Chapter Fifty-Four: Envy, Jealousy, and Resentment

How many people in Hollywood are truly jealous is hard to say, but it’s clear that many small companies have started making comedies, and their results seem decent. It’s not that William White doesn’t want to make blockbusters; in tough economic times, comedies are clearly more popular. If you make a serious film now, are you trying to depress your audience to death? For heaven’s sake, people are already miserable enough—can’t you just do everyone a favor and bring a bit of joy? Is that really so difficult?

In this era, films are either westerns or anti-war dramas. Directors carry a heavy sense of social responsibility, always attempting to pull people out of the shadow of military defeat. The current shift is driven entirely by profit; big-name directors won’t stoop to making comedies—they prefer artful, refined projects.

Police Academy? That’s hardly a real film. You could call it a sitcom and not be wrong. The reason directors aren’t spitting with disdain is simply due to the difference in status. He’s just a sophomore in college—what’s there to criticize? Compare commercial value? Maybe only Lucas or Spielberg could try. Compare artistic merit? He’s a bestselling author; most directors pale in comparison.

Ultimately, he’s far too young. What were you doing at nineteen? Probably hadn’t even graduated high school. He’s a prodigy who skipped grades, already a sophomore, with perfect scores in every subject. No matter the comparison, you’d lose.

Based on current information, even the Christmas release schedule seems shaky. His children’s films appear highly popular, and what does ten million in advertising mean? He’s throwing money at it—no one else stands a chance.

Such a young film company, yet swaggering openly. And their company structure isn’t rudimentary, especially the distribution department—it’s practically laid out like the major studios. There are also two departments the big studios lack: marketing and advertising, both extremely effective.

Hollywood’s reaction to this new force is complex. To say he’s stealing someone’s business is shallow; many viewers were drawn back to theaters by him, and that’s beyond dispute. In fact, even the major studios have their own rivalries. Since suppression is impossible, cooperation isn’t a bad idea. Even if they can’t be friends, at least they shouldn’t become enemies.

For the most crucial release windows, the major studios maintain a tacit understanding—no one is foolish enough to turn away profit. When have you ever seen two blockbusters released head-to-head? It’s simply unrealistic; a gap of about two weeks is always maintained.

As for Paramount and United Artists, let them go to hell. A rags-to-riches film isn’t worth their serious attention. If William White starts making big moves, they eagerly await him to stumble. Yet he continues to make small-budget comedies, his cautious attitude evident.

They’ve thoroughly investigated William White: he’s no nouveau riche. Not only does his family own a ranch, but also oil interests, plus he founded a software company said to be quite valuable. If you want to compete on wealth, forget it. These so-called giants are merely professional managers; his assets are almost entirely private—a fundamentally different league.

Hollywood’s silence is due to other factors as well. William White is a Texan; coming from the heartland of the elephants, they dare not play dirty tricks. Next year is election season. With the economic situation as it is, Reagan’s ascent seems inevitable. Look at the forces behind the big boss—Texas accounts for thirty percent. If you try anything now, you won’t know what hit you.

“Master, we now own fifty percent of White Oil’s shares,” Uncle Ford said with a smile.

At last, the family crisis is resolved. If their assets had been swallowed up, Uncle Ford would never have accepted it.

“Let it rest for now. They’re still messing with silver—won’t have time for this anytime soon,” William White replied calmly, a glint of coldness flickering at the corner of his eye.

He certainly doesn’t mind screwing the Hunter family again. Kicking someone when they’re down? He’s an expert at it.

William White knows the next phase is the final frenzy. When silver prices exceed twenty dollars an ounce, the global financial system is plunged into panic.

Everyone wants to know: just how serious is this inflation crisis?

Right now, it’s only gold and silver. If industrial and agricultural products rise similarly, everyone’s doomed. What does a ninety percent currency devaluation mean? Better pack up and prepare for war.

In fact, everywhere outside the United States, countries and regions are hoarding to various degrees. Spot trading of gold and silver is strictly limited. In simple terms: you can buy in, but you can’t sell out.

This stage’s price surge is irrational. America hasn’t collapsed; the dollar’s purchasing power remains strong. The Americans are shameless, but they haven’t declared their currency trash—you can still buy industrial goods, and agricultural prices have even dipped a bit.

If prices rose like gold and silver, they’d be ten times higher. Other countries and regions have seen sharp increases, but not the US. Mostly it’s panic, not real demand. As long as prices don’t surge too much, the public won’t be overly alarmed.

The Federal Reserve is extremely dissatisfied with the Hunter family’s reckless actions. They’re desperately tightening liquidity, and the Hunters are stirring up trouble.

The Russians aren’t behaving either—friction with Afghanistan is escalating, and a major conflict seems imminent.

Wars are erupting in desert regions, and the Russians are poised to join the fray. This tense global situation is naturally fueling another gold boom.

Speculators know full well: if the Russians start fighting, the futures market will go mad again.

War only benefits metal futures; other industries gain nothing, not even the military sector. American weapons are prohibitively expensive—unless it’s free aid, they can’t sell them. They’re determined to meddle in Afghanistan; if the Russians seize this area, oil production will be in serious trouble.

The Russians are bizarre indeed. With such vast land of their own, they don’t develop it, but insist on taking others’ territory.

Police Academy’s box office ultimately settled at 170 million dollars, with global receipts expected to exceed 250 million.

When this final figure was revealed, not only Hollywood insiders but even Wall Street elites were green with envy. This is absurdly profitable—one film nets a hundred million, easier than robbing banks.

If it were any other company, investors would have rushed in long ago, but this one is untouchable. First, it hasn’t gone public; second, it doesn’t need money.

In Hollywood, whether you’re a flop or a giant, collaborating with the capital market is a must.