Chapter 120 – I Don't Remember Anything!
By 6:30 the next morning, as the frantic rhythm of New York City pulsed around them, the production convoy for Joker—a line of trailers and support vehicles—arrived at a street in Brooklyn.
Though the crew was busy setting up, yesterday's fiasco was still fresh in everyone's minds. Small clusters of staff whispered quietly among themselves, casting glances toward the center of the storm—Nicolas Cage. His face was dark, his mood even darker. Being at the center of such silent judgment from over a hundred people was, to say the least, deeply uncomfortable.
Across the blocked-off street, the NYPD officers stood tall and sharp in their uniforms. Dozens of journalists crowded just a few feet away, and no one wanted to end up in some unflattering tabloid photo. Getting street closure duty for a film shoot was usually a cushy assignment—far better than baking under the sun while walking a beat—and crews often handed out coffee and snacks.
But with the press practically breathing down their necks, the officers remained on high alert. No one understood better than they did just how far small-time media would go to stir up chaos.
A potbellied, middle-aged officer emerged from the set, waddling over with labored breath to the barricade and speaking to one of the patrolmen.
"Phil, let them in. The film crew's holding a quick press conference."
"Finally…" Officer Phil Raschel let out a long breath. He and his partners quickly pulled back the yellow barricade tape and stepped aside.
"Alright, folks! Quiet down!"
Officer Thompson, whose bulk was matched only by his voice, barked over the noise once he'd caught his breath. "The producer's invited you in for a quick statement. Behave yourselves—if anyone gets kicked out, it'll be real embarrassing. Now move!"
The horde of journalists and camera crews surged forward behind him. The stretch of blocked street wasn't long. Weathered buildings lined both sides, packed with bustling crew members. Trucks at either end helped shield the set from outside view.
At a makeshift podium fashioned from three pushed-together tables, Wayne, John, and Nicolas Cage took their seats. Zack Snyder clapped his hands loudly, acting as an impromptu moderator.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Due to media interest, the Joker production has agreed to hold a short press conference. We'll take questions in order. Please raise your hands—I'll try to call on everyone."
Once the crowd settled, Zack gave the three seated men a small nod and pointed to a young female journalist in the front row.
Cameramen behind the press line immediately flipped on their gear. Long lenses and handheld cameras zoomed in on the trio behind the table.
"Mr. Garfield, the male lead was reportedly drinking at a bar the night before the first day of shooting. Will this affect your working relationship or the film's progress?"
Wayne didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled and casually threw an arm around Nicolas Cage, drawing him a little closer.
"Not at all," he said. "Nicolas went to that bar purely to better understand his character. Unfortunately, he underestimated how creative some of New York's locals can be."
The female reporter didn't wait for Snyder to call on her again—she immediately followed up:
"So you're saying Nicolas Cage was… set up?"
"Exactly."
Wayne didn't remove his arm. Instead, he patted Cage on the shoulder and answered for him.
"He wanted to immerse himself in the role—but someone slipped him too many drinks and cleaned out his wallet. That's all."
As soon as Wayne finished speaking, Zack Snyder quickly called on another reporter. If he let that woman keep going, who knew how long the press conference would last—and they still had a film to shoot.
"Mr. Cage, did they only get you drunk? Or did they give you something else?"
"What?" Nicolas Cage blinked as if confused, then ran a hand through his hair. "I don't really remember. I just remember ordering a beer. After that... it's a blur. Next thing I knew, a crew member found me and brought me back to the hotel."
"When I woke up, my wallet was gone. Just my driver's license was left."
The moment Cage started talking, the air filled with the sound of camera shutters and occasional flashes. These photographers didn't care what was being said—just as long as they got the footage and a usable headline.
A second reporter quickly followed up:
"So you're saying you have no memory of what happened?"
"Exactly. I have no recollection of that night at all."
Then a woman, dressed in bold prints like a stereotypical tabloid reporter, turned to the producer.
"Mr. Gray, how is the production planning to handle Mr. Cage's absence on day one of filming?"
John answered smoothly, as only a seasoned producer could:
"This situation isn't entirely Mr. Cage's fault. He's a victim here as well. The crew has already filed a report with the NYPD—we're hoping the people responsible are caught soon."
But the reporter clearly wasn't satisfied and turned the heat back on the actor:
"Mr. Cage, we've had reporters visit that bar. Witnesses say they saw you smoking a lot of marijuana and downing half a bottle of whiskey. Doesn't that suggest you were fully aware of what you were doing—"
"Sorry, only one question per person," Zack cut her off abruptly before she could finish.
This was the kind of question that could destroy everything if answered wrong. Better to shut it down before Nicolas opened his mouth and made things worse.
"Next."
"Wayne, you said this won't affect your collaboration with Mr. Cage. What's your relationship like off set?"
Wayne smiled again, that familiar sunny expression returning to his face. He threw an arm around Cage like they were lifelong friends.
"You know, Nicolas and I are the same age. We really hit it off. Our roles on set may be different, but we've always been like brothers."
Then Wayne gave Zack a subtle signal. The assistant director clapped loudly, pulling all attention his way.
"Alright, everyone, that's all for today's Q&A. We've got filming to get to!" He waved a few prop crew members over. "I'll show you all out—thanks for your time!"
"Wait! One last question!" the same bold reporter shouted.
"Nicolas, sources say you not only drank heavily and smoked weed—but also snorted cocaine! That's not exactly what someone with a 'blurred memory' would—"
Before she could finish, Zack waved in the crew, who quickly surrounded and ushered her away. Even the other journalists she'd come with said nothing—just watched in silence.
She had seriously crossed the line.
This was a Warner Bros. production. They were already being generous by holding a press conference at all. Everyone knew the details of the incident; no one wanted to be the one to step on a landmine. But some people—especially those who thought their identity gave them immunity—just didn't know when to stop.
With the media herded off the street, a calm finally returned to the set.
Everyone still cast discreet glances toward the leading man. Even those busy with setup kept an ear out for any news. John glanced at his watch—7:30 AM. Plenty of time to gather the crew before the shoot.
He grabbed the loudspeaker from Wayne's director's chair and called everyone over. In moments, the crew—hundreds strong—assembled tightly in front of the makeshift podium.
"Alright everyone, quiet down. Mr. Cage has something he wants to say regarding yesterday."
John passed the megaphone to Susan, who exchanged a look with her client and gently urged him forward.
After several long seconds of awkward silence, Nicolas Cage's pallid face flushed red. He took the megaphone, stepped forward, and addressed the crew.
"I want to apologize for wasting everyone's time yesterday. I swear—I never meant for this to happen. And I promise... it won't happen again."