Chapter 20: The Sixth Sense Premiere.
The last rays of sunset faded, and darkness quietly claimed the sky. Neon lights sparkled across the City of Angels, turning the night into a glittering wonderland.
Outside Grauman's Chinese Theatre the atmosphere crackled with excitement. A long red carpet stretched into the distance, and every time another celebrity stepped onto it, camera shutters exploded like fireworks.
Fans cheered wildly, reporters shouted questions, and paparazzi yelled for attention.
Mick Taylor lowered his camera and let out a slow breath. As the Los Angeles Times entertainment reporter, he had covered hundreds of premieres. If this weren't a quiet time of year and if Miramax hadn't been dropping those intriguing press hints, he never would have bothered showing up for a movie that seemed to rest almost entirely on Al Pacino's shoulders.
"Mick, you think Miramax is just hyping this?" his assistant asked. "A ten-year-old who can read fluently is impressive enough. But writing a full screenplay? Come on—unless the kid's from Mars."
"Didn't you notice? There's only one name listed under 'screenplay,' and it matches the cast list exactly. Who the hell is Ryan Jenkins? Did he crawl out from under a rock?"
In Mick's experience, if Miramax was willing to publicly claim the script had been written by a child and was based on real events involving him and his guardian, they had to be rock-solid on the story. Even Harvey Weinstein wasn't bold enough to risk making fools of the entire press.
"Hey, Mick—here they come!"
A tall, elegant woman with striking features was leading a boy of about ten down the red carpet. The assistant quickly nudged Mick.
Ryan's heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. In his previous life as Alex he had worked for a major theater chain and seen countless red carpets; the experience helped steady him now.
"Smile, Ryan. Your face is tighter than a drum," Nicole whispered.
Right. Everyone here is made of stone, and the reporters are all rotten eggs. Ryan started his little mental game. Even though the constant camera flashes made his eyes water, he managed to curve his lips into a small, natural smile.
"Miss Kidman, is this your first Hollywood film? Are you planning to stay and build your career here?"
"Miss Kidman, we heard this movie is based on real events from your life and… uh, young Mr. Ryan's. Is that true?"
The questions flew at them the moment they reached the press area, but Nicole ignored every single one. She kept a firm grip on Ryan's hand and walked straight toward the theater entrance without a word.
Ryan glanced up at the famous building and almost laughed. Honestly, the name "Chinese Theatre" felt completely wrong—there wasn't a single trace of Chinese architecture. If anything, it looked more like something from Thailand. Maybe they should just call it the Thai Theatre?
"Hi, Al. Hi, David. Long time no see," Ryan called out cheerfully.
"Ryan, you've grown quite a bit," Al Pacino said, automatically reaching to pat the boy's shoulder. Then he remembered their last encounter and froze mid-motion, hand hanging awkwardly in the air. The whole group burst out laughing.
"Relax, Al. No thumbtacks hidden under my tux tonight."
The crew cracked up again. They all remembered the prank perfectly: Ryan had sewn blunted thumbtacks into his undershirt just to get revenge every time Al patted his shoulder during filming.
After the official group photo with the main cast, Ryan and Nicole slipped inside. The premiere was intimate—only a modest crowd of stars had been invited. Most of the big names in early-1990s Hollywood were strangers to him anyway. Even the ones he half-recognized from movies he had mostly forgotten.
Besides, he was still just a kid with zero fame. No one was rushing over to chat with him. Not wanting to get in Nicole's way while she gracefully worked the room, Ryan found a quiet corner and planned to head into the screening room once it was time.
He hadn't gone far when he spotted a small group deep in conversation. One man stood like an unmovable mountain—broad, solid, with that instantly recognizable face and physique. Ryan recognized him at once.
He stopped a polite distance away and listened. The bearded man speaking was someone he knew too.
"Carolco has the rights locked down. I've got the main storyline mapped out. There are still problems to solve, but the basic framework is solid. What we're missing now is money—serious money. Without it, I can't move forward." That was the bearded man.
"Jim thinks the budget needs to be at least eighty million."
"Eighty million? That's nowhere near enough. We're talking a hundred million minimum!" The bearded man raised a thick finger.
"God, Jim, one of these days you're going to scare every investor off the planet."
"Will Arnold's T-800 be a good guy this time?" someone else asked.
"Correct." The bearded man sighed, clearly wrestling with several issues. "I have plenty of ideas for the villain robot, but I still can't figure out what kind of machine could convincingly be a futuristic assassin."
"A liquid-metal robot!" A slightly youthful voice suddenly cut in from behind them. "The killer sent from the future should be made of liquid alloy. It can shapeshift into any object or person of roughly the same size it touches. Its body can turn into any cold weapon. It kills without mercy, without emotion, without a conscience!"
The group turned in surprise. Ryan stood there completely unembarrassed. "Hello, Mr. Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Mr. James Cameron. I believe you're talking about the Terminator sequel? I was just walking past and accidentally overheard. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." The polite little boy instantly won them over.
"Kid, how on earth did you come up with that?" James Cameron asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
"I saw the first Terminator." Ryan stuck his tongue out quickly. "Please don't tell anyone, okay? A lot of stuff from the first movie could be expanded—like the future savior. I figured they'd definitely make a second one, so I started daydreaming. If Mr. Schwarzenegger plays a robot protecting the savior, what should his opponent be like?"
"If the T-800 is a heavy tank, then its enemy needs totally different traits. I'm a huge Transformers fan, so I imagined a robot that can change shape at will—a liquid-metal machine as fast and sleek as a Porsche!"
Everything Ryan said was clear, logical, and perfectly reasoned, as if the ideas had genuinely come from his own imagination.
The words clearly struck a chord with James Cameron. He stared at the boy for a long moment. "Little guy, what's your name? You look kind of familiar."
"Ryan Jenkins. You can call me Ryan."
"Ryan Jenkins?" Arnold Schwarzenegger's instincts kicked in first. "You're the kid from The Sixth Sense?"
"Yeah. I played one of the roles." Ryan noticed Nicole waving at him from across the room. "Sorry, I have to go."
"No problem at all."
As the surprisingly mature boy walked away hand-in-hand with the elegant woman, Arnold turned to his director. "Jim, that idea actually sounds pretty damn good."
"Pretty good? It's brilliant." James Cameron exhaled slowly—the problem that had been haunting him for months had just been solved in seconds. "Outstanding concept."
Cameron and Schwarzenegger headed toward the screening room too. Right before they stepped inside, Cameron glanced at the The Sixth Sense poster and caught one line in passing: Screenplay by Ryan Jenkins.
After the Miramax logo, the film began. The male lead was a true tragedy—he died in the very first scene. Of course, the audience wouldn't discover that until the final twist.
Unlike everyone else, Ryan watched while quietly comparing every moment to the version he remembered from his past life as Alex.
He had to admit David Fincher truly deserved his reputation as a genius director. Even though this version was only about sixty to seventy percent the same as the one he remembered, and it carried the era's common flaw of a slightly slower pace, the suspense and emotional depth were handled with breathtaking skill. Countless subtle scenes reminded viewers exactly what a child psychologist really did.
Communication, relationships, and family were subjects that would never go out of style in North America. On top of that, the movie pulled off one massive twist. A gimmick that would become overused in the new century was still fresh and rare in 1990.
When the entire audience was moved to tears by the raw explosion of emotion between Cole and his mother—thinking that had to be the ending—the psychologist returned home and discovered the shocking truth: he himself had been dead the whole time.
Many people instantly remembered the boy's earlier words—"I see dead people. They don't know they're dead. They walk around like us, seeing only what they want to see"—and the theater erupted with gasps of realization.