A Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a halt in front of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.
Duke sat in the backseat, listening to the muffled roar of the crowds waiting just beyond the glass.
The uniformed driver circled the vehicle and pulled the rear door open.
Dozens of photographers hoisted their cameras.
Duke stepped out onto the carpet, adjusting his cuffs.
He turned and offered his hand to his date for the evening.
Cheryl Ladd emerged from the sedan, wearing a emerald gown. She was an actress from Charlie's Angel, a tv show.
The press recognized the studio chief immediately, and the shouting intensified.
The recent revelation of his child had been one of the biggest tabloid story of the month.
"Mr. Hauser! Who is the mystery mother?" a gossip columnist screamed over the rope, shoving a microphone forward. "Are you going to marry her? Look over here, Duke! Give us a statement!"
Duke did not break his stride. He offered the reporters a polite smile and a brief wave.
He guided Cheryl past the flashing bulbs, keeping his pace steady.
Ahead of them, the rest of the Paramount people was making their entrances.
Jack Nicholson was near the center of the press pen, looking cool behind his dark sunglasses.
He was the frontrunner for his defining role in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and the journalists were hanging onto his every word.
Al Pacino stood a few feet away, looking slightly uncomfortable with the spectacle.
His performance in Dog Day Afternoon had secured him a place in the acting categories.
Duke had always though Al Pacino's expression looked like he was about to shit himself when he feel uncomfortable.
The ensemble cast of Jaws was together near the lobby doors, signing autographs and laughing at their unprecedented success.
The only notable absence from the Paramount roster was Stanley Kubrick, who famously refused to attend awards ceremonies.
A television reporter managed to corner Nicholson, thrusting a camera into his personal space.
"Jack, what is it like working for the new mogul in town?" the reporter asked, aiming the microphone at the actor's famous grin.
"Paramount is taking over the industry right now. How does Duke Hauser run the show compared to the old guard?"
Nicholson chuckled warmly, adjusting his frames under the lights. "He lets us do our work, that's all we ask."
The actor paused, letting his smile widen for the cameras. "The rise of a mogul who actually loves movies helps the rest of the industry. He signs the checks and keeps the corporate suits out of the editing bay. It's a very good time to be making pictures cause of him."
Duke watched the exchange from a distance.
In a certain way, this was the best era for someone like him to arrive, after all The New Hollywood Wave era opened doors for him that should normally never have been opened.
He guided Cheryl through the glass doors and into the lobby of the pavilion.
Within seconds, Duke was swarmed.
A wave of studio executives, independent producers, and talent agents converged on his position.
They all wanted a brief moment of his time, desperate to align themselves with the momentum of his historic streak.
He normally rejected calls of anyone he didnt know unless he recognized the name.
This was the first time a lot of these people had seen him, he had gone to some parties lately but left pretty soon after speaking with the hosts.
Rival studio executives offered him handshakes and congratulations on the volume of his nominations.
Agents angled for pitch meetings, slipping business cards into his pockets while praising the commercial dominance of his slate.
Duke remained polite, shaking hands and offering pleasantries.
This social ritual was pure theater.
These same smiling people would step over him if his next releases bombed.
A soft chime echoed through the lobby, signaling the start of the televised broadcast.
Duke offered his arm to Cheryl once again, ready to face the final verdict of his peers.
Duke located his designated seat in the front orchestra section.
The Academy always placed the major studio chiefs and Best Director nominees in the direct line of sight.
He sat down, adjusting his jacket and adopting a neutral expression for the camera pans.
The ceremony commenced with a sweeping orchestral moment and a montage of the previous year in cinema.
The projection screen above the stage flickered with iconic images.
The dominance of Paramount Pictures was undeniable as clip after clip showcased their slate.
The shark bursting from the ocean.
Jack Nicholson's grin inside the psychiatric ward.
Al Pacino shouting on the Brooklyn bank.
The battlefields of Stanley Kubrick's period piece.
Robert Shaw stepped up to the podium to deliver the opening monologue.
The rugged British actor was enjoying a career resurgence thanks to his iconic role as the shark hunter, Quint.
"Welcome to the Academy Awards," Shaw announced, "Or, as they're calling it this year, the Paramount Pictures company picnic."
"It seems there's a very hungry shark haunting the beaches and eating all the competition."
The auditorium erupted into laughter, though Duke detected an undercurrent of tension beneath the amusement.
The blockbuster model was changing the fundamental economics of the industry, which wasnt good in the eyes of some people.
The early portion of the broadcast moved through the technical categories and supporting acting awards.
These envelopes often served as a barometer, revealing the political currents of the secretive Academy membership.
The supporting categories were stacked with talent.
Paramount had secured multiple nominations, including Brad Dourif for his performance in the Cuckoos Nest movie.
The Best Supporting Actor award ended up going to George Burns for The Sunshine Boys.
A sentimental victory for a beloved veteran.
The first hour continued this trend.
Several prominent awards went to rival studios.
Duke remained unfazed by the losses, just clapped politely, maintaining his calm demeanor for the cameras.
The tension in the room spiked as the presenter for Best Adapted Screenplay stepped to the microphone.
Duke had secured a personal nomination for Jaws.
The smiling presenter read the nominees, the cameras swooping down to capture their faces.
Duke kept his expression neutral, betraying no expectation.
The envelope was torn open and the award went to Lawrence Hauben and Bo Goldman for 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'.
Duke nodded politely, joining the applause.
A victory for Cuckoo's Nest was still a victory for his studio.
The film was a masterpiece, and the writing was undeniable. Paramount was still winning the night at least.
The ceremony progressed toward its historic climax.
A silence fell over the pavilion as the presenter for Best Director was introduced.
This was the ultimate artistic validation, the category that cemented a filmmaker's legacy.
The presenter listed the names.
Sidney Lumet for the tension of Dog Day Afternoon.
Robert Altman for Nashville.
Stanley Kubrick for the perfection of Barry Lyndon.
Miloš Forman for the anti-establishment rebellion of Cuckoo's Nest.
And finally, Duke Hauser for Jaws.
The camera locked onto Duke's face, broadcasting his image to millions of living rooms. He offered a small tilt of his head, waiting for the final decision.
The presenter broke the seal on the envelope. "And the winner is... Miloš Forman, for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."
The auditorium erupted into applause.
Duke clapped too, he felt pride for the Czech director.
Yet beneath the exterior, he felt a small sting.
He had been denied the ultimate prize once again.
The broadcast director ordered the primary camera to linger on Duke's face.
Duke offered them nothing. He maintained a smile, his eyes focused on the stage.
Miloš Forman reached the podium, clutching the award with emotion.
He adjusted the microphone, and turned toward the front row.
"I must thank Duke Hauser and the Paramount family," Forman said, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for trusting a Czech immigrant with such a beautiful story. You gave me the freedom to dream on a big canvas."
The camera cut back to Duke, who offered an acknowledging nod. He almost didnt want to tell Formant that he didnt choose him for director...
The evening rapidly accelerated into a sweep.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was announced as the winner for Best Picture.
The cast and crew rushed the stage in joy.
Duke remained in his seat, watching Robert Evans in the center of the crowd, crying openly and hugging everyone within reach.
Evans was a... complicated person.
But without him, american cinema would look very different.
The Godfather, Chinatown, and now One Who Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest he had championed difficult projects for years, fighting battles to get the picture done.
That and his early support of him, were the reasons Duke kind of never got mad at him.
The acting categories cemented the sweep.
Jack Nicholson won Best Actor, delivering a charming acceptance speech.
Louise Fletcher got Best Actress, and ended her speech by signing to her deaf parents through the screens.
The telecast finally concluded, the stage lights dimming as the playout music signaled the end of the broadcast.
Duke personally won zero individual awards but he kind of didn't mind as much now. He had other things to worry about now.
Jaws ended up getting one Oscar. Best Original Score for John Williams.
The aisles were clogged with departing guests and Duke was once again surrounded by a new wave of well-wishers
Many of the handshakes were genuine, from veterans who respected the mountain he had climbed.
But many more were opportunistic, from executives scrambling to align themselves with the new center of gravity.
He slowly navigated the crowd, keeping a hand on Cheryl's waist.
Just as they reached the outer layers, a hand grabbed Duke's shoulder, pulling him to a stop.
It was Robert Evans.
The producer looked exhausted, his tuxedo rumpled and his tie hanging loose. His eyes were red from crying, and clutched his Best Picture statue.
"You should have won," Evans said, his voice a whisper that cut through the noise. "I know how hard you worked on the movie. I know how you held that production together."
Duke looked at his most distrusted producer and clapped a hand on Evans's shoulder.
He gave a warm smile that held zero regret.
"The studio won, Robert," Duke replied, his voice calm "That's what matters. Go celebrate your victory. Tomorrow morning, we gotta get back to work."
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The 1976 oscars were sort of boring, apparently there was a problem with the broadcast and a college game... boring shit