A few days later, Gance and Berg returned from their trip. Feeling guilty for leaving me behind to write the script while they enjoyed themselves, they brought back a variety of local specialties, including an exceptionally greasy cheese that gave me stomach troubles for several days. As a result, our script discussions were delayed. However, I didn’t waste those days. Instead, I lay in bed making final revisions to the script. Gance and Berg had been eager to read it since their return, constantly pestering me, but I refused to show it to them until it was completely finished. This led to the two of them making over ten trips to my house each day.
I spent three or four days in bed, with my mother taking care of me, while my father focused on his film projection business. Before each screening, he would announce to the audience that his son was about to make a movie, urging the loyal patrons of Dream Factory to show their support. By the end of it, almost everyone in Burbank knew that the youngest Corleone was working on a "groundbreaking" film.
That afternoon, as I lay on a lounge chair in the yard finalizing the script, Gance and Berg sneaked in, looking mischievous.
"My dear director, is the script finally done? Gance and I are about to run our legs off!" Berg groaned, his face twisted in discomfort.
Gance rushed over, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the script in my hands. "Boss, my darling, is it ready?! Do you know how I feel right now? It's like standing in front of a beautiful naked woman but not being able to take her clothes off!"
I smirked, waving the script triumphantly. "Just finished. You can read it now!"
The moment they heard the script was done, they lunged at it, scrambling to get their hands on it. They huddled together, their eyes scanning the pages rapidly.
"Boss! I never expected this! You always struggled to write even a letter, and now you’ve written such an incredible script in one go. Impressive! Truly impressive!" Gance gave me a thumbs-up, his face filled with determination.
"Yeah, yeah, this movie is going to be a hit!" Berg carefully folded the script and handed it back to me, grinning from ear to ear.
I looked at them and whispered, "Now that the script is ready, we’ll start the pre-production work tomorrow."
"Let’s get started right away. I’ve been going crazy with nothing to do these past few days," Berg said, sitting on a nearby chair and popping a piece of pineapple into his mouth.
As we were chatting, my father walked into the yard with a man who looked only a few years older than me. This guy had a face full of acne, hair so greasy it could make an eagle slip, and was dressed in oversized, disheveled clothes. He walked with a swagger, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Well, well, if it isn’t my dear little brother! When did you get back?" the man said with a sly grin as he approached me.
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His words immediately told me this was Boggie. Today was the day he was released.
I looked at him but didn’t move from my lounge chair.
Gance and Berg, clearly intimidated by him, quickly made way as he approached.
Boggie sat down next to me, pointing at me and then at Berg and Gance. "What are you guys up to?"
No one answered, but my father chimed in, explaining that we were preparing to make a movie.
Boggie immediately accused my father of favoritism.
"Dad, this doesn’t feel right. You’re willing to give Andre all that money to make a movie, but when I wanted to buy a car, you didn’t give me a single penny for a whole year. Am I not your real son?" Boggie’s face turned red, his acne standing out even more.
My father ignored him and went back inside. Seeing this, Boggie leaned closer to me and whispered, "Andre, you’ve got some money, right? Lend me some. I’ll pay you back soon."
I looked into his greedy eyes and calmly replied, "This money isn’t just mine. It’s also Berg’s. We’re partners now. If you need money, go ask Dad."
Boggie was taken aback. He couldn’t believe that his timid little brother had just said "no" to him for the first time.
"Fine, fine. You’ve got guts," Boggie said, standing up and staggering out of the yard.
Berg and Gance let out a long sigh of relief.
"So, what’s the plan for tomorrow, boss?" Gance asked, full of confidence.
"We’re going to Hollywood to rent equipment," I replied with a knowing smile.
Hollywood. This place, originally famous for a type of shrub called "holly," is located northwest of Los Angeles, not far from Burbank. In 1853, there was only one house here. By 1870, it had become farmland. In 1886, a man named Harvey bought a 0.6-square-kilometer plot of land in northwest Los Angeles. His wife, while traveling, overheard a woman mention she was from a place in Ohio called Hollywood. She liked the name and, upon returning home, imported a large number of holly trees from Scotland to plant on her husband’s estate, naming it "Hollywood." The word itself means "holly tree" in English.
In 1887, Harvey exploited a government loophole to establish a small town here, officially registering the name "Hollywood." By 1900, the area had developed significantly, boasting a post office, a newspaper, a hotel, two markets, and a population of 500. In 1903, Hollywood became a city. In 1907, director Francis Boggs brought his crew here to film The Count of Monte Cristo, discovering that the area’s abundant sunlight and varied terrain were ideal for filmmaking. In 1910, the great director D.W. Griffith arrived and immediately fell in love with the place. Under his influence, more and more filmmakers flocked to Hollywood, and soon major film companies followed. In 1911, the first film studio opened, and by the same year, 15 studios had settled here. In 1923, the iconic white letters "HOLLYWOOD" were erected on the hills behind Hollywood, marking the transformation of this once-decrepit town into a bustling hub of the film industry.
Major studios like Paramount and MGM were located on Hollywood Boulevard, the most glamorous part of town, filled with stars, luxury cars, and a vibrant nightlife. However, our destination was the outskirts of Hollywood, a street called Harvey Avenue.
This street, named in honor of Harvey, was the poorest and most rundown in Hollywood. It was home to the unemployed, struggling actors, extras, talent scouts, equipment retailers, rental shops, prostitutes, and gamblers—essentially, the lowest rung of Hollywood society. The glitz and glamour of Hollywood had nothing to do with them. They lived like maggots in the dirty, chaotic streets, their greatest hope being to strike it rich in this dream factory and live a life of glory.
We got up early and arrived at Harvey Avenue just as the sun was rising. Many of the shops were still closed, and the street was nearly empty except for a few small-time workers hurrying to their jobs at the studios.
