POV Daniel Reeves
Today is an important day for the film company I've been working at for about six years now.
Neon.
It doesn't sound like much time. But it is, especially when you consider the company was founded in 2017. Out of the forty-seven employees we have today, I'm, without a doubt, among the most senior. Enough to have grown alongside the company. Enough to have direct proximity to Tom and Tim, the founders.
At Neon, we specialize in film distribution. We don't produce or co-produce, yet, although it's one of the next steps being discussed behind closed doors. Our domain is different: acquisition, distribution, and campaigns. And in that, we do quite well.
In 2018, we distributed Three Identical Strangers, which went on to win the BAFTA for Best Documentary. Also Border, nominated for Best Film at the European Film Awards and for Best European Film at the Goyas.
A year later, 2019 was our best year, no debate. There were several important titles, several nominations, but one stood above all: Parasite.
The Korean film grossed over $250 million worldwide on a budget of under $15 million. But the real impact wasn't just financial. It was historic.
At the Oscars, it became the first non-English-language film to win Best Picture. It didn't just win in the international category, where it was expected, it broke the barrier and took the main award. Something that, until then, had been exclusive territory of American cinema.
That said, there's an important nuance: Parasite wasn't originally ours. It was first distributed in Korea, and then we acquired the U.S. rights. That's our game. Spot it before everyone else.
My job fits exactly there. I'm a creative and development executive. I analyze films from a narrative standpoint, identify potential in awards, critical reception, and conversation. It's one of the highest positions within the company. And, in part, I'm there because of Parasite.
I was the one who found it at the American Film Market in 2018, before it went to Cannes and won the Palme d'Or.
The rest was a combination of timing, conviction, and a marketing campaign aggressive enough to turn it into more than just a foreign film. In the U.S., it ended up surpassing $50 million.
Although the post-Parasite period wasn't what we expected.
2020–2021 was a weak stretch. We didn't really have anything strong. Not in awards, not in prestige, where we usually operate, and not commercially either. Just a transitional year.
In 2021–2022, we started to recover a bit. We had Flee, an animated film with strong festival and awards momentum. It reached the Oscars with three nominations, something quite rare in itself, since it competed across different categories, though it didn't win any. Still, it brought us back into the conversation.
There was also Spencer, a psychological biographical drama starring Kristen Stewart, yes, the same one from Twilight. She delivered an excellent performance. The film accumulated major nominations: Golden Globes, Critics, and even the Oscars for Best Actress. She didn't win, but it helped put us back on the map.
Then came 2022–2023. That's when we came back strong. We secured distribution for Triangle of Sadness, a satirical black comedy written and directed by Ruben Östlund. We handled its U.S. distribution.
The downside? We discovered it a bit late, after it had already won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, so we had to enter a bidding war to secure it. But we got it.
At the Oscars that just happened, it landed three major nominations: Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay.
Ruben, the director and writer, is truly talented. Swedish. This was his first English-language film, and he managed to break into two major categories as both director and writer.
We didn't win any of the three.
But that doesn't take away from the film's achievement. Besides, winning at Cannes and at the Oscars doesn't always go hand in hand.
Now, a new year. By the end of it, the major awards will come again, the festivals, and in just a few months, Cannes once more.
And we still don't have that film. The one you see and instantly know can carry the entire year.
That's why today mattered.
Because maybe today is the day we find it.
And the timing is good. Before Cannes, we could lock it in. It's always better to get ahead, secure a film before it explodes at Cannes or any other festival. You get better terms, more leverage, and more time to plan the campaign.
Though in this case, "better terms" is debatable. Because this isn't a normal situation.
This is Good Will Hunting by Owen Ashford.
Twenty-one years old. He financed the film himself, around twelve million, according to reports, without hesitation. Actor, writer, and producer. And on top of that, owner of his own production company. He finances and decides everything himself.
An anomalous combination that, for some reason, works.
At this point, almost everyone in the industry knows his story. In less than two years, he's built a career that follows no rules. A few days ago, he won the Oscar for Best Live Action Short.
He has two box office hits. Written and starring himself. With solid critical reception. Even Paranormal Activity, which, being horror and found footage, normally doesn't get that kind of support.
Good Will Hunting is his second major self-financed project. And from the very beginning, it's been under scrutiny. It's not normal to risk over ten million of your own money on your third feature script. It's not normal how quickly he assembled pre-production, shot, and finished the film.
And it's not normal the cast he managed to secure: Ethan Hawke, Bryan Cranston, Jacob Elordi…
But what really set off all the alarms was something else.
At the Oscars, on ABC, live on air, he said that the film's next stop was Cannes Film Festival. And he said it with absolute certainty. No hesitation. As if it weren't a gamble, but a fact.
That was the moment people really started looking closely. And even more when he stepped onto the stage and walked away with the Oscar. Which is exactly why this won't be an easy negotiation. It's clear we're not alone in this.
In a few minutes, we'll be heading to the offices of Second Take Films. The studio of this… anomalous kid. I'll admit, I'm curious to meet him.
Along with me are Ryan, head of acquisitions, and Wendy from marketing. We're going to watch the first cut.
Expectations for this first cut are high. Even for me, and I don't get excited easily.
Though there's a part of me that stays cautious. Not skeptical, but grounded enough not to get swept away by the noise.
Because Cannes isn't easy. It's not enough to be good.
I've seen Owen's second film, The Spectacular Now. It works. Over $23 million at the box office and still climbing, and it hasn't even opened internationally yet. Narratively, it's solid: clear arcs, well-defined characters, and natural chemistry.
Critically, it's doing well too.
But it's not Cannes. Not at the level of competing for the Palme d'Or. I don't see it there. Maybe in a secondary section of the festival, but not in the main competition. Not at that masterpiece level.
That forces me to be more cautious.
At the same time, I can't ignore the context. This kid just won an Oscar. A short film, yes, but at a level high enough to win. And this is his third script. Logically, there should be growth in his writing.
And above all, what convinces me most is his confidence.
No one goes on national television, at the Oscars, and says their next stop is Cannes unless they have something real in their hands.
Unless they're an idiot, and Owen Ashford doesn't seem like one.
Finally, it was time. We got into Ryan's car, me in the passenger seat, Wendy in the back, and headed toward Second Take Films' offices. The drive was short, barely ten minutes.
On the way, we talked about everything surrounding the film.
Ryan, as head of acquisitions, is far less of a cinephile than I am. His approach is more analytical. He looks at numbers, market potential, whether this can become a real business. Because at the end of the day, we need films to work. Otherwise, the studio doesn't survive.
Wendy, on the other hand, has a different angle. She's young, barely thirty-two, she likes cinema, but her mind is elsewhere: positioning and campaign. How to sell the film.
We arrived.
Inside, Second Take Films wasn't what I expected from such a new studio. It was too solid. We walked in, and a receptionist greeted us naturally.
It didn't take long before we met Owen. With him were Derek, a director already known in the industry, and Lianne, the producer. I recognized her instantly. She had worked on Manchester by the Sea.
Seeing those two, people with that level of experience, something else clicked for me.
People like Derek or Lianne don't just agree to work on a mid-to-low budget indie film for no reason. They don't need to.
If they're here, it's because they saw potential.
That made me trust, just a little more, what I was about to see.
We introduced ourselves, exchanged a few formal words, and without wasting time, they guided us toward the screening room.
As we walked, I couldn't help but observe the offices again. Everything was carefully done. Well designed. Modern furniture, clean lighting, open spaces. There was even a recreation area.
I glanced at Owen and thought, How much money did he pour into setting all this up like this?
Then a display case caught my attention. There they were, the Oscars they'd won for Paperman. And alongside them, other awards from Sundance.
A studio founded barely a year ago already had those kinds of accolades. It felt like it was moving faster than Neon, which was founded in 2017. Faster than someone like Ruben Östlund, whom I considered exceptional and talented.
The difference is, Ruben is forty-nine. Owen is twenty-one.
We finally entered the screening room. It was rectangular and built for exactly what it needed. Capacity for around ten people at most. More than enough, we were six.
Two rows of comfortable seats facing a fixed screen that easily exceeded one hundred inches. The walls, charcoal gray, acoustically treated.
No unnecessary decoration. Just the essentials. A space made to watch a film the way it's meant to be seen.
Building something like that isn't cheap. Between the screen, sound system, and acoustic treatment, you're easily looking at over ten thousand dollars.
We took our seats.
We exchanged a few final words, each settling into place, and then the moment came.
"Thanks for coming. Let's just watch it," Owen said, pressing play on the system.
'Let's see what you've got,' I thought, leaning back into the seat, anticipation sharp under my skin.
I'll admit it, I was curious. Mostly because I knew almost nothing about the film.
They hadn't given us a synopsis. Normally, you'd at least have a basic idea, a line to ground you. But not here. We only knew the title, the genre, and the main cast. You could infer things, sure, but nothing concrete. So this time, there was no safety net. I was going to discover the story like any other viewer.
The film began.
In the first scene, Owen appeared, playing the protagonist, Will, sitting in a chair, reading. His expression was focused, almost cut off from the world. The apartment left no room for doubt: a small, run-down studio, low-income. A mattress tossed in the corner without even a frame.
A few seconds later, an exterior shot confirmed it. The house, old, worn down. Then the character played by Jacob Elordi showed up to pick him up. You could immediately tell they were neighborhood friends, lifelong.
The story then shifted to a university, and the contrast was immediate. The character played by Ethan Hawke appeared teaching, carrying a presence that commanded attention without raising his voice.
'So Ethan's role is a professor at a prestigious university,' I thought.
The professor ended the class with more than just an assignment. He told them there was a math problem written on the hallway board, very advanced, difficult. They could go take a look, try to solve it, and if anyone succeeded, their name would be published in several places, including the prestigious MIT journal.
Shortly after, in the hallway, several students gathered around the board, discussing, trying to figure out how to approach it. And while they did, almost like part of the background, Will appeared cleaning the floor. He passed by the problem casually, glanced at it for a few seconds, and kept going.
Later, in another scene, Will was at home, standing in front of a mirror, writing. Equations. And without anyone needing to say it, it was clearly that same problem. He worked through it with unsettling ease, as if he wasn't solving something complex, but simply organizing something he already understood.
The next day, back at the university, he repeated his routine. Cleaning the floor in front of the board, but this time, he paused a little longer. Looked around. Then started writing. He finished solving it right there, unnoticed, and left as if nothing had happened.
Professor Lambeau couldn't identify the person responsible among his graduate students, which only fueled his curiosity. So he raised the stakes. He put up a new problem, harder. One that, in theory, should be impossible even for MIT graduate students.
Will began solving it, but this time, he was seen by Lambeau and his teaching assistant. He ran.
As the film went on, I found myself leaning forward slightly without realizing it, completely absorbed in what I was watching. I had brought a pen and a small notebook to jot things down, like I always did, but in that moment, I had completely forgotten about them.
It was obvious Will wasn't just a genius.
He was also a problem.
In an earlier scene, almost in the middle of that intellectual discovery, the film showed a completely different side. Will, with his friends, ran into a former middle school classmate and his group, someone who had bullied him back then.
It ended in a fight. One that Will and his friends won. The problem was the police showed up, and in the heat of the moment, Will assaulted an officer.
So, while Lambeau was discovering that the janitor cleaning his hallways was, in fact, a mathematical genius, Will was being sent to court.
Lambeau attended and watched. The sentence wasn't surprising. With a record of violent behavior piling up, the judge didn't hesitate: prison.
Fortunately for Will, Lambeau visited him in jail and arranged his release under two conditions: that he study mathematics under his supervision, and that he attend therapy.
Will agreed reluctantly. Especially to the therapy.
And the therapists came and went. One after another. Will dismantled all of them the same way, with superior intelligence, mockery, and sarcasm. It wasn't that he couldn't open up. It was that he didn't want to. And he seemed to enjoy pushing them to their limits until they were the ones who walked away first.
Until Lambeau, seeing that none of them worked, turned to someone different.
Sean Maguire.
An old acquaintance. Former college roommate. Now a psychology professor at Bunker Hill.
The first session between Will and Sean, played by Bryan Cranston, surprised me more than I expected.
Sean didn't play along.
He had a different kind of presence. Calm and contained. The kind of calm that isn't weakness, but the opposite. Will tried to provoke him from the very first moment they met. He criticized his books, the things in his office.
But Sean didn't react.
Until Will focused on a painting Sean himself had made.
And Will crossed the line.
[Maybe you married the wrong woman?] Will asked, drawing a conclusion from the kind of painting Sean had done.
[Maybe you should watch what you say,] Sean replied.
It wasn't the same tone. It was no longer that relaxed calm from before. There was a clear warning now.
Will turned his head slightly.
He had hit the mark.
[Careful there, chief. Okay?] Sean added.
Will didn't respond. He looked back at the painting, as if he might let it go. But no. It was obvious he wouldn't. It wasn't just curiosity. It was strategy. Push. Provoke. Make the other person react so they wouldn't want another session with him.
[Well, that's it then, right?] Will continued.
[You married the wrong woman? What happened? Did she leave you? Was she sleeping… with some other guy?]
I couldn't help but think about the protagonist Owen had built, and was portraying so exceptionally well, far better than his performance as Sutter in The Spectacular Now.
Will was arrogant. If you only saw how he treated the therapists, he generated almost immediate rejection. But then you saw him with his friends, with Skylar, who had only appeared once so far, but it was a great scene, and that image broke.
You could sympathize with Will despite the way he acted like an idiot with the therapists, or how aggressive and delinquent he could be.
But I couldn't follow that train of thought for long.
Because suddenly, everything changed.
The calm man, the one who seemed to move with unshakable composure, moved fast toward Will.
Before Will could react, he grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
The transformation was immediate. His face wasn't the same anymore. There was real anger there, contained throughout the entire scene, released in an instant.
Will's eyes widened in surprise as Sean's hand tightened firmly around his neck.
[If you ever disrespect my wife again, I will end you. I swear to God I will end you. You understand me, chief?] Sean said.
'Wow… I didn't expect that,' I thought.
Despite that first session ending in the worst possible way, Sean's character didn't disappear. He wasn't just another name on the list of therapists Will had managed to scare off.
On the contrary, Sean stayed. And not only that, he set the date for the next session with Lambeau.
That's when one of the most memorable scenes I've seen in years came.
Will showed up for the second session, probably expecting to repeat the same game. But Sean told him to follow him.
They ended up in a park, by a lake. A picturesque scene with excellent cinematography. Just enough snow to accompany the setting without making it feel cold.
They sat on a bench, watching the swans.
Will started the same way. Mocking. Testing. Throwing out comments with that mix of sarcasm and superiority that had already become his default mechanism.
But then Sean started speaking, what seemed like a monologue that made Will fall silent and actually listen.
What he said shifted the entire tone of the scene.
He began to dismantle Will without attacking him. He spoke about things Will thought he understood, but didn't, not at all.
Within those words, something was revealed that hadn't been known until then. Sean's wife had died. Cancer. And he had spent the last two years of her life taking care of her, being by her side, knowing exactly how it was all going to end.
That's why he had reacted the way he did earlier.
For the first time, Will said nothing.
[You don't know about real loss, because it only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself.]
The line lingered.
I repeated it in my head a few seconds after hearing it, almost without realizing.
And without thinking too much about it, I wrote in the notebook I had brought: Oscar scene.
It wasn't an exaggeration. What surprised me most was how Bryan Cranston, with a beard, glasses, no visible theatrics, managed to convey all of that. He wasn't performing big. He wasn't chasing a moment. And yet, it was a scene with enough weight to make me think he could actually win the Oscar.
'I shouldn't rush to conclusions… let's see how the character develops,' I thought, steadying myself a bit. The film was affecting me more than I expected.
In that scene, Sean became my favorite character.
From that point on, Will began to open up little by little. The relationship between them grew organically, without forcing anything. And the chemistry was incredible.
The same applied to the rest of the characters.
Chuckie, Sean, Skylar, even Lambeau. They all fit.
Will, at the center of all of it, was becoming more and more relatable.
I realized I was no longer analyzing it. I wasn't thinking about structure, pacing, or awards potential anymore.
I was just watching the film.
And when that happens, when you stop thinking like an executive and start reacting like a viewer, it means something is working.
The movie moved forward without me noticing.
And at some point, I lost count of how many scenes had surprised me.
There were too many.
Too many great lines, and performances strong enough to carry every moment. And then another scene came, one that would definitely land in my top three.
[What do you want to know!?] Will asked, his voice raised, his face hardened.
[The truth,] Skylar replied.
[That I don't have twelve brothers!?] Will snapped. [That I'm a fucking orphan!?]
[You don't want to hear that!]
[I didn't know…] Skylar tried to say, her voice barely audible, overwhelmed by the intensity.
Will wasn't listening anymore. [You don't want to know they used to put cigarettes out on me when I was a kid!]
[I didn't know…]
[This wasn't surgery!] Will said, pointing at his abdomen. [That son of a bitch stabbed me.]
[You don't want to hear that shit, Skylar!] he said again, pointing at her. His neck was tense, veins visible, his face flushed with anger.
[I do want to hear it,] Skylar replied, her eyes wet. [So I can help you.]
[Help me!?] Will repeated, almost incredulous. [What the hell? Do I have a sign on my back that says "save me"!?]
He stared at her. [Do I look like I need that?]
[No!] Skylar answered, her voice breaking. [I just want to be with you.]
She stepped closer and placed her hands on his face, trying to steady him.
[Don't lie to me!] he said, roughly pushing her hands away.
[I love you!]
[Don't lie to me!] he repeated, completely out of control now.
He grabbed her by the arms and shoved her back until she hit the wall.
[It's not a lie! I love you!]
[Don't lie to me!] he shouted again, and this time his fist slammed into the wall, right next to Emma's face. He missed her by inches.
There was a brief silence, and Skylar began to cry.
I was still processing the scene.
Because what Owen achieved there had nothing to do with anything I had seen from him before.
I had seen Paperman.
I had seen Paranormal Activity
And above all, The Spectacular Now, where he had already shown range, where it was already clear he wasn't a limited actor.
This was something else.
The anger didn't feel acted. That expression, that mix of rage and something more broken underneath, was too real.
Without realizing it, I picked up my notebook again.
I wrote almost automatically: Oscar scene: Owen.
I thought the film might slow down after that.
It didn't.
A scene between Will and Chuckie at the construction site followed. A conversation that started simple and turned into something much deeper. That's where Jacob Elordi left me speechless. I had already liked his performance as the neighborhood friend, but here, he won me over.
'Damn… another incredible scene,' I thought.
He broke out of that heartthrob typecasting. This film would definitely help people see him differently.
Then came another scene, the one that hit me the hardest.
"It's not your fault."
A simple line. Repeated. Over and over. And yet, it worked. Until Will finally broke, collapsing into tears as he embraced Sean.
I have to say, it's one of the most realistic cries I remember ever seeing in a film.
This was, without a doubt, another scene that could carry the film into contention at any kind of awards or film festival.
The movie began to approach its ending almost without me noticing.
Will's friends gifted him a car they had rebuilt for his twenty-first birthday. A simple gesture, but one that showed how much they cared about him.
After that, Will leaves a letter for Sean, explaining that he's going to California to find Skylar.
Then a brief scene of Chuckie going to Will's house to pick him up, like always, but no one answers.
It takes Chuckie a few seconds to realize it, and he smiles to himself. Finally, his friend left. No goodbyes. No explanations. Exactly how he wanted it to happen.
The film closed with Will driving toward California to meet Skylar.
The screen faded to black.
The movie was over.
The room fell into absolute silence.
A silence meant for us to process what we had just seen. My expectations had been exceeded. In every way.
Direction.
Performances.
Screenplay.
Music.
Cinematography.
Character chemistry.
There wasn't a clear weak point.
A few seconds later, I became aware of where we were. This wasn't a theater. Not an anonymous room full of strangers. This was a private screening. A business meeting.
I turned my head slightly.
Wendy was still staring at the black screen, motionless. As if she were still watching something there. Her eyes looked slightly glossy, though she didn't seem to realize it.
Then I looked at Ryan.
His expression was harder to read. But he nodded faintly, almost imperceptibly, several times. As if he were already putting together a plan in his head.
Then I looked at Owen.
This guy wasn't exaggerating. When he said his film should go to Cannes Film Festival, he wasn't bluffing.
Now I believed him too.
What surprised me most was his growth as a writer. Without a doubt, this was on another level compared to what he had done before.
But even that wasn't what caught my attention the most.
His performance was.
The best in the film, alongside Bryan Cranston.
What he did here was a leap. The kind that completely changes perception.
To me, this was almost a guaranteed Oscar nomination. Winning it, that was another conversation. But being there, among the names, truly competing, that, I could see.
And that would place him in a very rare category: being under 25 and earning a nomination for Best Actor.
Like Timothée Chalamet when he received his first nomination for Call Me by Your Name at twenty-two.
Only here, Owen would be doing it at twenty-one, and with a film he made himself.
"So, what did you think?" Owen asked, breaking the silence just as the lights came back on.
I snapped out of it.
Usually, after a screening like this, we, the ones evaluating, are the first to speak. But this time, none of us had said a word. We had stayed silent too long, each lost in our own thoughts.
"Impressive," I finally said, the first thing that came to mind.
And, as always happened when I genuinely liked something, I continued.
"Incredible performances. It starts from a simple premise, the misunderstood genius, but it manages to be moving, inspiring, and above all, convincing. It never feels forced. The characters—"
Ryan cleared his throat lightly, and I stopped.
This wasn't a conversation between cinephiles. This wasn't the moment to dissect the film like we were in a debate.
"In short: great film, and excellent work," I said, correcting course, looking at Owen, Derek, and Lianne.
All three nodded.
"Yes," Ryan added in a more measured tone, "it was very engaging. I really liked it."
Wendy didn't say anything, but she nodded several times. Her expression made it clear. She didn't need to speak.
After that, we moved to a conference room.
It still wasn't time for offers, or to talk about money.
Just questions, to understand the ground. How the process had been. What they were looking for. What their vision for the film was. Among other things.
A conversation that lasted about twenty minutes.
We said our goodbyes, told them we'd be in touch soon, and left the building.
We got into Ryan's car to head back to our offices.
"This can compete in the official selection at the Cannes Film Festival," Ryan said as he started the engine.
"Without a doubt," I replied, leaning back in the passenger seat.
"And it's completely marketable!" Wendy added from the back, a smile she wasn't even trying to hide.
I understood her excitement.
In marketing, we rarely get something like this in our hands. Most of the films we distribute are more auteur-driven, more festival-oriented. The kind that works with critics, but doesn't always connect with general audiences.
Cases like Parasite aren't the norm.
At the box office, we usually operate in moderate ranges. Sometimes low ones. But this, this was an accessible, emotional drama. The kind that connects without requiring you to be a cinephile.
And on top of that, it could compete at festivals and awards, while also selling. That combination doesn't come around often.
During the drive back to the office, interestingly, we didn't talk strategy. Not right away. No one mentioned how we'd explain it to Tom and Tim, or how we'd structure an offer, or even how we'd position it internally.
We talked about the film.
Not as executives, but as viewers.
Ryan said his favorite scene was Sean's speech by the lake. The therapist's words had completely caught him off guard.
Wendy loved Skylar. She wasn't that familiar with Emma Watson, and thought she was fantastic. The performance, the naturalness, and the chemistry with Will, everything.
I nodded.
Three performances with real nomination potential in the same film is abnormal. Lead actor, supporting actor, and supporting actress, that already tells you a lot about the level of the film.
As for me, if I had to choose, the scene that impacted me the most wasn't the bench scene. Not even the "It's not your fault" moment, which was probably the most obvious in terms of awards.
It was Will's fight with Skylar.
Or rather, Will's explosion.
That's how we went on, jumping from scene to scene, comparing moments, recalling details. There were no hierarchies in that conversation. We weren't acquisitions, marketing, and development.
We were just three people who had just walked out of a screening and needed to talk about what we had seen.
When we arrived at the building, the shift was immediate. No one had to say anything. We got out of the car and walked straight inside, cutting through the main hallway without stopping.
We went directly to Tim's office.
Ryan, who already had familiarity and was friends with Tim, walked in without even knocking.
Besides Tim, Tom was there, along with a studio lawyer I immediately recognized.
We interrupted whatever they had been discussing.
The three of them looked at us, slightly surprised by the abrupt entrance. But that surprise didn't last long. It only took a second, a quick exchange of looks, for them to understand this wasn't just any screening we were coming back from.
It was obvious they knew where we had gone.
And our faces didn't help hide anything.
"So," Tim said, leaning back slightly in his chair, a sideways smile forming, "the indie genius wasn't exaggerating when he said his film should go to Cannes, huh?"
"Not even a little," I answered without hesitation.
And that's when it began.
Ryan spoke first. No unnecessary embellishments. He talked about the potential.
Then I followed. I focused on the creative side. The performances. Why this wasn't just a good film, but something that could carry an entire campaign.
Wendy closed, speaking about marketing and the reach the film could have. Why this time it wasn't just a prestige bet.
They didn't interrupt. They listened. And as we went on, their expressions grew more serious, more attentive than ever.
When we finished, there was a brief silence.
Tim exchanged a quick glance with Tom.
And then, without hesitation, Tom spoke.
"We have to get that film."
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