1206-1210

*Chapter 1206: Not Friends*

Marlon Brando—an indisputably iconic figure in cinematic history. His appearance and talent, his arrogance and charm, his defiance and audacity, all combined to craft a complex persona amid countless controversies.

Some things, if done by others, would be unforgivable; but when Marlon Brando did them, everything seemed justifiable, even forgivable.

Nominated for an Oscar eight times, he won twice with On the Waterfront and The Godfather. He seamlessly transitioned from stage play adaptations like A Streetcar Named Desire, which tested his acting depth, to commercial blockbusters like Superman and Guys and Dolls.  

For a long time, he epitomized the perfect blend of looks and talent, becoming a central figure of Hollywood’s Golden Age.

Undoubtedly, his charisma has left an indelible mark on the silver screen.

---

Anson looked straight ahead at Scarlett, then glanced down at his hands—one holding a burger, the other a soda. His gaze returned to Scarlett.

“Am I understanding this right? You think I’m not Alain Delon, but Marlon Brando?”

Scarlett’s lips curled slightly at his expression, though she tried to suppress her smile. “Ah, seeing your face now, I’m starting to regret saying that.”

Anson spread his hands wide. “Don’t worry, there’s no wrong answer. I’ve got my own take on it.”

Scarlett’s smile finally broke through. “Alright, you’re right. I think you should believe in yourself—you’re far more than just a pretty face.”

Anson leaned in. “Go on. This is news to me, and I’m all ears.”

Seeing Anson’s playful attitude, Scarlett became more serious. “Otherwise, I might as well leave now.”

Anson burst out laughing.

Scarlett feigned walking away but quickly stopped. “What I mean is, people tend to focus on your looks because they’re so striking. They assume your success is purely due to your appearance, overlooking your effort and dedication.”

“It’s been that way since The Princess Diaries.”

“In that film, your portrayal brought out the character’s depth. You could see the nuances in your performance.”

“Most people think playing a prince is easy—just have a handsome guy stand there like a model. But it’s not. The character needs charm and presence, which means the actor must know what they’re doing, not just stand there striking poses.”

As she spoke, Scarlett mimicked Marilyn Monroe’s iconic skirt pose from The Seven Year Itch, dramatically batting her eyelashes.

Her exaggerated gestures, paired with her words, dripped with playful sarcasm.

Laughter erupted.

Anson chuckled heartily. “Sorry, I can’t tell if you’re teasing or complimenting me.”

Scarlett shrugged. “Oh, so tragic. Looks like I need more practice.”

Anson grinned. “Keep at it! I believe you’ll nail playing Marilyn Monroe someday.”

Scarlett shook her head vigorously. “Your encouragement feels so forced. I don’t buy it.”

Anson laughed even louder, and Scarlett couldn’t help but join in. “What I’m saying is, you’ve always been an excellent actor—from your very first role. It’s unfair that people dismiss your hard work because of your looks.”

“Unlike Orlando. No shade, but while his character in The Lord of the Rings was captivating—my god, he’s dull.”

Scarlett punctuated her comment with a dramatic eye roll, not bothering to lower her voice. Her candidness was infectious.

“I’ve always admired your performances and believe you deserve more recognition.”

Anson paused, sensing the sincerity in her words.

This wasn’t mere flattery.

He realized that beyond the directors, someone else had noticed his dedication, his joy in acting, and his determination to relish every moment in his craft.

Their gazes locked. Scarlett’s heartbeat skipped unexpectedly. She tried to look away, to hide her emotions, but failed.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the sound of their heartbeats standing out in the night’s din.

Then—

“Anson!”

A voice shattered the silence, and both Anson and Scarlett quickly averted their eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Again with that question. Scarlett turned her head, stifling a laugh.

“You did great. Don’t lose hope. Next time, you’ll crush it!”

“Hey, are you coming to the party later? You have to! Everyone’s waiting for you. Don’t just hide in some corner nursing your wounds—it’s not worth it. Come on, bro, bounce back!”

The whirlwind of chatter came and went, leaving Scarlett watching the group retreat into the night. A puzzled expression crept onto her face.

“Was that James Franco?”

Anson nodded in confirmation.

“I thought you two were friends…”

Anson chuckled. “We are. That’s why he’s inviting me to the party—to help shake off tonight’s gloom.”

“Everyone handles things differently. This is James’s way.”

Scarlett gave a skeptical look. “You mean he also thinks you’ve had a rough night?”

Anson met her gaze, his eyes glinting with humor.

Scarlett realized she was guilty too—she’d assumed Anson needed comforting. Straightening her back, she adopted a serious tone.

“But we’re not friends.”

Anson blinked.

Scarlett continued confidently, “We don’t meet up for meals, and I don’t even have your number. Clearly, we’re not friends.”

Anson tilted his head, a mock realization dawning. “So, you’ve been quietly following my work, secretly rooting for me?”

Yes!

The word hovered on Scarlett’s tongue, but a sense of caution stopped her just in time.

Suspicious, Scarlett eyed Anson, aware she’d nearly fallen into his trap. Now, how to escape?

“I just love movies,” she said firmly. “I watch them whenever I can, cheering for all my fellow actors. I’m always striving to improve my craft, constantly learning.”

“That’s all there is to it.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea.”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1207: Embarrassment on Display*

Scarlett: "Please don’t misunderstand."

Anson: "Okay."

...That's it? Just "Okay"?

The crisp and concise response left Scarlett momentarily stunned. Then she became acutely aware of her own awkwardness and panic, which stood out even more in the face of Anson’s calm demeanor and effortless composure.

But wait, Scarlett thought to herself. Why was she panicking in the first place?

"Are you always this arrogant?" Scarlett shot back.

Anson considered it for a moment and gave a slight nod. "Indeed. That’s why I have countless enemies, all eagerly waiting to relish moments like this."

Before Scarlett could respond, a voice called out from behind, "Go, Anson! Don’t give up! Your time will come!"

Scarlett spun around to see Tobey Maguire strutting down the street surrounded by a crowd of models, putting on a grand show as he hollered in Anson’s direction.

Unapologetic.

Tobey’s loud encouragement instantly drew the attention of the surrounding crowd, and in the blink of an eye, Anson was thrust into the spotlight, exposed to all.

"Anson, you’ll be fine!"

"Chin up, buddy!"

The murmurs and shouts of the crowd washed over him like waves.

Yet, there wasn’t a hint of empathy in those voices. On the contrary, every gaze directed at Anson carried a mix of glee at his misfortune and a condescending air of superiority.

The malice in their eyes wasn’t even veiled—if anything, it was blatant.

Scarlett felt a surge of anger and irritation, glaring at the onlookers. But they were indifferent, not even meeting her gaze.

Finally, she turned her attention to Tobey.

Noticing Scarlett’s glare, Tobey put on an innocent, almost sweet expression, his angelic baby face looking deceptively pitiful—nowhere near the smug arrogance he had displayed moments ago.

Then he broke eye contact, laughing and chatting nonchalantly with the models beside him as they walked away, their laughter carefree and obnoxiously loud.

"Jerk!" Scarlett yelled after him.

Tobey didn’t look back.

Turning back to Anson, Scarlett found him watching the whole scene with a detached, amused expression, as if he were a bystander and not the one caught in the chaos.

Scarlett was frustrated and opened her mouth to say something, but Anson’s calm and unbothered demeanor stopped her. The earlier conversation replayed in her mind, and she exhaled deeply. Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

She knew Anson was frank and genuine, unaffected by the jealousy and prejudice thrown his way. But for her, those pressures—constant, pervasive, and inescapable—were exhausting, even when she tried to ignore them.

This was the cost of fame, after all.

Standing in the spotlight came with cheers and applause, but also with inevitable criticism and slander.

As Scarlett gazed at Anson, a thought crept into her mind. She tried to push it away, but it refused to leave.

"I remember..." she began hesitantly, "Oh, I know I’m going to regret this, but..." Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. "But I think I recall that dance routine."

Anson paused, his soda in hand, confusion flickering across his face. "Your dance routine?"

Scarlett closed her eyes as if preparing for the worst. "Do you want to see it?"

Anson blinked, caught off guard. "…Now?"

Scarlett: "Don’t make me ask twice. Angels and demons are battling it out in my head. I think I’m making a mistake."

"Haha," Anson chuckled, amusement lighting up his face. "Of course. I’m ready."

But he hesitated, glancing around. "Scarlett, are you sure?"

People were everywhere—guests leaving the Hilton Hotel, fans screaming from across the street, and passersby stealing glances their way without any prompting.

Here? Out in the open?

Was she really okay with this?

Scarlett took a deep breath and shook her head. "Whatever. Let’s do it."

She yanked her dress back for room, struck a pose, and braced herself. She could hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Anson couldn’t help it—he snorted a laugh.

Scarlett’s face scrunched up. "Quiet. Shut up. I need to focus."

Anson obediently zipped his lips, but his expression betrayed his amusement, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Scarlett felt the absurdity of the moment tug at the corners of her mouth but fought to stay composed.

Then she began.

"Oh, I’ll tell you what I want..." She started singing, her movements hesitant at first, like a warming-up engine. "What I really, really want..."

She swung her arms in broad, exaggerated motions.

It was no hip-hop, no breakdancing, not even a proper voguing routine—just flailing arms reminiscent of cheerleading moves.

Awkward. Endearing.

But unsurprisingly so. After all, this was a dance Scarlett had choreographed as a child, purely for fun. Professionalism wasn’t the point.

Despite the silliness, Scarlett grew more absorbed in the act, letting go of her embarrassment.

"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!"

With the tempo picking up, her arms flailed faster and wilder until it looked more like chaotic flapping than dancing.

The spectacle was... astonishing.

Anson stared, stunned. "Wow..."

The word escaped him as a smile crept up his face. He glanced around, noting the baffled expressions of the crowd.

But Scarlett? She was lost in her own little world, enjoying herself more and more with each second.

She looked at Anson, her eyes sparkling, and their gazes locked.

Anson felt his face heat up, a simple, innocent joy bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t stop laughing.

Scarlett held his gaze as the routine reached its climactic chorus.

"I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna..."

"I really, really, really wanna zigazig ahhh!"

Finally, the performance ended.

Anson: "Haha, haha... ha!" His laughter wouldn’t stop.

Scarlett dramatically adjusted her perfectly intact hair and exhaled. "Thank you for watching."

Not just to Anson—she even bowed to the bewildered crowd.

The bystanders, still in shock, gawked as if they had just witnessed something otherworldly.

Scarlett stood tall, brimming with confidence, and turned to Anson. "So? Wasn’t that flawless? Clearly, I’ve had a natural flair for performing since childhood, don’t you think?"

Even as she spoke, she glanced away, avoiding his gaze.

Reality crashed down on her. Covering her face with one hand, she groaned, "Oh God, I’m sweating all over. What kind of ridiculous stunt did I just pull?"

"Haha, hahahaha!" Anson knew he should stop, but watching Scarlett squirm only made him laugh harder.

*Chapter 1208: Midnight Moonlight*

“Haha, hahaha.”

Anson knew he shouldn’t be laughing, but as he looked at Scarlett curled up, her limbs pulled tight, her face screaming defeat, he simply couldn’t stop.

Scarlett shot him a look of exasperation, a mix of annoyance and amusement. Then, despite herself, she burst out laughing too. “God, what have I done to myself?”

“I desperately need that memory-erasing gadget from Men in Black right now.”

Finally, Anson managed to get a hold of himself, though his grin lingered. “Hey, Scarlett, bad news: the Men in Black didn’t make it to tonight’s awards, but hey, we can always turn Hollywood into our very own Saturday Night Fever.”

Saturday Night Fever, the 1977 film that epitomized the disco era and shot John Travolta to fame.

The movie was a celebration of restless youth, with dancing as its core—a place where the weight of life was shed under the shimmering disco lights.

Scarlett gaped at Anson, disbelief all over her face. “You mean…”

Amid her surprise, a rebellious spark ignited, and her lips curled into a grin.

Anson stood up with theatrical flair, stuffing the last bite of his burger into his mouth, setting down his soda, and extending his hand to Scarlett. He stepped forward confidently, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Hey, Tom!”

Tom Cruise, sensing Anson’s gaze, braced himself. He knew all too well that Anson was unpredictable—who could guess what he’d do next?

Tom tried to blend into the crowd, but it was too late.

Anson caught him.

Tom froze, glancing around as if searching for Tom Hanks to take his place.

“Cruise!” Anson called out. “Tom Cruise! Hanks isn’t here tonight.”

Laughter erupted around them.

Resigned, Tom gave in, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Anson, unfazed, pressed on. “Tom, are you more of a Backstreet Boys guy, or ‘NSYNC?”

Tom waved him off, refusing to play along.

Anson shrugged dramatically. “Come on, you haven’t forgotten Risky Business, have you?”

In 1983’s Risky Business, Tom’s breakout role, he famously danced in his underwear—a cinematic classic.

The crowd roared with laughter, egging Tom on.

Defeated, Tom threw his hands up, miming retreat as he slowly backed into the crowd: I’m not here. You can’t see me. Leave a message.  

Anson gave a mock sigh of disappointment, drawing another round of laughter.

This was Anson in his element. Even under scrutiny, even when people expected him to falter, he wore his self-deprecating humor like armor, disarming everyone with his candor.

Tonight, many were waiting for Anson to crack, to retreat into the shadows at the after-parties, surrounded by sympathetic glances.

But Anson stood tall under the spotlight, exposing the pettiness of those who would mock him.

Actors and directors around the room quickly averted their gaze, unwilling to become his next target.

Still, Anson pressed on. “Anybody? Come on, this is Hollywood. If even Hollywood’s too shy to embrace the night under the spotlight, where else could we?”

“Don’t make me take this show to London!”

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Kate! Hey, Kate!”

Not Winslet—Blanchett.

Cate Blanchett, the Australian actress who had captivated audiences as Galadriel in The Lord of the Rings and earned an Oscar nod for Elizabeth.

This year, she was nominated for Best Actress in a Drama for Notes on a Scandal.

She stood quietly, watching Anson’s antics with a hint of admiration.

Blanchett wasn’t one to draw hard lines between commercial and artistic films. To her, acting was acting, regardless of the label.

Anson’s unapologetic charm and resilience impressed her.

“Truth be told, I’m more of a Westlife fan,” she quipped, stepping forward, her movements fluid as she took her place in the makeshift dance floor.

Anson’s grin widened. “Who could resist Westlife?”

Together, they launched into a playful dance, reminiscent of Saturday Night Fever.

Whistles and cheers erupted from the crowd.

Anson turned. “Peter! Hey, Peter, join us!”

Peter Sarsgaard, fresh off his first Golden Globe nomination for Shattered Glass, hesitated before smiling shyly and sliding into the mix.

Maggie Gyllenhaal raised her hands, cheering, “Go, Peter! Go, Peter!”

The atmosphere shifted.

What started as a tense standoff now felt like a celebration.

Anson had transformed the space into a stage, his charisma infectious.

Even those who had been waiting to see him falter couldn’t help but join in.

Under the soft glow of the midnight moonlight, laughter and music filled the air outside the Hilton.

The actors, directors, and onlookers abandoned their posturing and joined the spontaneous street party.

Dance like no one’s watching.

Scarlett, who had been watching from the sidelines, suddenly found herself swept into the joyous chaos, laughing and dancing beside Anson.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1209: When the East Fails to Shine*

The curtain has fallen on the 61st Golden Globe Awards, with Anson leaving empty-handed—

just as expected.

During the recently concluded holiday season, The Butterfly Effect and The Elephant each created box office miracles, storming through the industry with unstoppable momentum. These successes thrust Anson into the spotlight of awards season, but the excitement proved short-lived, ending abruptly and decisively.

A "pretty face" might still need to linger in the world of popcorn films for a while.

Predictably, the media was eager to pounce with their critiques and jabs, hiding their glee under a facade of earnest reflection. After all, they never showed mercy to Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Cruise, or Brad Pitt in their early years—why should Anson be any different?

But then, something unexpected happened—

"Anson Wood lights up the Hilton Hotel red carpet, stunning the crowd once again."

"Beyond the awards: Anson Wood, Cate Blanchett, Scarlett Johansson, Bill Murray, and more celebrate wildly outside the Hilton."

"Saturday Night Fever returns! Anson Wood transforms the streets into a party stage."

"An unforgettable feast—not the awards show but the after-party."

"Star-studded glamour: Anson Wood showcases his street-performance charisma, and this time, he’s not alone."

"This is the real party!"

"Moonlit Ball: Anson Wood delivers a romantic Golden Globes night moment!"

Praise. Praise. And more praise—

A collective celebration!

Not just outside the Hilton Hotel; even the media found themselves swept up in the euphoria. The buzz from the awards ceremony was entirely eclipsed by the impromptu street party, with unanimous astonishment giving way to fervent acclaim.

Two years ago, The New York Times conducted an in-depth interview with Anson, using the keyword "authenticity" to describe his unique charm.

Yet no one believed it, nor bought into it.

People still thought it was just a carefully crafted persona, packaged under the guise of "authenticity." At the end of the day, they saw him as another marketable product.

Time, however, is the ultimate litmus test.

Through his August 31st Band’s European street tour, the diverse talents showcased at various film premieres, and now the street party outside the Hilton, Anson’s multifaceted image has finally come into focus.

People have finally realized that Anson is simply Anson—unique, like a firework cutting through the night sky.

The controversies, contradictions, and skepticism surrounding Anson ultimately failed to grasp his essence. Hollywood critics had been evaluating him through the lens of tradition, searching for a precedent that could define his trajectory, attempting to place him into an existing mold.

But they were wrong.

Not just wrong—wildly so.

Judging Anson Wood through past templates is futile. His meteoric rise is breathing fresh air into Hollywood, and no one can predict his future or the heights he may reach.

One thing is clear, though: people can’t help but anticipate what’s next.

And so, an unbelievable twist unfolded.

When the Golden Globes ended, the buzz was all about Anson. Even juggernauts like The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King and Lost in Translation were overshadowed, proving yet again the sheer force of Anson’s current popularity.

This unexpected turn of events took everyone by surprise.

It also proved, without a doubt, that Anson is now—

A blazing phenomenon!

Before the Golden Globes, all of Hollywood seemed to be in awe of Johnny Depp.

After more than 15 years in the industry, Depp had finally ascended to A-list stardom with the breakout success of Pirates of the Caribbean. In an instant, he became a top-tier superstar, epitomizing the Hollywood dream of slow, steady growth culminating in a meteoric rise.

Just how intense was this frenzy?

Think of the cultural and critical waves made by Alien, which earned Sigourney Weaver an Oscar nomination for Best Actress. Or Big, which secured Tom Hanks his first Best Actor nomination. Or Ghost, which became the top-grossing film of 1990 and won Whoopi Goldberg her sole Oscar.

Such phenomena—where box office blockbusters break through the Academy’s resistance and earn acting nominations—are exceedingly rare.

Even so, The Mask didn’t earn Jim Carrey an Oscar nod, The Terminator didn’t do it for Arnold Schwarzenegger, Titanic didn’t secure Leonardo DiCaprio a nomination, and Spider-Man didn’t deliver one for Anson.

These examples illustrate the difficulty of breaking through the Academy’s biases.

Currently, all of Hollywood agrees: Johnny Depp deserves a nomination for Pirates of the Caribbean.

This reflects the feverish enthusiasm surrounding him.

At this year’s Golden Globes, Depp was the undeniable focal point.

Yet after the ceremony, the media headlines were dominated by Anson.

This is the level of Anson’s influence: even when directly competing with Johnny Depp, he still managed to seize the spotlight. Little wonder that Hollywood is collectively stunned.

However, as it’s still awards season, all discussions eventually circle back to the Oscars. No one escapes this inevitability.

Two days after the Golden Globes, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced the nominations for the 76th Academy Awards, dominating entertainment headlines.

The awards race entered its most heated phase amidst the buzz.

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King led the pack with 13 nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay.

Despite lacking acting nods, it became the third-most-nominated film in Oscar history, behind Ben-Hur (15 nominations) and Titanic (14 nominations).

This awards season, all eyes are on The Return of the King’s inevitable triumph.

Close behind was Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. After struggling at the box office, the film’s stellar critical reception carved out a path through awards season, securing 10 nominations, including Best Picture and Best Director.

But Russell Crowe wasn’t smiling.

Like The Return of the King, Master and Commander received no acting nominations. Crowe’s hopes of replicating his Gladiator glory were dashed.

His only consolation?

Anson didn’t get a nomination either.

Neither The Butterfly Effect nor The Elephant—two films that dominated the holiday box office and sparked heated conversations—were recognized.

Despite Anson’s undeniable rise, the Academy still views him as just a "pretty face," unworthy of serious recognition.

It’s that simple.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1210: The Western Brilliance*

Tom Cruise. Brad Pitt. Leonardo DiCaprio. Matthew McConaughey. Will Smith. Jake Gyllenhaal.

When it comes to handsome actors, the Oscars have always been harsh, even cruel.

Take Paul Newman, for example. His first Oscar nomination came in 1959 for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, but it wasn’t until 1987 that he finally won Best Actor for The Color of Money—a staggering 28 years later.

In that time, Newman received seven nominations and even won an Honorary Oscar in 1985. Only at the tail end of his career did the Academy finally recognize him.

Peter O’Toole had it even worse. His career began with an Oscar nomination for Lawrence of Arabia in 1963. Over his lifetime, he was nominated eight times for Best Actor but passed away in 2013 without ever winning.

That’s the Academy for you.

Now it’s Anson’s turn, and nothing’s different.

The Oscars coldly ignored Hollywood’s leading man, without even a blink. After all, Butterfly Effect and Elephant weren’t traditional awards-season fare.

In some ways, Anson missing out on a nomination wasn’t a surprise.

After a brief shock, people quickly accepted the reality: for the second year in a row, Anson wouldn’t be competing for an Oscar.

Eye candy? No big deal.

For Russell Crowe, though, this was bittersweet. Even though he wasn’t nominated, at least Anson wasn’t either. But that wasn’t the real issue.

This year’s Best Actor nominees were:

- Sean Penn, Mystic River  

- Bill Murray, Lost in Translation  

- Jude Law, Cold Mountain  

- Ben Kingsley, House of Sand and Fog  

- Johnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean  

Why, Russell wondered, did Johnny Depp get a nomination over him? How did Pirates of the Caribbean manage to score an acting nod, especially when both The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King and Master and Commander were snubbed in the acting categories?

Was this some kind of sick joke?

Russell wasn’t laughing.

He had thought Anson was his main competition, but Johnny Depp’s unexpected nomination was a total curveball. Russell’s career strategy was in shambles.

Despite Master and Commander receiving ten nominations, none were for him.

In addition to The Lord of the Rings and Master and Commander, other awards-season frontrunners dominated the nominations.

Mystic River earned six major nods, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Supporting Actor. It was clearly the season’s heavyweight contender.

Lost in Translation also made waves, with four nominations: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Original Screenplay. For Sofia Coppola, this was a pivotal moment, solidifying her reputation as a visionary talent. However, the snub of Scarlett Johansson from the Best Actress race was shocking.

No one saw it coming.

After dazzling throughout awards season with Lost in Translation and Girl with a Pearl Earring, Scarlett stumbled at the finish line.

In her place, a dark horse emerged. New Zealand indie film Whale Rider thrust 12-year-old Keisha Castle-Hughes into the spotlight, securing her a Best Actress nomination in a stunning upset.

Hollywood was floored.

With Scarlett’s unexpected exclusion, the absence of Russell and Anson barely caused a stir.

Like Anson, Scarlett faced the challenge of breaking free from her "pretty face" label while transitioning from child star to serious actress. Despite the barriers, the media showered her with encouragement, dubbing her “a talent to watch” and “an actress with a bright future.”

But the true upset of this Oscars season wasn’t Master and Commander, Anson, or even Scarlett—it was Cold Mountain.

By all accounts, Cold Mountain seemed poised to challenge The Return of the King for top honors. Its critical acclaim and awards buzz made it a formidable contender.

And yet, while Cold Mountain received seven nominations, they were oddly specific: Best Actor, Best Supporting Actress, two for Best Original Song, Best Original Score, Best Cinematography, and Best Editing.

No Best Picture. No Best Director. No Best Actress. No Adapted Screenplay.

The shock was palpable. Jude Law’s Best Actor nod felt like a consolation prize, while Nicole Kidman, riding high from her performances in Dogville and Cold Mountain, found herself snubbed altogether.

Her omission from Cannes was one thing, but missing out on an Oscar nod? Unthinkable.

Hollywood was in uproar.

Amid the chaos, industry insiders sensed a shift. It was becoming clear that this year belonged to The Return of the King.

With sweeping momentum and unanimous support, Peter Jackson’s epic seemed destined to dominate.

After years of being overlooked, the trilogy’s final chapter was poised to receive the recognition it deserved. By the time the Golden Globes rolled around, fans and critics alike were eagerly anticipating a Return of the King sweep.

The Oscars would be predictable this year, but in a good way.

Excitement built as the Academy Awards approached. Even without surprises, fans of the Lord of the Rings series were ready to celebrate the culmination of a cinematic journey.

And Hollywood thrived on the buzz, the glamour, the spectacle.

But for Anson? None of it mattered.

“Will Anson even show up at the Oscars this year?” Vanity Fair wondered.

The Academy held its breath, while the Grammys happily stole the spotlight.

“Whether Anson attends the Oscars or not,” announced the Recording Academy, “he and August 31st will be at the Grammys.”

Oh yeah!

(End of Chapter)