Urban System in America
Chapter 235 - 234: Hollywood Is Dead

Chapter 235: Chapter 234: Hollywood Is Dead

He wasn’t sure if he was witnessing a party or a fever dream stitched together by delusions of grandeur and desperation. Every new door led to a new world, each more bizarre than the last. But of course, in contrast to the madness, he also came across moments that almost felt... normal. Like a small pocket of reality folded into the chaos.

He passed a small lounge area where a group of mid-level writers sat around a low table, comparing notes on a recent show’s pacing and arguing about structure versus spontaneity. One of them had a legal pad covered in scribbles; another passionately defended a mid-season twist. It was the kind of conversation Rex could actually respect—craft over clout.

In a quieter room near the library, a trio of costume designers debated fabric choices while sketching dramatic silhouettes on cocktail napkins. Their discussion was intense but grounded, anchored in passion rather than delusion. One of them even asked Rex his opinion on velvet versus silk for a 1930s-inspired spy drama. He picked silk. They nodded solemnly, then went back to sketching.

Later, in a tucked-away den with a record player spinning something soft and jazzy, he found an elderly producer recounting stories from the golden era of cinema. Young assistants and a few starlets-in-training sat around him, captivated, as he spoke of scandals, breakthroughs, and the time he nearly got blacklisted for calling a studio head a pompous ass—at a charity gala.

Eventually, Rex made his way to a quieter corridor, where the sound of chatter gave way to faint music and muted laughter. The door at the end of the hallway stood slightly ajar, a strip of warm light spilling onto the floor. Pushing it open, he found himself in a modest-sized room styled like an old jazz bar.

Inside, a band played softly in the corner—upright bass, brushed drums, and a dusky trumpet. Guests sat at round tables, low conversation humming under the music. The room had none of the extravagance or posturing he’d seen elsewhere—no gold-trimmed chairs, no elaborate displays. Just wood, leather, and atmosphere.

At the bar, a silver-haired woman in a pantsuit stirred her drink with absent grace, eyes fixed on nothing. Beside her, a young director earnestly described a screenplay about grief and time travel. Across the room, an agent coached a jittery newcomer, but of course hot topic one, on how to handle red carpet interviews. "Smile like you’re in on the joke, even if you’re not. Especially if you’re not."

Rex eased into a seat near the back, letting the music settle around him. For the first time tonight, he didn’t feel like he was watching a circus. Here, in this dimly lit retreat, the dreams felt smaller—but somehow more real.

But of course, Rex didn’t have the luxury to sit back and enjoy it for long. After a few minutes of quiet reflection and reset, he quietly got up and slipped out of the room, disappearing just as easily as he’d entered.

Almost immediately after his departure, a subtle murmur rippled through the lounge—soft at first, then growing steadily louder, enough to momentarily drown out even the gentle jazz. People began whispering, eyes darting toward the door he had exited.

"Was that him?" someone asked.

"He’s so handsome."

"Does anyone even know who he is?"

Even the silver-haired woman at the bar, who had barely blinked during the young director’s rambling pitch, now wore a contemplative look. She leaned toward her agent—a legend in the industry herself—and whispered something.

The agent, mid-sip, paused, eyes narrowing with sudden curiosity. She turned her head slowly, gaze fixed on the now-closed door. "Interesting," she muttered, then downed the rest of her drink without another word and left the room.

Moving around, Rex unknowingly found himself back in the outdoor garden. But this time, instead of drifting toward the noise and crowd, he took a quieter, less-traveled path. The chill of the evening air felt refreshing against his skin. Ahead, illuminated by a series of soft ground lights, stood a grand fountain crowned with a gracefully poised Greek statue.

He paused to admire the artistry—the flowing lines of the marble, the serene expression on its face—when a disgruntled voice broke the silence.

Looking down, he saw an old man hunched on a bench beside the fountain, a nearly empty glass in hand and a scowl carved deep into his weathered features. He was muttering to himself.

"They only cast whoever they want. Talent’s dead. Hollywood’s dead. All deals now. Garbage."

He noticed Rex and waved lazily. "Sit down, young man."

Rex hesitated, but then complied. The man poured a drink from a half-hidden flask and offered it. Rex took it, hesitating just for a moment before downing the contents. It burned, but he kept a straight face.

"Good," the old man grunted in approval. "A real man. Not like those sissies with their kale smoothies and Sissie dance careers."

Rex didn’t reply, just listened.

The old man—clearly once someone important—launched into a bitter monologue about how the industry had changed. How actors now had the status of gods and behaved like them too. If a film was a success, they claimed full credit. If it bombed, they blamed everyone from the director to the screenwriter—sometimes even a poor extra who barely got screentime.

"I once had a guy blame the damn set painter! Called the shadows ’uninspiring.’ Can you believe that crap?"

"Truly ridiculous," Rex said, nodding.

"Knew you’d get it," the man said, smiling faintly. "You’re not one of them. Not like those sugar baby types who panic at the first sign of failure and go crying to their rich daddies or mommies."

He took another sip and leaned forward, voice lowering into something almost conspiratorial. "You see, kid... this isn’t the golden age anymore. Not like the ’80s, or hell, even the ’90s. Back then, Hollywood was the throne of world culture. Movies from here shaped entire generations around the globe. We had reach, influence, power—and pride in the craft."

He motioned to the lavish grounds surrounding them with a scoff. "Now? It’s just mergers and metrics. It’s about clicks, streaming deals, manufactured controversy. And while they fight over breadcrumbs, other industries—India, South Korea, Europe—they’re sharpening their knives. They’re coming for that crown. And we? We’re handing it over with a smile, too arrogant to see it slipping."

He sighed, visibly exhausted. "These kids think they’re untouchable. They scoff at anything not made in L.A. They think subtitles are a joke and practical effects are obsolete. They care more about their follower count than their filmography."

Rex said nothing, but the words sank in.

"They laugh at the thought of anyone else catching up. But mark my words, the game is shifting. And when the dust settles, Hollywood won’t be the only empire standing. Hell, it might not be standing at all."

The man looked at Rex, eyes clearer now. "And we need real ones left—those who care, those who know the difference between noise and meaning. That’s why I can still spot a man worth talking to. You get it. Even if you don’t know it yet."

Before Rex could respond, a voice shouted from the distance. He didn’t catch what was said, but suddenly a flurry of activity approached. A group of guests hurried over, instantly surrounding the old man.

Despite his complaints and colorful language, they fawned over him—offering greetings, asking questions, pitching ideas.

Rex stepped back, slightly dazed by the sudden shift.

He raised an eyebrow. "Seems the old director isn’t that simple," he murmured.

Still, the night wasn’t over, and his mission remained. With a small shrug, he turned and continued into the maze of the party.

What Rex didn’t realize was that this brief, unexpected meeting would send ripples far beyond anything he could imagine—affecting him, the old man, and eventually reshaping the entire entertainment industry. But that was a story for another time. Right now, he still had to finish this journey through the strange, glittering labyrinth of the elite.

(End of Chapter)