The executive producer Owen had hired for his next film, Lianne Halfon, took barely 24 hours to send him a professional shortlist of nine potential directors for Good Will Hunting.
By Saturday the 24th, Owen was already reviewing the list. That same day, he had a Zoom call with Lianne, during which they went through each candidate one by one, evaluating artistic fit, potential risks, and, most importantly, eliminating those directors who, upon closer examination, would likely demand too much creative control.
They both agreed that many directors, especially highly auteur-driven ones, tend to take ownership of a project and feel uncomfortable working with scripts that aren't their own, often trying to rewrite them or impose their vision over that of the original creator.
On that point, Owen and Lianne were completely aligned on one essential thing: the script was perfect.
Lianne, in particular, was surprised by Owen's ability as a screenwriter. This wasn't a strong first draft or a promising script that still needed work, it was a production-ready screenplay, with no need for structural polishing or rewrites.
'How does a twenty-one-year-old pull this off?' was her first thought when she read the script in full.
And she knew it wasn't a fluke. Owen wasn't an improvised newcomer. He had already written Paranormal Activity and The Spectacular Now: one had become a historic box-office success, and the other was already shot, with its world premiere confirmed for March, opening at Sundance.
Her surprise grew even more when she discovered that Owen had also prepared a preliminary technical script. While it was clear it wasn't yet at the level of an experienced director's work and would need refinement once a director was hired, that early effort would save valuable time in pre-production and made clear the level of control and clarity Owen had over the film.
After the call, the list was narrowed down from nine names to five. Lianne contacted the agents of those directors to gauge genuine interest and confirm availability.
Two were quickly ruled out: one due to scheduling conflicts, and another because, according to his representative, he wasn't interested in working with such a closed script and a vision so clearly defined from the outset, it simply didn't align with his way of making films.
In the end, three strong candidates remained:
1. Kenneth Lonergan
Director of Manchester by the Sea.
Lianne knew him well and was familiar with his working style. Artistically, he was an ideal choice. The only downside was cost.
Although Manchester by the Sea had been made on a budget of $8.5 million, its massive critical and commercial success, box office, nominations, and awards included, had driven up the fees of everyone involved, especially the director.
For a $12 million film, Lonergan could reasonably ask for between $1.2 and $2 million. Even so, Owen agreed to keep him on the list, as Lianne pointed out that, just as she had lowered her own fee because she loved the script, there was a chance Lonergan might do the same, or at least be willing to stay at the lower end of that range once he read the full screenplay.
2. Derek Cianfrance
He had directed Blue Valentine (2010), starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams, actors who later became frequent collaborators of his.
The film was made on a budget close to $1 million and grossed around $13 million. Not bad at all, considering it was only the second feature he had directed.
His profile fit Good Will Hunting very well. His estimated fee ranged between $900,000 and $1.2 million.
3. Tom McCarthy
With a long and distinctive career alternating between actor, writer, and director, McCarthy had a more execution-focused and efficient profile. He wasn't the flashiest name, but he offered the best cost-to-benefit ratio.
He was a director used to working within tight, controlled budgets. His fee was estimated between $700,000 and $1 million, fitting perfectly within the original financial plan without requiring major adjustments.
All of this happened on Saturday the 24th, just one day before Christmas.
On the 25th, Owen took a day off. He spent Christmas with his family, and on Monday he returned to work. That day, Lianne sent the full scripts to the three directors, and they agreed to wait two to three days so each could read the material carefully and provide a genuine first response.
By Wednesday the 28th, all three had replied.
They agreed on the essentials: they liked the script, showed genuine interest, and wanted to meet to seriously discuss the project.
Individual meetings were then scheduled with each of them.
The meeting with Tom McCarthy took place on the 29th. It lasted a little over an hour and went smoothly, professional and clear, though without making a particularly strong impression.
The following day, it was Kenneth Lonergan's turn, the director of Manchester by the Sea. The conversation lasted nearly ninety minutes and left a stronger impression on Owen than the previous meeting. Lonergan's reading of the script was deeper, and his artistic sensibility aligned more closely with the film.
However, there was one point to consider: Lonergan showed no intention of lowering his fee. It wasn't negative or unexpected, but it did mean that if they chose him, the budget would need to be stretched a bit further to accommodate him. Unlike Lianne, he didn't seem willing to make that gesture.
The meeting with Derek Cianfrance was scheduled for January 1st at 5:30 p.m. It was a holiday, but in film and television, schedules don't always follow the traditional calendar.
Owen wanted to lock in a director as soon as possible, and Derek had shown himself to be motivated and genuinely enthusiastic about the project, so he agreed to meet that day. Initially, January 2nd had been discussed, but given the mutual interest, they moved the meeting up to the 1st.
"Are we really ending up staying here even on New Year's?" Sophie asked, arms crossed, looking at Owen with a slight frown.
Owen, seated in his chair, slowly rocked back and forth, watching her with one eyebrow raised. "Yes…? We already talked about this, didn't we?" he replied. "The plan is a party at my place."
He said it casually, convinced that this had been settled days ago.
Unlike Christmas, which was a family night, New Year's was more flexible for everyone: friends, parties, events, whatever.
For Owen, the ideal combination was simple: friends and home. No massive parties, crowded bars, clubs, or big events.
"You call inviting Matt and the other three a party?" Sophie shot back.
'The other three have names,' Owen thought, but he didn't say anything.
They were Tyler and Erik, Owen had hired on Paranormal Activity and later on his short films. They were friends of Matt from college and, over time, had become his friends as well.
The fourth was Gaten, whom they had met when hiring him for One-Minute Time Machine and who, almost without realizing it, had ended up becoming part of the group.
"Your friends are coming too," Owen added. "And I don't want to pack my apartment with people either."
Sophie sighed, rubbing her forehead, and said, "Yes, I know. And I agreed, but only because you're completely immovable. Once you decide something, there's no way to change your mind."
"I'm not like that," Owen replied almost reflexively.
Sophie didn't push the point further.
Then she continued, "I'm just saying, it's New Year's. We could do something different. A bar, something… there's a place in Silver Lake where a band is playing live tonight."
"Silver Lake…" Owen scoffed, with a barely noticeable grimace.
It was an Eastside neighborhood that almost perfectly embodied the hipster lifestyle: trendy bars, live shows, meticulously curated aesthetics, and a vibe that had never quite clicked with Owen.
Sophie, on the other hand, fit much more naturally into that world, bars with underground bands that maybe ten people had even heard of.
"See?" Sophie said immediately. "You're not even considering it."
"It's not that, it's just…" Owen paused for a few seconds, searching for the right word. He couldn't say he didn't like it, doing so would be conceding her point. "I just wouldn't feel comfortable in places like that."
"You'll never know if you don't go. You're deciding you don't like it before even trying."
Owen stayed quiet for a moment.
"It's New Year's," Sophie insisted. "It's the end of the year we met, made Paranormal Activity, Paperman, and everything else. It was a huge year. Why not close it out properly and start the next one with more energy and new goals?"
"To start the year off right, I can't go to bed at five or six in the morning and wake up with a hangover after only two hours of sleep," Owen replied.
Wasn't that logical? If you went out partying on New Year's, you'd get home at any hour and sleep three, two hours or less. How the hell were you supposed to start the new year right?
Sophie looked at him for a few more seconds, weighing him. "I get it now…" she said finally, in a more critical tone. "It's about work again, isn't it?"
Owen didn't answer right away.
"You have that meeting with the director for Good Will Hunting," Sophie continued. "And of course, nothing better than staying home, making a toast at midnight, and going to bed early so you can have a productive workday tomorrow."
Her gaze hardened slightly. "Lately everything revolves around that: work, work, and more work. The only social things you do are because you have to, or because they're tied to a project. Except with Matt."
"Matt?" Owen said, confused by the sudden mention of his best friend.
"Yes, because you work with him," Sophie replied. "I'm sure tonight you'll spend hours talking about the pre-production of Lights Out."
The silence that followed was heavy. Owen rested his arms on the chair armrests and took a deep breath.
"If that's how you feel, I can change," he finally said. "I can spend less time on work and more time on us."
Sophie shook her head immediately. "You've already told me that more than three times in the last two months. And I don't want to feel like I have to beg for your time if it doesn't genuinely come from you," she replied.
Owen frowned, clearly disagreeing. "That's not how it is," he shot back. "Just because I'm at home doesn't mean I'm not busy. I have a job, and even if I do it from here, it's still work."
He didn't go to an office, but in terms of hours dedicated to his projects, it wasn't very different. He paused briefly before continuing.
"It's not like I'm doing nothing just because I'm at home. I have responsibilities, deadlines, and decisions to make. That doesn't disappear just because my office is at home."
Sophie didn't interrupt him.
"And in the free time I do have, and on weekends, I honestly believe I do make time for you. I don't think it's as extreme as you're making it sound," he added.
Owen's tone was firm, but not aggressive.
Sophie pressed her lips together for a second. "So now I'm the one exaggerating?" she said, visibly hurt. "Am I imagining things?"
Owen opened his mouth to respond, but Sophie raised a hand and shook her head, stopping herself. She took a deep breath, as if forcing herself to calm down.
"No. I don't want to argue about this on New Year's," Sophie said.
She stayed silent for a few more seconds, then added, "I've been thinking about it, and I think the best thing is for us to take a break."
Owen looked straight at her. "A break?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "A break from what?"
"From us," Sophie replied. "Some time. A bit of space to let things cool down."
"Cool down from what?" Owen said, unconvinced. "And what about New Year's?"
"You wanted to spend it here with your friends," Sophie said firmly, her decision made. "Do it. I'm going to spend it with mine, at the bar I told you about."
Owen shook his head and stood up. "This makes no sense, Sophie. None at all."
Sophie was already walking toward the exit of the room. "I've already decided," she said as she grabbed her things. "I think it's for the best. For both of us. That way, we each spend New Year's the way we actually want to."
"And what about spending our first New Year's together? Did that just disappear from your mind?" Owen shot back, following her.
"I don't want to fight," Sophie replied, her voice tired.
She opened the apartment door and paused in the doorway.
"I'm not fighting. I'm arguing," Owen said.
Sophie looked at him one last time. "We'll talk about it tomorrow or the day after, more calmly," she said. "Not now."
"And if you want to follow me down to the lobby arguing, go ahead. I'm sure there's some paparazzi out there waiting for the perfect headline."
With that, she left.
Owen watched her go, leaning against the doorframe for a moment. He knew she was right. At that hour it was still early, and in the past few days he'd already been stopped a couple of times by people asking about his next film. With the project moving forward and his name appearing more and more often, it wasn't far-fetched to think someone might be waiting.
Besides, it was clear Sophie had already made up her mind. Following her wouldn't change anything.
"What a great way to end the year," Owen muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
He closed the door and went back inside the apartment.
Owen didn't change his plans. He didn't tell the group chat with Matt and the others that anything was canceled.
Seeing that there were still about three hours left before the guys arrived, he sat down on the living room couch and picked up the PlayStation 5 controller.
"Work, work, work… and what is this supposed to be, Sophie?" he murmured, almost to himself, as he opened the last game he had started and hadn't touched in days.
He fell silent as soon as he finished saying it, feeling a little stupid for the line. It was a defensive response, aimed more at himself than at her.
He started playing.
Fifteen minutes later, he couldn't focus. He'd already been killed several times in a row and was barely reacting. His mind kept jumping nonstop: Sophie, the break, Good Will Hunting. Nothing really settled.
He checked the clock.
Not even twenty minutes had passed.
He sighed, turned off the console, and set the controller down on the table. He got up and went straight to his office. The only way time would fly was that. Prepping a bit more for the next day's meeting. It wasn't like he had anything more entertaining to do while waiting for the guys.
He opened his laptop, reviewed his notes, reread a few key passages of the script he wanted to discuss with Derek, and organized his main talking points.
His focus slowly returned, not out of enthusiasm, but out of habit.
Finally, thirty minutes before eight, he shut everything down.
He took a shower and got changed to be ready for the small New Year's gathering. He chose something elegant but relaxed: a black blazer, a plain white T-shirt, and black pants.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Owen straightened his blazer and walked toward the door. He grabbed the handle and opened it.
The first face he saw was Tyler's, wearing his usual huge smile.
"There's my man!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, a bit louder than normal, as he gave Owen a firm, energetic handshake.
Owen smiled right away. "You're showing up with energy," he said. "Have you already had a drink?"
Tyler didn't deny it. He shrugged. "Maybe."
Behind him, Erik appeared. He'd heard the question and couldn't resist commenting. "Just enough to gather the necessary courage to interact with the opposite sex," he said, with mock solemnity.
Owen let out a short laugh as Erik greeted him and walked in, a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm.
"Clear priorities," Owen replied, thinking privately that those priorities wouldn't be fulfilled, Sophie's female friends weren't coming. In a few minutes he'd break the news.
Then Matt showed up. There wasn't much to say, just a handshake and a smile as he walked in, saying something about how tonight was going to be a blast, two bottles tucked under his arms.
Finally, Gaten stepped forward at an easy pace. They extended their hands and met in a perfectly synchronized handshake, so clean and sharp that they both paused for a second, surprised by the crisp sound of the impact.
"That was… perfect," Gaten said, laughing.
"It's good luck to start the new year," Owen said with a faint smile.
"Let's hope so," Gaten replied as he walked in.
With everyone inside, Owen closed the door behind them. The apartment, silent just minutes earlier, filled with laughter and overlapping chatter.
"Where's Sophie?" Matt asked.
"And when are her friends getting here?!" Tyler added, raising an arm enthusiastically.
Owen didn't change his expression. He walked over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. "About that, I need to tell you guys something."
The tone alone was enough. Conversations died down, and everyone looked at him, attentive.
Owen summed everything up in under five minutes: the argument with Sophie, the break, and the fact that she and her friends weren't coming. Instead, they were going to a bar to catch a band's show.
"A break?" Gaten repeated, his smile completely gone.
"That sucks… I'm sorry, man," Erik said, giving Owen a pat on the shoulder.
"So… no girls? Just five guys on New Year's?" Tyler blurted out without thinking.
Matt reacted instantly and gave him a short punch on the shoulder.
Tyler rubbed it, understanding immediately. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It's fine," Owen said, brushing it off.
The room stayed quiet for barely a second before Matt spoke up in his trademark upbeat tone. "Well then, boys' night! Expensive booze, pizza, movies, and video games. What better way to spend New Year's than that?"
"I like the sound of that," Gaten said with a genuine smile.
His family lived in Connecticut. He'd gone to visit them for Christmas, but ever since he'd been chasing the dream of making a stable living as an actor and had moved to California, New Year's usually meant being alone or with casual acquaintances. This was the first year he felt like he was spending it with real friends, reliable people, without the usual artificiality of a place like Hollywood.
"Expensive booze?" Erik commented, looking at Matt with a crooked smile. "Money really changed you, bro."
"Yeah," Tyler added, "whatever happened to cheap wine for fancy people, huh?"
Matt looked at them without the slightest hint of shame. "When you've got over half a million dollars in your bank account, your perspective changes," he replied in mock solemnity.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," Tyler said. "I didn't mean to disrespect you, speaking from my humble bank account that doesn't even reach six figures."
"Watch your mouth," Erik chimed in. "You're standing in front of a man who no longer looks at prices, only labels."
"He doesn't drink alcohol anymore, he invests in liquid experiences," Gaten finished, and the laughter immediately erupted.
Owen watched the scene with a faint smile, amused by his friends' stupidity.
The night started simply. Matt forced them to kick things off with a round of shots, using one of the bottles he'd bought.
It was a high-proof drink, with a restrained label and a price tag comfortably north of five hundred dollars. The jokes came quickly. They didn't miss the chance to remind him, once again, that he'd lost any trace of humility.
"Shut up!" Matt protested. "I'm humble. And what about Owen?"
Owen, still feeling the burn of the alcohol going down his throat, looked at him, confused. "Me? I'm humble, man."
"And that Rolex?!" Matt shot back, pointing at Owen's left wrist.
Everyone looked down at Owen's wrist… then back at Matt. "Is the alcohol already getting to you?" Erik said, shaking his head. "It's the Rolex Owen's dad gave him for his birthday, remember?"
The others nodded.
But Matt didn't back down. "Idiots," he said. "Look at it properly. It's a new one!"
They looked again, more carefully. The details were different, the case, the bezel, the shine. It wasn't the same watch.
"You bought another Rolex?" Gaten asked, surprised. "Your birthday was like, just recently."
Owen shrugged, calm. "Yes, it's new."
"See?!" Matt exclaimed. "This is exactly my point. It's not the same thing to spend five hundred dollars on a bottle as it is to buy yourself a Rolex for… what? Fifty grand?"
"Eighty," Owen corrected, without much concern.
There was a second of silence.
"Well," Tyler said, "he sold an IP for millions of dollars. What's eighty grand in that context?"
"Exactly," Erik nodded, looking at Owen and then around the apartment. "Honestly, if you look at his lifestyle, it's pretty normal."
There was nothing excessively luxurious. No flashy furniture, no expensive art, no designer clothes. Nothing extravagant, except for the Rolex on his wrist.
"He has a BMW," Matt added, in a doubtful tone, aware that his argument wasn't holding much weight anymore.
"A BMW," Tyler repeated. "For the kind of money this guy must have in his bank account, that's like buying a piece of candy, man. Wake up."
Owen listened in silence, smiling, enjoying the fact that he didn't have to open his mouth to win the argument.
As for the watch, it was simply that he'd always liked watches. It was a very specific taste of his. And since he had over thirty million dollars in his account, he didn't see anything wrong with buying himself a Rolex he liked.
"Alright, alright," Matt said. "Let's play."
Laughter filled the living room again, and the night kept moving.
First came video games, shouting, laughter, and competition. Then a poker game that stretched on longer than expected. Time started to slip by without them noticing.
Until hunger hit.
They'd planned for it. Tyler and Owen got to work making homemade pizzas. Tyler, proud of his supposed cooking skills, took over the kitchen as if it were his own territory, while Owen assisted him.
A while later, already seated at the table, Erik took the last bite of his slice and glanced at the clock in surprise. "Is it barely ten?"
Tyler nodded. "Yeah… feels like we've done a thousand things already."
They sat in silence for a few seconds. There were still two hours left until the toast. And then what? Keep doing the same things? It wasn't boring, but it was starting to feel a little repetitive.
That was when Matt noticed Owen staring intently at his phone. "Who are you texting?"
Owen looked up, locked his phone, and set it on the table. "I've got a plan."
"A plan?" Tyler asked immediately.
Owen smiled, enjoying the suspense. "A plan that involves girls."
Tyler's eyes went wide, and exaggerating the gesture, he grabbed Erik by the shoulder as if he needed support to process the news.
"Did you say… girls?"
"Yes," Owen replied. "For you guys, actually."
There was a second of absolute silence.
"I asked Jenna…" Owen began.
Tyler, Erik, and Gaten froze, holding their breath. There was no need to clarify, Owen only had one friend named Jenna, and it could only be Jenna Ortega, who at that point was one of the most famous actresses in the world after the recent release of Wednesday.
"I asked her if she had any plans for New Year's," Owen continued. "She said yes. There's a gathering, a party. She sent me the address. There'll be plenty of people, and it's about a fifteen-minute drive."
The reaction was immediate.
Exaggerated shouts, Matt howling, applause. Tyler spun around on the spot like he'd just won the lottery. Erik threw his arms up in the air. Gaten was grinning from ear to ear.
"We'll get there in time for the toast!" Tyler exclaimed, already on his feet, doing a small hop.
"More than enough time," Gaten added, standing as well.
The idea of ringing in the New Year at a party full of celebrities, familiar faces, and girls completely changed the night's energy. This wasn't just going to some random or overpriced bar, it was a different league.
Matt stood up without a word, walked over to the bar, and poured one last round of shots into small glasses. He handed them out one by one and raised his own.
"To an unforgettable night," he said.
"To an unforgettable night," the others echoed, clinking glasses.
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