Chapter 272: Keeping Up the Pace

Chapter 272: Chapter 272: Keeping Up the Pace

The next day, inside the Focus Features offices, several managers from the Marketing Department were chatting.

"That Arndt still hasn’t gotten back to us?" one manager asked casually, spinning a pen between his fingers.

The other shook his head, disdain in his voice. "No. He probably thinks $1.8 million is too low and won’t give up his so-called creative rights. Let him stew. Doesn’t matter anyway. The story’s too mild, no real conflict, and no A-list actors want it. Getting $1.8 million for it is already a favor."

"True," the manager chuckled. "If My Big Fat Greek Wedding hadn’t been a fluke hit, who’d even look at a small family film like this? Hollywood’s full of scripts like it. If we don’t get this one, we’ll find another. No need to get stuck on one project."

They exchanged a smile and dismissed Little Miss Sunshine — and Arndt — from their minds, unaware they’d just let go of a future global classic and multiple Oscar winner.

Meanwhile, Arndt had already packed his bags, counting down the hours until his flight to New York.

...

After successfully signing the investment contract with Arndt, Irene stayed only two days before flying back to Los Angeles. Pre-production on Million Dollar Baby was complete. Filming could begin.

Inside the Warner Bros. studio in Los Angeles, the gaffer adjusted a cool soft light, making the metal ropes of the boxing ring gleam with a cold edge.

Irene wore a simple black utility vest, sleeves rolled up. She crouched by the ring, studying the overhead light, her brow furrowed. "Drop the left fill by five degrees. I want shadows that carve out the boxer’s muscle lines, not light that turns the ring into a stage."

The gaffer adjusted immediately. The new angle re-sculpted the space, and the rough canvas took on a sharp, documentary quality.

Irene stood, her finger tracing the "training scene" note in the script, mentally running through the line beats. Then she spotted Edward nearby.

He was in worn training clothes, hair neatly combed, face only lightly dusted. He looked far too handsome — nothing like the "washed-up, stubborn, single-minded rookie boxer" from the script.

"Edward, hold on," Irene called, her brow tightening. "Makeup! Can you come over?"

The makeup artist hurried over. Irene pointed at Edward’s face and said crisply, "Make him rougher. Add signs of old injuries around the eyes, shadow the cheekbones, chap the lips, and mess up the hair. He should look like he just stepped off the gym floor."

Edward grinned and touched his face. "No problem, Irene. Let’s make it real."

As makeup got to work, Irene turned to the props team. Her gaze landed on the locker in the corner of the ring. Inside were several bottles of whiskey with vintage labels — the male lead’s "spiritual sustenance" in the script.

She picked one up. The bottle was pristine, the label unwrinkled. She frowned. "Props! Swap this. I want a bottle with scratches, a yellowed, curling label. The neck should show wear from years of opening. A boxer who’s been drinking cheap whiskey for twenty years wouldn’t have a bottle this new."

The props team moved to replace it.

Irene checked other wardrobe pieces. When she found issues, she had the costume designer swap them out.

Edward watched Irene move through the set, obsessing over every detail.

He’d been with Irene since Legally Blonde. He’d worked on other sets in between, but her growth was obvious. Compared to Steven Spielberg, she wasn’t far off.

At least when he had a bit part in Minority Report, the director barely noticed him. Irene had a point of view on every character, even the background players.

Once makeup finished, Edward walked over. "Director, how’s this?"

Irene looked him over. Deep lines at the eyes, hollowed cheekbones, dry, cracked lips, hair messy and clinging to his forehead.

She nodded, satisfied. "Good. If you walked out like this, even Britney might not recognize you at first glance."

Just then, producer Mark Johnson approached with the shooting schedule. "Irene, tomorrow’s openers are set. Cast and gear are ready. A Warner Bros. executive called and asked if they could visit set tomorrow. I’m fine either way. Your call."

Irene scanned the schedule and shook her head. "No. We’re on a tight clock. The film’s pace is aggressive. I need to wrap principal photography in 50 days or post won’t make next year’s Oscars. When we’re in the final stretch, if Warner wants to come, we’ll notify them then."

Mark nodded, a bit awkwardly.

Irene turned to Hilary Swank. After months of boxing training, her transformation was complete. Lean muscle lines sat perfectly against sleek boxing gear.

"Next time I have a role for a cop, I’m calling you first," Irene said, half-joking.

Hilary smiled. "I feel stronger, too. Mr. De Niro said I’ve got everything a female boxer needs. Even if I stepped into a real ring, I wouldn’t get KO’d in one punch."

Irene gave her left arm an encouraging pat. "Filming starts tomorrow. Let’s go get you another Best Actress."

Hilary nodded and took a deep breath. Her whole presence shifted — from elegant actress to sharp-eyed fighter with fire in her gaze.

Irene watched the departments fall into place and the actors settle into character. A satisfied smile touched her lips.

Every detail had been polished. Every bit of rigor now had a direction.

Tomorrow, Million Dollar Baby would officially begin.

She knew this film would mark a new Chapter in her directing career.

...

Forty days later, shooting was nearing the end. The studio had been converted into a spare hospital room. The white walls were mottled, and blue backdrops outside the window simulated a gloomy sky.

Hilary Swank lay in the hospital bed, her hair thin and dry, her face drained of color. An IV ran into her arm, and her frame sank into the blankets. She was gaunt — nothing like the fierce female boxer from the start.

Of course, no one loses that much weight in forty days, and Irene wasn’t the kind of director to put actors through that. It was all flawless special effects makeup.