制霸好莱坞

A few months had passed, and Jennifer Jefferson's IMDb page had quieted down. While her appearance on CSI had garnered some attention, it wasn't enough to turn casual viewers into devoted fans. With no new projects announced, interest in her seemed to wane. To most, she remained a mystery—her debut role confirmed, but her future in entertainment uncertain.

Then, in mid-January 2002, a post appeared in an online discussion forum. It featured a photograph of an advertisement from a New York subway station. The poster displayed a pure white background with the word Chicago illuminated in neon lights embedded with colored diamonds. A stunning blonde woman stood poised atop the capital letter C, her rhinestone-adorned dance dress accentuating a flawless physique. Her red lips curled into an enigmatic smile, her gaze confident and inviting. Behind her, two rows of cast members were arranged in a formation, including a Black dancer and a dashing young lawyer, their positions reflecting the importance of their roles in the production.

For those familiar with the storyline, the characters were instantly recognizable. For those who weren't, the bold slogan at the top of the poster was enough to pique interest:

"Our Roxy is better."

The tagline was printed in the largest font, positioned above details like the premiere date and theater name. The message was clear—Broadway's Chicago had cast a new Roxie Hart, and she was the focal point of their promotional campaign.

Most passersby accepted this as standard industry practice. A fresh, striking lead was bound to attract attention, and this Roxie was undeniably captivating. Compared to other Broadway posters, which often featured heavily made-up actors whose features blurred under Photoshop edits, this woman stood out. She wasn't just beautiful; she exuded an irresistible allure, a charm that transcended the glossy print. The poster wasn't just an advertisement; it was a visual statement, shot with the precision and glamour of a high-end fashion campaign.

The slogan, however, sparked mixed reactions. Chicago's devoted fans immediately recognized its implication—it was a direct, albeit subtle, challenge to Renée Zellweger, the actress playing Roxie in the upcoming film adaptation. Though many agreed that Jennifer was more conventionally attractive than Renée, Zellweger was an established talent. What gave this unknown actress the confidence to challenge her?

For the general public, the comparison was intriguing. It ignited curiosity. If one Roxie was "better," who was the lesser one? Competition—especially between two beautiful women—was always a surefire way to generate buzz. It was reminiscent of the ongoing rivalry between Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Both had risen from The Mickey Mouse Club, yet Britney had skyrocketed to fame first. The media thrived on stories of their supposed feud, with tabloids speculating that Christina resented Britney's success. People loved drama, and now, the Broadway vs. Hollywood Chicago debate had found its own version.

Casual theatergoers who hadn't planned to see the musical found themselves intrigued. Some started researching Chicago and discovered that the movie version was already in production. Others noted Jennifer's striking resemblance to her CSI character and wondered if she was the same actress. If she had been merely average in appearance, the reaction would have been different—skepticism, dismissiveness. But Jennifer wasn't average. She was stunning. And that alone made people ask: Can she sing? Can she dance? Is she actually better?

Broadway tickets weren't prohibitively expensive, especially for New Yorkers accustomed to the theater scene. The best seats cost a few hundred dollars, while more affordable options were available for under a hundred. Student and group discounts further lowered the barrier. For die-hard fans, the combination of the eye-catching poster and the provocative tagline was enough to buy a ticket—60% of them, at least. The remaining 40% waited for reviews before deciding.

Even among those who didn't usually attend musicals, some were lured in by curiosity. They opted for the cheaper seats, hesitant to invest fully in an unknown performer. But curiosity was a powerful marketing tool, and Chicago's strategy had leveraged it masterfully.

The campaign worked. The first week of performances sold out, with strong ticket sales continuing in the following weeks. Some attendees were former CSI viewers, eager to see the enigmatic "Vanita" in person. Others were industry insiders—critics, journalists—who had taken notice of the audacious tagline and wanted to see if Jennifer could back up the claim.

Online discussions ignited:

"Wow, she's actually a Broadway actress? No one found any records of her performing before. She's such a mystery!"

"Does she even have a PR team? Why is her profile so incomplete?"

"I'm so jealous of New Yorkers. Will anyone see her show?"

"I bought tickets! I usually don't follow celebrities, but I'm curious."

"My mom and I are going to the premiere! She wants to see if Jennifer is as gorgeous in person as she is in the poster."

Interest in Chicago surged. Even the upcoming film benefited from the increased search traffic. Director Rob Marshall, deep in post-production, mentioned that Cesare had shared a report showing a sharp uptick in searches for Chicago's release date and cast list. Free publicity was a gift, and the Chicago movie team had no complaints. Renée Zellweger, however, remained silent.

"That's the smartest move she could make," Cesare commented, handing Jennifer a pen. "Any response would only help you."

Across from him, a middle-aged Jewish woman smiled. "Exactly. You should decline interviews for now. Let your work and the critics speak for you. Hunger marketing is a powerful tool—we want the public to crave more of you. Hunger makes everything look better."

Jennifer's team had gained a new member. Cesare had hired a public relations specialist, Judy Ackerman, to manage her growing visibility. The contract was modest—just a few hundred dollars per month—reflecting Jennifer's still-rising status. If she became a star, the contract would be renegotiated. If she failed, Judy wouldn't stick around. But her involvement was a clear sign that Jennifer's potential was being taken seriously.

Jennifer reviewed the contract, signed it, and shook Judy's hand. "Will you be staying for my performance?"

"That's why I flew in." Judy smiled warmly. "If you're free tonight, we should have dinner and get to know each other."

Her phone rang. She excused herself, stepping outside to take the call.

Silence settled between Jennifer and Cesare—the first real conversation since their tense phone call weeks ago. He was as he always was: impeccably dressed, exuding an air of dominance. Yet, he showed no irritation toward her. If anything, his demeanor suggested amused tolerance, as if saying, I know you're being childish, and I know you know it too, but I won't call you out on it.

"So," he finally broke the silence. "How's the situation with the person you wanted to deal with?"

Jennifer rolled her eyes but quickly composed herself. Cesare had his reasons for not supporting her actions—James himself had doubted her. If even someone who knew her well hesitated, how could she expect Cesare to back her unconditionally? He was a professional, and she respected that. She wouldn't let personal frustration cloud their working relationship.

"I have rehearsal this afternoon. If you're free tonight, you're welcome to watch the troupe perform."

Cesare arched an eyebrow but didn't press further. He simply nodded. "Judging by Judy's reaction, she may have to return to LA early."

He was right. Judy returned, apologizing—one of her clients was in crisis, and she had to fly back immediately. Still, she left her assistant behind to watch Jennifer's debut.

The final rehearsals were grueling, but Jennifer was ready. After months of relentless training, she had internalized every nuance of Roxie Hart's character. The dress rehearsal went flawlessly, with the director and music manager offering no objections.

As the cast prepared for the premiere, Jennifer approached Cesare and James. "How did I do?"

James grinned, applauding. "Bravo!"

Cesare nodded approvingly.

Jennifer smirked—she hadn't sought praise. She had set the stage for something else.