Monday, July 24, 2023
12:01 a.m.
Owen was in his apartment.
It had only been a minute since midnight. Officially, Sunday was over.
It had been a hectic few days. Between the Barbenheimer phenomenon, the vlog that had exploded across the internet with tens of millions of views and all the attention it had generated, the negotiations with the various distributors, where each studio had put forward its best offer to secure Lights Out, and the rehearsals with Sadie Sink and Kogonada, it had all been quite exhausting.
When it came to the distributor, Owen had already made his decision.
Universal.
Or, more precisely, the joint deal between Universal and Blumhouse.
Universal brought the real distribution muscle, both in the United States and across the international market.
Blumhouse, meanwhile, brought its brand.
Jason Blum's name was one of the most recognizable in horror filmmaking, and that also helped from a marketing standpoint. On top of that, Jason had already confirmed that he would attend the film's premiere at Fantastic Fest.
He might even end up appearing in the vlog Owen planned to film during the festival.
Another major industry figure joining, almost unintentionally, the unique little universe that had formed around Second Take Films' vlogs.
The only thing that made Owen somewhat uncomfortable was having to turn down A24.
He still hadn't officially announced his decision.
None of the distributors knew who had been chosen.
That would happen tomorrow, or rather, in a few hours, once daylight arrived.
First, he would call Universal to accept the offer.
Then, one by one, he would thank the other studios for their interest and let them know he had decided to go with another proposal.
A24 would be especially difficult.
Over the past several months, he had built a very good relationship with Christian, the studio's creative/executive producer, and even with the studio's founders themselves: David Fenkel, Daniel Katz, and John Hodges.
Especially David and Daniel.
Even though he had told Matt that Lights Out wasn't exactly the kind of "elevated horror" A24 usually pursued, that didn't mean the studio hadn't fought hard to acquire the film.
In fact, they had personally called him on Saturday afternoon.
It wasn't a conversation between lawyers or representatives.
They wanted to speak with Owen themselves to improve several aspects of their offer.
Even so, he remained convinced that Universal was the best choice.
The impact of a simultaneous release in nearly four thousand theaters, combined with a coordinated international rollout, was simply too significant to ignore.
A24 was an outstanding distributor.
But Universal was playing in a different league.
Blumhouse didn't distribute its own films directly. It was a production company that had a long-standing distribution deal with Universal to bring its projects to theaters.
And when Universal decided to go all in on a film, it could release it from day one in three thousand five hundred, or even four thousand, theaters.
They had long-standing agreements with chains like AMC and Cinemark, which guaranteed them the best auditoriums, the most attractive showtimes, and an almost total presence.
A24, besides being a production company, was also a distributor. In fact, that had been its original nature.
But its distribution model was much more independent.
What they usually did was begin with a limited release in New York and Los Angeles, generate conversation, and, depending on the audience's response, gradually expand the number of theaters.
They had exceptions.
'Civil War', released in 2024, had reached almost three thousand eight hundred theaters, setting an absolute record for the studio.
But it was still just that: an exception.
And an exception they wanted to repeat with Lights Out. But the problem remained the international market.
That was precisely A24's greatest weakness.
Universal had its own offices and teams spread across the entire world.
A24, on the other hand, sold distribution rights territory by territory.
That meant negotiating with local distributors in each country and, as a result, losing part of the control over the release schedule.
A film could take weeks or even months to reach certain markets.
Paranormal Activity had suffered from exactly that problem.
Thanks to the media phenomenon surrounding it, it managed to secure relatively fast international distribution, but even so, there had been delays from country to country.
Owen had always believed that this had limited part of its box office potential.
The version from his previous world had been distributed by Paramount and had ended up grossing $193.4 million.
The version in this reality, his version, despite the enormous phenomenon it generated, and despite Owen improving the performances with Sophie and the script itself, had closed its theatrical run with $144 million.
He knew part of that difference could be explained by context and historical timing.
But he was also convinced that having a global distributor like Paramount, or like Universal, made a massive difference.
That was precisely why he wanted Universal behind Lights Out.
A practically simultaneous worldwide release, in thousands of theaters across the planet, would maximize its impact from the very first weekend.
The problem was that a part of him still did not feel entirely comfortable with the decision.
But that was not his fault. That was how the industry worked.
It was business.
Each studio defended its own interests, and he had to do exactly the same with his.
Even so, he could not help thinking that, in a way, he was leaving aside an independent studio to join one of Hollywood's giants, companies that were already swimming in money and dominating the global market.
And the truth was that Blumhouse did not exactly need another hit either.
They were having an extraordinary 2023.
True to their philosophy of low budgets and enormous returns, they had already scored two major horror hits in barely seven months.
The first had been M3GAN, released in January of that year. With a budget of only $12 million, it had finished its theatrical run with $180 million worldwide.
The second had just arrived.
Insidious: The Red Door, released on July 7, had cost $16 million and, after its first three weekends, had already surpassed seventy million dollars at the U.S. box office alone.
Owen had seen the film.
It was exactly what he had expected.
Another installment in an established franchise, with effective scares, a fairly conventional script, and very few truly new ideas.
Specialized critics had been harsh.
On Rotten Tomatoes, it was barely hovering around 40% approval.
And although Owen did not usually let himself be too influenced by critics' opinions, this time he understood perfectly where those reviews were coming from.
The audience did not seem especially enthusiastic either.
The audience scores were only slightly better.
But none of that would stop the film from becoming another major commercial success.
Strong franchises had that advantage.
Meanwhile, A24's situation was different.
They had just experienced a historic moment after sweeping the Academy Awards in March 2023 with Everything Everywhere All at Once.
However, their 2023 was proving much more complicated.
Especially at the box office. And no matter how much a studio wanted to bet on auteur cinema, risky proposals, and personal projects, it still needed commercial hits to stay afloat.
Their biggest stumble that year had been Beau Is Afraid.
The tragicomedy directed by Ari Aster and starring none other than Joaquin Phoenix had cost $35 million, making it the most expensive production in A24's history up to that point.
Its worldwide gross had barely surpassed $12 million.
A brutal blow for the studio.
That was why, when people in the industry saw Good Will Hunting getting dangerously close to three hundred million dollars at the global box office, it continued to surprise them.
That was not easy to achieve at all and even less so with a drama.
It was not a superhero movie.
It was not a sequel.
It was not low-budget horror with an explosive return.
It was a prestige drama released in the middle of summer and competing against several blockbusters, including The Flash, which was already turning into a major failure.
And yet, it kept adding millions week after week.
Neon, for its part, continued celebrating as if they had won the lottery. For an independent distributor like them, smaller than A24, it meant prestige, negotiating power, new relationships, and above all, the certainty that for years they could walk into any meeting and say the same thing: they had distributed Owen Ashford's Good Will Hunting.
That was why A24 was not having a very good year so far. Their first release, and the only one up to that point, had been an absolute failure.
It had not even grossed half of its budget.
Now, in four days, they would be releasing Talk to Me.
They had not produced it themselves, but they had acquired the rights after seeing it at Sundance and recognizing its potential.
It was a horror film.
Maybe it would be the one to give the studio's finances some breathing room again.
By contrast, Blumhouse and Universal were in a much better position. Besides now securing Lights Out, they were still scheduled to release The Exorcist: Believer later that same year.
According to multiple outlets, the company had paid a record-breaking sum, close to four hundred million dollars, to acquire the rights to the franchise and hand it over to Blumhouse.
And that was not all.
They also had Five Nights at Freddy's ready.
Just because of the video game's phenomenon and the fans' expectations, everything suggested it would be another major hit.
Owen still did not know how they would reorganize the calendar once he told them he was accepting their offer.
The plan would be to premiere the film at Fantastic Fest in September and carry out the worldwide release in October, taking advantage of the Halloween season.
It made no sense to have three major horror films from the same distributor going directly against one another during the same period.
They would probably move one of the dates. If, for some reason, they did not, he was not too worried.
He had complete confidence in his film. In the script, in the work Matt had done as director, and in the brilliant performances from Anya, her sister, and her mother.
He sincerely believed that Lights Out was strong enough to compete against anyone.
Even so, his mind kept returning to the same thought.
A24 probably needed that film far more than Universal did.
And perhaps that was why turning them down felt so difficult.
'I think I'm taking this whole indie genius thing a little too seriously...' Owen thought, shaking his head.
Owen was in the living room, sitting on the couch with his laptop resting on his legs.
At one end of the sofa, Jenna's cat was sleeping peacefully, curled up in a little ball, completely unaware of everything.
On the screen, he had a document open.
A new script.
Or rather, a new transcription.
Don't Breathe.
In his previous life, that film had been released in 2016 and, with a budget of barely 10 million dollars, had managed to gross more than $155 million worldwide.
It was a horror and suspense story centered on three young thieves who planned to rob the house of a blind war veteran.
At first, they believed he would be an easy target. But the robbery quickly turned into a nightmare when they discovered that the old man was far more dangerous than he appeared.
Owen remembered enjoying that film a lot.
The tension was constant.
Every scene seemed designed to keep the viewer holding their breath.
He did not plan to act in it. Although he liked it more than Lights Out in certain aspects, the main male role was not attractive enough for him to commit to a shoot of at least a month.
Nor did he plan to sell the script and forget about the project.
His idea was different. To co-produce it with A24.
To propose a deal in which Second Take Films and A24 would produce the film together.
However, Owen's role would be much more discreet.
A silent partner.
An almost passive executive producer.
He did not want to get involved in pre-production, filming, or post-production. His role would be to provide the script and finance half of the budget.
Nothing more.
In other words, he would act as an investor.
He would not sell the script.
He would license it only for that specific co-production.
The idea would be for A24 to put up the other fifty percent of the budget and handle the entire creative and logistical process: hiring the director, assembling the cast, organizing the shoot, covering insurance, supervising the editing, and, finally, taking care of distribution, marketing, and any potential festival run.
For Owen, it was a smart way to start releasing some of the many scripts he had stored in his head thanks to his past life.
He simply could not produce all of them personally.
He did not have the time, and even if he did, not all of them deserved to take center stage on his schedule.
With that model, he could build alliances, strengthen his relationship with independent studios, add prestige if the film performed well, and, if it repeated a success similar to the one from his past life, earn tens of millions of dollars in an almost passive way.
His priority would be Chronicle, for example.
That was a film he did intend to be deeply involved in, both as a producer and as an actor.
For A24, the proposal would be difficult to reject, or so Owen believed.
They would receive a script written by him without having to compete with anyone, with half of the budget already covered, and with considerable freedom to develop the film without him interfering in every decision on set.
Besides, Owen had money sitting in his bank account practically unused.
After deducting taxes, the production expenses for the Black Mirror episodes, a few personal indulgences, and some fairly expensive gifts, such as the Rolls-Royce he had bought for his father, he still had around $21.7 million in liquid assets.
It was not a small amount.
At one point, he had had close to $25.8 million, but after investing ten million in Black Mirror, his available wealth had dropped to roughly fifteen million.
So how had he climbed back above twenty?
YouTube remained a constant source of income. There were months when AdSense alone brought in more than two hundred thousand dollars, and that month, with the vlog alongside Jenna exploding in views, the figure would surely be considerably higher. On top of that, there were sponsorships, commercial deals, and contracts with brands like Rolex, which had increased his income even further.
But the main reason was still: Paranormal Activity.
Literally, his golden goose.
That film had already made him money from every direction: box office, the sale of the IP, digital rentals, and now two new post-theatrical sources that had finally begun depositing his corresponding share.
First, there were Blu-ray and DVD sales.
The film had generated around $15 million in that market, and twenty percent belonged to Owen.
$3 million.
Then came the streaming license.
HBO Max had won the negotiation with A24 and paid $25 million to have the film exclusively for two years.
Owen's share was $5 million.
After taxes, commissions, and all the other unavoidable deductions, those earnings had pushed his liquid net worth back above twenty million.
And all of that still did not include the monstrous box office numbers Good Will Hunting was putting up.
That money would arrive later.
First, the film had to finish its theatrical run. Then would come the reports, the settlements, the percentages, the bureaucracy, and finally the deposit.
But even without that check, Owen was already in a very solid position, with more than $20 million available to use.
And that was taking into account that Black Mirror and Lights Out were already financed.
So when he had to start spending again, it would be on Chronicle, and it was almost certain that by then the money from GWH would probably have already landed in his account.
So he had room to invest.
And that was why he thought of Don't Breathe. He would invest his money in something he understood: cinema.
He had very little interest in getting involved in businesses he did not understand. He did not know enough about capital markets, real estate, or cryptocurrency to start investing large sums of money.
Besides, he had an unfair advantage.
He knew 'Don't Breathe' had worked.
It was not a completely blind bet.
That made it, at least for Owen, a much safer investment than any traditional business.
Owen got up from the sofa and slowly stretched, feeling the tension in his back ease just a little.
'What is she doing?' he thought, as he began walking toward the bedroom.
When he entered, the bedroom seemed empty at first glance. The bed was still perfectly made, and the lights were low.
Owen walked a little farther, toward the area connected to the walk-in closet and the en-suite bathroom.
He passed through the small hallway beside the bedroom, where the built-in wardrobes, mirrors, and a central island for clothes, shoes, and other accessories were located.
And there he saw Jenna standing in front of one of the drawers, taking out clothes.
"What are you doing?" Owen asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms as he looked at her.
"I'm going to take a shower," Jenna replied without turning her head.
Owen nodded slightly.
She usually showered at the end of the day, even if it was already late. After spending hours working, going out, wearing makeup, and changing clothes, she preferred getting into bed feeling clean.
Owen was more the type to shower as soon as he woke up. It helped him start the day. Showering again at night felt excessive to him.
Then a faint smile began to form on his face. He pushed himself off the wall with a small movement and took a couple of steps toward her.
"What do you say I join you?" Owen asked.
Jenna finally looked at him and shook her head, "No, I'm tired."
If the two of them got into the shower together, it probably would not be just a shower.
Owen nodded, not insisting. But as he looked at her more closely, he noticed something in her expression. It was not just tiredness. There was a certain stiffness in her jaw, a strange distance in her tone.
Owen narrowed his eyes slightly, "I might be taking a risk by asking this…" he said carefully. "But are you upset?"
Dinner had gone well.
The episode they watched on Netflix had gone well too.
But at some point during the night, Jenna had become drier with her responses. Nothing too obvious, nothing someone from the outside would immediately notice. But Owen noticed it now as he thought back.
"No," Jenna replied.
The word came out too firm and too fast.
"I'm fine. Why would I be upset with you?" she added.
"Okay, okay. I was just asking. Enjoy your shower," Owen said, raising both hands.
With that, he turned around and left the bedroom, heading back toward the living room.
What he did not see was that, as soon as he disappeared down the hallway, Jenna frowned.
Then she gave a small stomp against the floor, almost childishly, while letting out a restrained huff. She stayed still for a second, staring in the direction Owen had gone.
Then she closed the drawer harder than necessary and headed into the bathroom.
Owen returned to the living room and dropped back onto the couch.
He rested the laptop on his chest, adjusted the screen to a more or less decent angle, and resumed the script for Don't Breathe right where he had left off.
For a while, the only sound in the apartment was the steady tapping of his fingers against the keyboard.
At some point, the cat decided that his lap was the best available place and settled there.
Owen lowered his gaze for barely a second. The animal closed its eyes, satisfied.
He did not move it away, simply kept writing.
Transcribing scripts from his past life was relatively easy thanks to his perfect memory.
He remembered the dialogue identically, and he could recall the film as if he were watching it on a screen whenever he closed his eyes.
The difficult part was not the words.
The difficult part was turning that memory into a real script. Indicating where each scene took place.
Marking when a character entered or exited.
Describing the action in the present tense, clearly, limiting himself to what could be seen and heard on screen.
Adding small parenthetical notes when a line needed a specific nuance, or when a character was doing something while speaking.
Remembering the film was not enough. He had to reconstruct it in cinematic language.
But he had improved compared to the first script he had transcribed, which had been Paranormal Activity.
And there was something strangely pleasant about the process. Time passed quickly, almost without him noticing, as the scenes took shape one after another in the document.
He only stopped when he felt a shadow over him and a gaze.
Owen turned his head.
Jenna was standing beside the sofa, her hair still damp from the shower and wearing comfortable sleep clothes. She was looking at him with an expression that was difficult to read.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Her tone did not sound curious.
"Working on a new idea," Owen replied, without going into too much detail.
"Of course…" Jenna murmured. "Working."
She said it quietly, but not quietly enough for him not to hear.
Then she leaned down, picked up the cat in her arms, and the animal let out a small sound of complaint, clearly annoyed.
"Good night," Jenna said.
And, without adding anything else, she turned around and walked toward the bedroom with the cat in her arms.
'What…?'
Owen stayed there watching her, confused.
That comment had sounded far too much like criticism.
For a few seconds, he remained still. Then he set the laptop aside, got up from the sofa, and followed her into the bedroom.
"What happened?" Owen asked as he entered. "That sounded like you're upset about something."
"I'm not upset about anything," Jenna said, as she placed the cat on the bed.
Owen looked at her for a second. Then he let out a small sigh, "Come on, Jenna. We're not like that."
She did not answer.
Owen took a couple of steps into the room.
"One of the things that works best between us is that we don't go in circles forever when something bothers us. If we're going to live together, I think that becomes even more important. We can't start keeping things to ourselves and pretending everything is fine."
Jenna pressed her lips together slightly. She seemed to agree.
At least until Owen mentioned living together. Then she made a small grimace.
Owen, who had had a week to think about Jenna's proposal to live together, had accepted.
The advantages far outweighed the doubts. Besides, he had already confirmed that they were compatible living under the same roof.
In practice, in fact, they already did.
Jenna spent more time at his apartment than at her own, and she had even moved her cat there so she would not leave it alone.
Besides, moving into a house, with the money they were both currently spending on rent, would allow them to get a much better place.
"That's the problem," Jenna said.
Owen frowned slightly, not understanding.
"You said yes," she continued. "But since then, it's like the subject disappeared. I sent you houses, links, options, areas to look at, and you didn't look at anything."
Owen raised an eyebrow.
It was true that Jenna had been sending him rental house links and comparisons of different areas since Friday. He had glanced at them, without really stopping to analyze them properly or giving her a concrete opinion.
"It's only been three days…" Owen commented.
Three days in the middle of an overly hectic weekend.
It was not as if he had agreed to live together only to then spend weeks or months avoiding the subject, as if he had regretted it or was looking for an excuse not to take that step.
From his point of view, he simply had not had any real time to sit down and calmly look through houses.
Jenna let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"You're right. I'm exaggerating. Sorry for being excited about it," she said, looking away from him, as if she considered the conversation over and was getting ready to go to bed.
That was when Owen understood that maybe the problem was not the time.
It was the feeling.
He remembered the way Jenna had reacted when he said yes to living together. The smile, the brightness in her eyes, an excitement she had tried and failed to contain.
Then, for three days, she had been the only one looking at houses, comparing neighborhoods, and sending options.
He, on the other hand, had barely reacted. Maybe he had been more insensitive than he thought.
Tonight, Sunday night, he could have brought up the subject and gone through everything she had sent him, but he had not. He had been doing something else.
Owen sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, "I'm sorry," he said. "I swear I'm excited too. Why don't we look at houses now?"
Jenna looked at him. Her expression was no longer as hard, though there was still some irritation there.
"There's no need. It's late," she replied. "If you want to keep working on whatever you were doing, go ahead."
Owen shook his head.
"Come on. I remember some of the options you sent me." He paused briefly, searching through the images he had only glanced at. "There was one in Studio City that wasn't bad. Lots of light, a backyard, a huge kitchen… and another one in Los Feliz that had potential."
Los Feliz was a charming, bohemian neighborhood in the hills of Los Angeles. Located between Hollywood and Silver Lake, it stood out for its walkability, historic architecture, and creative atmosphere.
Jenna raised an eyebrow, surprised that he had at least retained something.
Owen gently squeezed her hand, "We can start seeing houses in person this week and choose one before the week is over."
"That fast?" she asked.
Jenna had expected the whole process to take much longer, especially after the little interest he had shown over the past few days.
"Yes," Owen replied. "This is my last week of San Junipero rehearsals. It's the perfect time before I have to start filming more than eight hours a day. We can choose the house, pay the first month or whatever we need to pay, and leave everything settled."
Owen had more free time now.
Rehearsals took up between four and six hours a day at most, but that would not last long. This was the final week before filming began the following Monday.
Luckily, everything was planned in Los Angeles. He would not have to take a flight or move to another state.
Jenna stayed silent, looking at him, until she finally nodded.
"Fine…" she said, getting up from the bed. "I'll be right back."
It did not take her long to return with her laptop.
She lay back down on the bed, and he did the same.
They both leaned against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder, while Jenna opened the computer and searched for the folder of links she had been gathering all weekend.
The cat, still somewhat offended by all the movement, settled between the two of them.
Owen noticed something on Jenna's laptop and raised an eyebrow.
"Did you seriously cover the camera with tape?" he asked, amused.
"Yes," Jenna replied, without the slightest trace of shame. "After reading your Shut Up and Dance script, I got a little paranoid."
Owen let out a soft laugh and did not argue.
He understood her.
When he had watched that episode in his first life, something similar had happened to him. He remembered perfectly that uncomfortable feeling of looking at his computer camera as if, all of a sudden, some hacker could be watching him without him knowing.
He was sure that when the series premiered, it would cause the same reaction in thousands of people.
Probably millions.
That was how they began looking through houses.
They spent almost an hour comparing options. The location, the price, the privacy, the distance to the studios, the size of the kitchen, the number of rooms, among other things.
They had already decided it would be a house.
Not another apartment.
They did not want to keep sharing a building, hallways, elevators, or walls that were too close to curious neighbors.
They also began marking the options worth visiting in person and checking schedules to book appointments during the week.
When they finished, Jenna closed the laptop and rested her head near Owen's neck.
"What's your schedule like this week?" she asked quietly.
"Not too busy," Owen replied. "Rehearsals, signing with Universal for the distribution of Lights Out, and not much else." He paused briefly, and a smile appeared on his face. "Oh, right. I also have a meeting with the director of The Chair. He replied to me a little while ago."
For a moment, Owen had thought Curry Barker was going to ignore him.
After almost three days without a response, it would not have been that strange.
But it was also understandable. It had been the weekend, and the guy had his short film screening at an important festival, so he had probably been too busy to properly check his email.
"Mm…" Jenna murmured.
"Oh, and I'll also go with Sarah to her second casting round for Agnes," Owen added.
Sarah had had her first in-person audition the previous Thursday and, shortly afterward, received the news that she had made it to the next stage.
The second round would take place this coming week.
From what Owen knew thanks to Jenna, who had all the information as an executive producer, the casting process for Agnes was divided into three major stages.
The first had been massive. Almost a thousand actresses had submitted self-tapes.
Nothing in person. Just recorded videos and selected scenes. From there, the casting directors had created a much shorter list, which ended up consisting of forty-five actresses.
Sarah, thanks to being with CAA, had managed to skip that first stage and enter directly into the second round, alongside the group of already preselected actresses.
It was normal.
Owen knew that well. He had already taken part in enough casting processes as a producer to understand how it worked. If an actress came backed by a strong agency, with interested representatives and a minimally validated résumé, the usual thing was to give her direct access to a more serious round.
Not out of blatant favoritism.
But out of professional diplomacy and respect for the actor or actress's career path.
After all, not every aspiring actor entered the process from the same place.
An actor with important credits, good reviews, or proven experience in film and television was not usually placed in the same first stage as hundreds of unknowns submitting self-tapes. Not because it was impossible, but because it would be a waste of time for everyone.
In Owen's case, the difference was even more extreme.
If he had to audition for a role tomorrow, no one with any common sense would make him record a generic self-tape alongside five hundred anonymous candidates.
He had won Best Actor at Cannes. Asking him to do that would almost be an insult.
With Sarah, something similar was happening, though on a much smaller scale.
She was not an established star, nor did she have Owen's industrial weight, but she already had serious representation, visible credits, and an agency capable of backing her talent in front of casting directors.
Sarah had therefore started in that second stage, where she did have an in-person audition, and she had passed.
According to what Jenna told him, out of those exact forty-five actresses, only ten had been selected.
They were not dragging things out.
They wanted a fast, aggressive process, with major eliminations at every stage.
That meant Sarah was already in the stage before the final.
At that new audition, Jenna would be present as a producer. It would not yet be a chemistry test with her, but it would be a much more serious evaluation.
Out of those ten actresses, they would choose only the three best, and only then would the final stage arrive, where there would be a chemistry test with Jenna.
Eventually, they went to sleep.
It was already far too late, considering how early they both had to get up the next day.
And that was how Owen's week went.
He continued with his San Junipero rehearsals alongside Sadie and Kogonada, while Joe Keery and the entire Shut Up and Dance team officially began filming on Monday in Los Angeles.
It was a contained shoot, planned to last less than a month.
He also closed the deal with Universal for the distribution of Lights Out, with the help of CAA's lawyers and Larry, who continued handling that kind of matter as his personal manager.
In addition, he had the virtual meeting with Curry Barker.
Owen was not going to make him go all the way to the Second Take Films offices just for a first exploratory conversation.
It was a short call. Barely twenty minutes over Zoom. Quick, cordial, and straight to the point.
It left him with a good feeling. Curry did not seem like someone who had simply gotten lucky once with a viral short film. He knew how to talk about cinema, and he understood the technical language.
He was not just a comedy-sketch YouTuber trying to improvise a career as a director.
There was something serious there.
That was why Owen ended the call by giving him a fairly clear sign that they would be speaking again soon.
By then, he was already practically convinced that Curry could be the right director for Second Take Films' next short film.
On the other side of the screen, Curry ended the call with his heart racing.
He had not walked away with a signed contract.
Nor with any money.
But he had managed to leave behind a flawless professional impression.
'Whew...' Curry thought, wiping sweat from his forehead that he had not even realized was there.
He had spent twenty minutes speaking one-on-one with the guy the entire industry was talking about.
And luckily, he had managed to prove that The Chair had not been an accident, that his direction had intention, technique, and judgment, and that behind the humor of his YouTube channel there was someone capable of thinking through a scene with true cinematic essence.
Besides, there was Owen's final comment.
That "we'll talk again soon" had not sounded like an empty courtesy phrase.
Curry could not help smiling as he remembered it.
It sounded like a promise.
If Second Take Films hired him to direct a short film, his name would appear in the credits of a channel with millions of viewers and an audience that followed every release as if it were an event.
He doubted it would be a feature film. It would seem far too risky to trust a director who had just come from YouTube and only had one short film.
But even so, appearing in the credits of a video on Owen's channel would make him far more recognizable to both the general public and the industry.
Most importantly, if he did a good job, he could earn Owen's trust.
Then, perhaps later on, showing him Obsession would not feel so out of nowhere, and the chances that Owen would actually read it, and even consider it, would be much higher.
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Link: https://[email protected]/Nathe07