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professor used to run.
As he watched the movie, Haggis was appalled. Everything that was wrong was
glaringly apparent on the huge screen. He sat glumly waiting for it to end, calculating
what could be salvaged. So when the audience rose to its feet at the end, cheering,
Haggis couldn’t believe what was happening. Lion’s Gate Films bought Crash for $3.5
million and scheduled it for release the following spring.
Crash opened quietly in April 2005. There were no billboards or bus signs, which were
already touting the arrival of War of the Worlds in June. The reviews for Crash were
passionate but polarized. Roger Ebert gave it four stars, calling it “a movie of intense
fascination.” A. O. Scott, who reviewed it for The New York Times, was less infatuated. It
was a “frustrating movie,” he wrote, “full of heart and devoid of life; crudely
manipulative when it tries hardest to be subtle; and profoundly complacent in spite of
its intention to unsettle and disturb.” There was no actual premiere, just a screening at
the Academy Theater on Wilshire Boulevard, and no grand party afterward. Haggis and
his family went out to dinner.
Despite the conicting reviews and limited distribution, a groundswell was building
for the movie, driven entirely by audiences who were caught up in a national
conversation over race and class that the movie prompted. It would go on to earn
nearly $100 million in international sales. Million Dollar Baby had just won the Academy
Award for Best Picture that February. Haggis was writing a James Bond movie, Casino
Royale, in addition to the Eastwood picture Flags of Our Fathers. He was flying.
Tom Cruise’s career was headed in the opposite direction. Haggis had seen him at the
Vanity Fair Oscar party. Cruise and Tommy Davis arrived on Ducati motorcycles,
wearing black jackets, and were let in the back door of Morton’s Steakhouse in Beverly
Hills. They said hello to Haggis, but nothing more. Polls showed that Cruise was still
ranked as the most powerful actor in Hollywood, and even the most powerful celebrity
in the world, but he was also ranked number one as the celebrity that people would
least like to have as their best friend.
When Cruise returned to Gold Base, Miscavige showed o his Harley-Davidson V-rod
motorcycle, which had been custom-painted a candy-apple red over a brushed nickel
surface. Miscavige’s brother-in-law, John Brousseau, known for his elegant
craftsmanship, had done the work. In addition to overseeing the renovation of the
Freewinds, Brousseau had installed bars on the doors of the Hole shortly after Rathbun
escaped.
According to Brousseau, “Cruise was drooling” over the motorcycle. “God, could you
paint my bike like that?” he asked. Brousseau looked at Miscavige, who nodded. Cruise
brought in two motorcycles to be painted, a Triumph Rocket III and a Honda Rune.
Spielberg had given him the Honda after the lming of War of the Worlds; it had already
been custom-painted by the set designer. Brousseau had to take each motorcycle apart
completely and nickel-plate all the parts before painting them. 11 Cruise drove the newly
painted Rune, with Katie on the back, to the fans’ screening of his movie at Grauman’s
Chinese Theatre in June.