"Wasn’t it you who created this festival, Lucifer?" Satan asked.
The screening of the first film had just ended across the city, and the crowds were flooding into the streets like a school of migratory fish.
The festive moods, the energetic whispers, and the colorful clothes seemed to slow down the time for Lucifer.
It was as if he was looking at a sketch or one of those idyllic village paintings.
He could almost see the pencil outlines. How real was this world? And how false was this moment?
"I never meant it, really," he continued. "It was an accident."
"Ah, that film, you mean?" Satan nodded his head in contemplation. "Culture and Collapse."
The devil could still recall the memory as if it were yesterday.
"Gene Conti," he muttered. "From the moment I met him, I thought he was an interesting person."
Satan bobbed his head in agreement.
"I had watched his films and followed his career. Not once did he show any emotion on his face while meeting me. It was as if—"
"He was saying nothing could break him."
"Yes, not even the devil."
That attitude had angered him slightly. He thought that just like every other man, Gene would also eventually come to lose it.
But that wasn’t the case.
Gene Conti became part of a select few charismatic men whom Hell couldn’t break.
"You filmed him, didn’t you?"
"I wanted to use it to mock him once he couldn’t take the screams, the heat, and the misery anymore."
Kara had no idea what the two were talking about. In her eyes, they were properly certifiable.
"It was supposed to serve as a form of torture, but it had no use."
Hell made him cruel, but it couldn’t hurt him.
"Even I was surprised while watching the tapes. Hours and hours of tapes."
Gene Conti, true to his passion, had once again done magic in front of the camera.
"He wasn’t acting. It was all real."
That was the reason the Warden of Hell had given him the nickname Hell’s Actor. Even when he wasn’t acting, he was delivering brilliant performances.
"I had this idea." Lucifer lit a cigarette. "I delivered those tapes to this one young man of this world."
"He edited them the way I wanted. The name I gave him? Gene Conti."
Caught between a fit of laughs and coughs, he gave a bone-chilling smile.
"I thought I was being cheeky, that it wouldn’t matter."
But it did come to matter.
"I hung myself—well, the body I was occupying at that time—and returned to Hell with a three-hour-long film in my hand."
"No." Lucifer squinted, trying to make out the road through the smoke he was blowing. "I forgot about it."
He kept the tape in his chambers, but he showed it to no one.
"Not long after, the editor died. His wife sold his possessions in an effort to pay off some of his debt. That bastard had kept a copy of the edited film."
That’s how it ended up in a shady antique shop.
"And you know the rest. That film I created for the fun of it ended up becoming the most influential art film in the history of this world."
"You may have some talent in directing," Satan joked.
Lucifer solemnly shook his head. Follow current novels on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝔫𝔢𝔱
’I didn’t direct anything. The lighting was awful, and the audio was woeful.’
But Gene Conti was brilliant.
"They should build you a statue in the middle of LA."
"Humans like convenience; they don’t like to give credit where it’s due."
He put out the cigarette on the steering wheel.
"Can you believe these nerds? I create, and they thank God."
On the morning of the 15th, Averie Quinn Auclair was spotted at the Serenes Film Festival alongside the likes of Josephine Petite, Jean-Louis Groux, Margaux Delcour, and Benoit Durand.
Suffice it to say that the gathering of stars, of the poorly marketed Lady Ethereal, at the festival in Berlin could only mean that Director Groux’s latest project would be unveiled at the prestigious festival.
Many would like to congratulate the director, as even getting selected for the main event is no small feat, but circumstances do not allow for such joyous sentiments.
Averie Quinn Auclair’s presence among the roster of great names ruins the occasion.
To cast this belligerent one-trick pony in a movie being shown at Serenes is a choice no good man could respect...
The article went on a tangent, profusely denouncing Averie.
Reading it, Ari clenched her jaw in disgust.
"Fucking die, Ryan Hoffman."
It was dark out, and lying in her bed, she feared sleep wouldn’t come to her tonight.
’Lady Ethereal will be screened soon...’
"When I die, I want to die an insane man, not one wallowing in self-pity."
That line rang loud in the theater, drowning out the furious rain outside.
The charming character played by Gene Conti had stolen the hearts of every lady in the audience.
They were always enamored with him; inversely, he was always capable of enamoring them.
Ever since he was recognized on the big screen, he had been one of the most exciting names of the modern era.
An actor with skill and character, he was someone who represented the fictional notion of the free man.
No one could refute that he had been partly responsible for the Golden Age of Hollywood.
But it hadn’t come easy.
Sitting in the back row, the memory of his hardships kept bothering the actor.
He was barely twenty when he moved to New York, having endured the long journey across the Atlantic.
He had come with a single goal: to make it in the film industry.
London was too dangerous at the time. The air raids, the sirens, the fires—it was too intimidating for filmmakers to endure.
They had fled their homes and country. And in search of them had come a boy with not a coin to his name.
The war might have ruined his plans to be an actor in London, but there were opportunities to be sought out across the ocean.
The Golden Age of Hollywood had begun.