discussing it?" Gance shot Berg a glare.
"Andre, did your dad give you the money?" Berg blinked his small eyes.
"Yeah, my mom even pawned her jewelry! With your money, we have 51,000intotal,51,000intotal,10,000 more than our initial estimate of $40,000. The money's here; now it's up to us to make it work," I exhaled, cracking my knuckles. "Since you're both here, let's discuss what kind of movie we should make."
"Of course, something like Porter and Cruze's films—riding horses, firing revolvers, bang bang! So cool! It'll be a hit!" Gance mimicked a cowboy, circling his hand like a gunslinger.
"No, no! I think we should make a comedy. Look at United Artists and Keystone's movies; they're so popular!" Berg, a fan of comedies, disagreed with Gance's suggestion.
"Comedies are boring!"
"Your kind of movie is the boring one!"
The two of them bickered back and forth.
I shook my head, watching them.
"Boss, don't just sit there like a rock. Say something!" Berg, losing the argument to Gance, turned to me for help.
I cleared my throat and said, "Gance, you want to make a Western like Porter's, but have you considered the costs? We'd need to rent horses, guns, and a specialized camera car for action scenes. Plus, such a movie would require dozens of actors. Not only would we have to pay them, but we'd also need to cover their food, lodging, and other expenses. Tell me, with our budget, can we afford all that?"
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Gance was left speechless, while Berg smirked, enjoying Gance's defeat.
"Fat man, don't get too cocky. We can't make a comedy either," I said, raising an eyebrow at Berg.
"Why not?" Berg widened his eyes, incredulous.
I had to explain, "Think about it. Comedies require highly skilled actors, and we can't afford their fees. Besides, comedies have already been perfected by Chaplin and Keaton. Whenever people think of comedies, they think of them. If we make one, no one will watch it, and we'll fail."
With Chaplin around, making a comedy would be like showing off in front of a master. I wasn't about to waste our hard-earned capital.
"If we can't do this or that, boss, what should we make? We're counting on you!" Berg rolled up his sleeves, and Gance squinted his small eyes, looking at me expectantly.
To make a breakthrough with just $50,000, we needed innovation—a genre no one had touched yet. Only then could we strike gold.
In the 1920s, many of the genres we know today hadn't even been conceived.
Horror movies? No, Paramount had already tried a few, and the audience wasn't receptive. Disaster movies? No, they required too many special effects, and without computers, it was a dead end. Mystery films? No, they demanded a high level of skill, and the three of us, being beginners, might not pull it off.
After much deliberation, I dismissed many genres. Seeing me frown, Berg and Gance grew anxious, eventually pulling out their cigarettes and lighting up.
As I stared at the cigarette pack, I slapped my thigh in excitement. "I've got it!"
Gance, startled, fell to the ground, yelling, "Boss, your sudden outbursts are going to kill me!"
Berg, ignoring Gance's plight, handed me a cigarette and smiled. "Boss, tell us. Show us the way to riches."
I took the cigarette, took a deep drag, and blew a smoke ring before pointing at the cigarette pack. "We'll make a movie about this!"
Berg and Gance both looked at the pack, which featured a scantily clad blonde striking a seductive pose.
To boost cigarette sales, Los Angeles tobacco companies had come up with various strategies. One of them was producing cigarette packs with images of provocative women. These packs sold out immediately, making a fortune.
In 1925 America, society was vastly different from the 21st century. There was little of the promiscuity we see today. Ideas like sexual liberation and freedom hadn't emerged yet. The dominant social ethos was that of puritanical gentility. Women's clothing revealed little more than their necks, unlike the sea of bare legs seen on streets today. Men telling risqué jokes in public would be seen as uncouth.
As the saying goes, the more something is forbidden, the more it is desired. The more repressed the society, the more people crave such things. The tobacco company's move was proof. These cigarette packs quickly captured 80% of the male market, and many women secretly bought them too. Eventually, the company released packs featuring handsome, muscular men to tap into the female market.
This move wasn't without opposition. The Los Angeles Times ran editorials for five consecutive weeks condemning the tobacco company, accusing them of corrupting social morals. Various groups called for boycotts, and even police officers patrolled the streets wearing anti-smoking slogans on their uniforms. Yet, the result? Officers would openly smoke these cigarettes in public, commenting on how attractive the women on the packs were.
What if we replaced the cigarette packs with moving images of such content? What would happen then?
