Chapter 19: The Essence of Hollywood Is the Assembly Line
Burbank. The post-production studio here was tucked away in the outskirts, surrounded by trees visible through the window. Wayne sat by the glass, chewing on a hamburger while gazing outside, trying to ease the strain in his eyes from staring at the screen for too long.
He couldn't help but admire Julia, the editor working in this modest little studio. Despite coming from a relatively unknown company, her skills were genuinely top-notch. At first, Wayne had to give her lots of input, but once she got used to his film's style, she needed hardly any direction at all.
Looking at Julia, who was also taking a lunch break, Wayne asked humbly:
"Julia, with how talented you are, I'm surprised I haven't heard of you before. Have you always worked in this small studio?"
"That's right," Julia replied with a smile. "I graduated from USC, so technically, I'm your senior. It's been ten years now—I've been with this company since my internship."
Clearly pleased by Wayne's praise, she didn't mind chatting a bit.
"You've really stuck it out here for over a decade? Didn't you ever want to look for better opportunities elsewhere?"
Wayne was genuinely curious. In his eyes, Julia—though she had the air of a middle-aged mom—was clearly skilled enough to move up in the industry if she wanted to.
"Nope," she said simply. "I interned here right after graduation, and I've never left. Everything I want is here. The people respect me, and I get to do the editing work I love."
It was rare to hear something like that—especially in Hollywood, a place where everyone with talent is usually chasing fame and fortune. Julia's quiet contentment, her loyalty to a single company, was almost unheard of.
"But how do you keep your passion alive?" Wayne asked, still in disbelief. "I mean, spending over a decade in a dark editing room, cutting up scenes day after day—that's got to be mind-numbing."
Julia tilted her head, considering it for a moment, then replied:
"No, I genuinely enjoy it. Sure, it gets dull sometimes or I hit creative blocks—but that's when I take a step back and reset. I've picked up a few personal tricks over the years. If you're interested, I'd be happy to share."
Wayne nodded enthusiastically.
"Absolutely. This is my first film, and I'm still a rookie. I'd love to hear your advice."
"Well," she began, "you need to constantly watch films—especially the ones that audiences respond well to. Popular TV shows, documentaries—anything with strong viewer engagement. Sometimes, I re-edit old films for fun, turning them into completely new stories."
"That keeps things fresh for me. And here's the real benefit: everything I cut will eventually be seen by an audience. By watching what audiences already love, I learn how to tailor my edits to their expectations. That's where my inspiration comes from."
Though Julia had never chased fame in this cutthroat industry, her technical skills and insight were exactly what Wayne lacked most right now.
"All of that helps me stay passionate and sharp," she added. "Not sure if it'll help you, but it works for me. Anyway, time's about up. If we focus, we should be able to finish the rough cut this afternoon."
Wayne watched as she finished the last of her coffee and returned to her desk. As she resumed work, he quietly mulled over her words.
Just then, a familiar voice called out:
"Hey Wayne! How's the editing coming along? I dropped by to check on our movie—and to visit you, of course."
Wayne looked up to see Naomi walking in with Luke. She was holding a tray of coffee and stood playfully in front of him.
"Not bad," Wayne said. "We should finish the rough cut today. With a little luck, you might get a sneak peek. I haven't seen you around the apartment lately—where've you been?"
Ever since they wrapped filming, Naomi hadn't been at the apartment. Wayne had been wondering what she was up to.
"I went back to Australia," she said. "Took a couple of days off to spend time with my mom."
"Oh, I thought you'd moved out. I've heard Australia's full of wild animals—it'd make a great hunting trip. Once the film is done, maybe I'll vacation there."
"Vacationing in Australia is amazing," Naomi beamed. "Hunting, beaches, sunshine all year round—it's the perfect getaway."
Hearing Wayne's interest in her home country, Naomi eagerly launched into a glowing description of Australia's scenic beauty. But Julia shot them a sharp look over her shoulder—clearly their conversation was getting distracting.
Not wanting to interrupt the workflow, Wayne gave Naomi a look and quietly led her out of the editing room.
After leaving the editing suite, Wayne and Naomi found a bench beneath a roadside tree and sat down, chatting about her brief return to Australia.
"Wayne, I heard you didn't get much investment. Can you really afford to finish post-production?"
Naomi asked with a trace of concern. She was worried her first starring role might crash and burn due to funding issues.
Wayne, however, was confident.
"Relax. I've still got three hundred thousand dollars left. That's more than enough. If editing goes smoothly, we should even have at least a hundred grand to spare."
Naomi looked up at him in surprise. She knew Wayne's total budget was only $1.2 million. Just finishing filming without going over budget was impressive enough—how could he still have that much left?
"Oh my god, how'd you pull that off? We all thought the shoot was about to burn through everything."
Wayne smiled and explained,
"Detailed planning, strict execution. Every task had to be like a cog in a machine—precise, efficient. Even when we hit roadblocks, we adjusted the schedule and caught up by following the plan."
Naomi blinked, repeating his words in a puzzled tone:
"A machine?"
"No, Naomi, a production line. That's the core of Hollywood—its essence, really. Maybe you don't see it now, but you'll understand it sooner or later."
Wayne looked at her seriously, hoping she'd start to shed her illusions about the glamorous image of the film industry.
Naomi frowned, clearly confused.
"Hollywood's essence is a production line? Isn't it supposed to be about art? Come on, Wayne!"
Wayne pulled a cigarette from his pocket, chuckled cynically, and lit it.
"Naomi, the truth is, it was Hollywood that killed movie art. In the beginning, film was indeed an art form. Audiences saw filmmakers the way they saw Picasso or Chopin—true artists.
Then came the Industrial Revolution. Everything that could be commercialized was commercialized. Even the Mona Lisa got printed, framed, and sold like wallpaper. Art? That died a long time ago."
He took a deep drag, exhaling a stream of smoke before continuing.
"Now, movies are just tools to make money. The entire production process is like an assembly line. You know those Hollywood market research firms? They exist for the capitalists.
They conduct professional surveys to find out what kind of films audiences are willing to pay for. Then a whole department writes scripts to match those preferences.
Directors, lighting, props, sets—each with their own role—come together to produce these films like factory-made goods. It's all a system. A movie now is a product, not a work of art."
When Wayne finally finished and crushed his cigarette underfoot, Naomi shook her head with a look of disappointment.
"So what does that make us? Just pawns working hard for scraps—waiting for our chance to be used by capital?"
Wayne looked her in the eyes.
"No, Naomi. We're all the same. Fame and money are what drive us forward—me included. Don't overthink it. Whether you like it or not, this system works. That's why I dared to make this movie in the first place.
Because I know it'll make money. It's a solid product. Sure, most of the crew are rookies—but it's still a decent output from the Hollywood machine."
He looked at her seriously again.
"Just remember this: if someone ever tries to lure you with talk of artistic purity, tell them to fxxk off. They don't understand this business, and they'll never succeed."
Naomi burst out laughing, then responded in a playful voice:
"This movie of mine is definitely going to the Oscars! Sure, I didn't get paid much, but the artistic merit is sky-high. Want the lead role? Want to walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards? Then come to my place tonight—we'll rehearse some lines! Hahaha!"
Wayne laughed too. He knew that many aspiring starlets who dreamed of "artistic achievement" often took that route. The Oscars, in his eyes, were just another beautifully packaged product.
Though to be honest, that particular game was still out of their league.
"Naomi, sounds like you're pretty experienced. Has anyone tried that with you before?"
She grinned, hugging his arm.
"Not me. But my fellow Aussie—she was lucky. Just married Tom Cruise. I heard the story at an Australian actors' gathering."
Ah right, Wayne thought suddenly. So it was this year—Nicole Kidman had just married pretty-boy Tom Cruise. He remembered clearly. Back in his previous life, he even downloaded Eyes Wide Shut just for her. That film truly opened his eyes—Kidman never shied away from full nudity.
"How close are you to your Aussie friend, Naomi? If the connection's good, you should stay in touch. As Mrs. Cruise, she could really help your career."
Naomi didn't seem too impressed.
"We're polite to each other, but she won't help me. And I don't need to beg her for a few throwaway roles without lines. You just don't get it. In this industry, there's only room for one Australian superstar—and that's Nicole Kidman. She won't let another rise."
Wayne had to admit she might be right. This business was cutthroat, and actresses were like high-performance fighter jets in a dogfight.
Checking the time, he stood up.
"Naomi, I've got to get back to work. Thanks for stopping by—and the coffee was great."
"Well then, I'll head back too. Come by tonight if you're free. I brought back a bottle of really good red wine. I think you'll love it."
She stood, winked at him, and waved as she walked away.
Wayne watched her go, muttering under his breath with a smirk:
"Red wine? I'm pretty sure that's not the most tempting thing about you."