Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Little Ghost Arrives

Classes had barely resumed when another holiday was already upon them. In truth, there was just over a year left; the final year of university life was mainly for internships or writing a thesis—no one stayed on campus for long stretches.

Due to the time difference, "Home Alone" premiered in Europe about eight hours earlier. William White was quite curious—would the Brits appreciate this brand of American humor, or would he need to ramp up the publicity if the box office performance faltered?

He had, in fact, underestimated his own influence. The British audience responded very positively; in their eyes, he was practically one of their own. Rowan Atkinson, ever gracious, praised him during interviews with the British press. Mr. Bean claimed that William White's London accent put him to shame—here was a gentleman of fine breeding, not some uncouth cowboy.

The world is nothing if not pragmatic; success brings praise, but if you stumble, the media will not spare you. For a film whose sole purpose is to entertain, there was little to criticize. The British sense of humor is, if anything, easier to satisfy than the Americans'. To them, this was a film that could make you laugh until your sides ached.

Times were tough all over the world. In such a setting, a film that could make people forget their troubles and laugh wholeheartedly was a rare gift—and "Home Alone" was precisely that. To be overly critical would be pointless.

As for the British getting to see it first, the Americans did not react much. They had come to tolerate White Pictures’ various innovations. That’s the benefit of playing the prodigy—everyone treated him as a kid. The film was well made, and even if it fell short of expectations, audiences would not be harsh.

Since the news from across the Atlantic was good, their confidence grew. The British pride themselves on their discernment—especially when it comes to criticizing American culture, which is one of their few remaining advantages. The Americans took it in stride.

If these proud Brits claimed the film was excellent, it couldn’t be far off. Despite their usual aggravations with British haughtiness, Americans trusted their judgment on films. Many art-house films vying for the Oscars featured British leads; these actors were frequent contenders.

Though everything fell under the Hollywood banner, there were many schools of thought. Britain did produce outstanding actors, and some scripts just didn’t suit Americans. Take the legendary James Bond, for example—unless you intended to butcher the adaptation, that role was best left to the British.

Tom Cruise was a fine actor, but cast him as 007 and you’d end up with a "Mission: Impossible" film. Not to say "Mission: Impossible" was bad—it’s simply a different style entirely, and the two should not be confused.

From the opening moments of the film, laughter never ceased. Critics were at a loss for words. If you claimed it lacked depth and would corrupt the youth, you’d be drowned out by the audience’s protests. If you insisted it had educational value, that would be pure nonsense. One thing was certain: the audience loved it.

Most astonishingly, as people left the theater, some immediately bought tickets for a second viewing. For parents, watching a film twice was no big deal—if their children were delighted, why not watch again?

The major studios were not merely anxious—their entire outlook soured. Here was yet another franchise in the making, destined to return next Christmas. The post-credits scene made that abundantly clear.

Cinema chains were the happiest of all. Whether it would outdo "Police Academy" remained to be seen, but this was undeniably a box office hit. Christmas would have been bleak without it.

Hollywood’s giants had to take this seriously. One hit film might be luck, but two in a row signaled real ability. Considering the movie he was currently filming, every studio executive felt a headache coming on.

"Police Academy" might be called a phenomenon, attributed to clever marketing. But how did he succeed again with a low-budget comedy? Was it just marketing? Couldn’t they do the same?

Admittedly, his bag of tricks was deep, but couldn’t they analyze and emulate them? Surely, copying his methods wasn’t beyond their grasp.

It wasn’t just the studio bosses who were dissatisfied—shareholders were too. Even the nouveau riche investing in Hollywood were unhappy. Why, after pouring in so much money, were the box office returns so abysmal?

No money for publicity? That was a joke. White Pictures’ promotional budget was just ten million; if your film was good enough, spending on promotion was just a formality—anyone could do it.

Television stations were thrilled; they had found another cash cow. No one expected them to match William White’s efforts, but half the publicity budget was a must.

Hollywood had been touting standardization and industrialization for years, but compared to White Pictures, they seemed amateurish. His films were shot in segments, with every step modularized.

From casting onward, the process was highly professional. The artists’ contracts were the most standardized in Hollywood, and White Pictures’ legal department was formidable—William White himself reportedly had no power to interfere.

After a thorough analysis, they realized White Pictures was fully capable of mass-producing films. Its internal organization was more robust than their own.

With a role model set, it was time to learn. The old guard, clinging to tradition, were all dismissed. Their positions were under threat—change or face extinction.

Absorb him? That was a pipe dream. Even their own bosses said it was far from certain who had the deeper pockets. Best to give up on that idea—he was not as simple as he appeared.

Simple? Michael Eisner was left speechless. If things were still simple at this point, who knew what other connections the man had?

The crowd at USC was abuzz—William White had taught them much. He was always willing to share with his juniors. The most important thing was the philosophy. His studio management model resembled an assembly line. Everything was digitalized, and his filming efficiency was astonishing.

That night, the cast party was a riot of revelry. Most attendees were crew members, with a few classmates thrown in.

He had clearly had too much to drink—fortunately, his bodyguards kept an eye on him, or the girls would have had their fun with him.

This was no exaggeration; when you’ve had too much, you really can’t do anything—unless you have the attentive service of a Japanese hostess.

Anyone who claims drunken mishaps as an excuse is just a scoundrel. It’s a pathetic cover—when you’re truly drunk, you either vomit everywhere or fall asleep. No matter how desperate you are, nothing will happen.

After a night of drinking himself senseless, there was no hope of any further entertainment; best to wash up and get some sleep.

“Damn, I can’t drink like that anymore. How much did I have last night?” William White muttered, shaking his heavy head as he stepped into the shower.