The door opened, revealing Matt.
He closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Owen.
"Hey," Owen greeted without immediately looking up, keeping his fingers typing on the keyboard, "How's post going?"
The question, of course, referred to the current state of Lights Out's post-production.
"Good. We'll have the movie completely finished by Wednesday, August 2," Matt replied, letting out a slight smile of satisfaction.
Owen paused his hands for a moment and nodded slowly. "Faster than expected," he murmured to himself.
In the initial projections, they had estimated finishing the final cut within the first ten days of August, aiming more toward the 8th or the 10th.
Getting it done earlier was excellent news.
As for Owen, over the past few weeks, his time in the editing room had been practically nonexistent. He had delegated one hundred percent of the day-to-day work to Matt and the team of technicians.
The pattern in the post-production phases he had experienced so far remained the same.
Owen's involvement during that phase followed a very steep downward curve.
It had been that way with Paranormal Activity, Good Will Hunting, the first episode of Black Mirror, and now it was repeating itself with Lights Out.
His effort was concentrated almost exclusively in the first few weeks. Then, as the project entered more technical stages, his presence diminished drastically.
His territory was the initial and intermediate cuts.
That was the exact moment when the perfect memory he had of the films from his past life turned into a gold mine.
Owen carried the ideal footage engraved in his mind, frame by frame.
Whenever the director or editor wavered over which take to choose or where to place a cut, Owen would casually step in.
He would subtly guide them toward the right option, saving them a great deal of costly experimentation time in the editing room.
He didn't do it solely for efficiency. Owen needed to make sure that the soul of the work, that exact rhythm he remembered in his mind, was replicated perfectly in this new reality.
However, once that stage of the edit was over, the remaining work became largely irrelevant to him. Color correction and visual effects polishing were tasks meant for specialists. There was no need for him to be there.
That astonishing insight and intuition for editing had already become a topic of discussion among the few people who had worked with him.
Namely: Matt, Derek, Utah (the director of the first episode of Black Mirror), and the three editors and cutters he had worked with.
Of course, Owen did it diplomatically.
In an industry like Hollywood, no director liked having an actor, no matter if he was the main producer and financier, walk into the editing room and start imposing orders about where a scene should be cut.
Owen had mastered the art of the "suggestion effect" to perfection. He would present his ideas as simple thoughts tossed into the air: "What if we try this angle?"
In the end, once they tested it on the monitor, the result was so sublime that his suggestion ended up being chosen without creating any friction.
Of course, with Matt, his best friend and trusted partner, such diplomatic filters were unnecessary.
"Who do you think will offer the best deal?" Matt asked.
Owen immediately knew he was referring to who would end up securing the distribution rights for Lights Out.
This week, they would have all the offers on the table.
His schedule already had meetings marked with four industry giants interested in the film: A24, Blumhouse, Neon, and Lionsgate.
Four companies that had their differences within the market, but each possessed tremendous prestige and undeniable commercial power.
"I think it'll come down to Lionsgate and Blumhouse," Owen replied after thinking it over for a few seconds, rubbing his chin.
Matt raised an eyebrow, visibly intrigued. "Why not A24?"
As for Neon, neither of them needed much explanation.
Neon was the smallest of the four, and its reputation leaned more toward prestigious films and festivals like Cannes.
In the horror genre, its presence was notably weaker than that of the other three.
Truth be told, Owen had been surprised when they requested a meeting to bid on Lights Out.
However, since he already had a good relationship with them thanks to their distribution of Good Will Hunting, where they had given him an excellent deal, he felt there was no reason to deny them the opportunity to put an offer on the table.
"I think A24 is more focused on elevated horror, you know?" Owen replied, leaning back in his chair. "Lights Out feels more like a Blumhouse or Lionsgate type of project."
Both Blumhouse and Lionsgate possessed enormous experience in horror filmmaking.
Especially the former, whose commercial strength and mass-market horror marketing strategies were exceptionally effective at the box office.
"I agree," Matt nodded, sharing the same opinion.
Even though Matt, as a cinephile, had a deep weakness for A24, he had to admit that Lights Out's potential would be utilized far better under the wing of more commercially oriented corporations.
The concept of elevated horror was a relatively recent term frequently used within the industry to describe more auteur-driven horror films that prioritized psychological development, suffocating atmospheres, and metaphorical subtext over cheap scares or explicit violence.
Paranormal Activity, with its psychological fear-building, silent tension, and focus on the unknown, fit much more comfortably into that category.
Lights Out, on the other hand, was different.
It was more commercial and straightforward. Its premise was built around a primal and universal fear: fear of the dark and the concept of an entity that only exists when the lights go out.
It was a far more dynamic film, packed with scares and tension at every moment.
No matter how much Owen and Matt had improved the script, it still fell into the category of the typical commercial horror films usually produced by Blumhouse or Lionsgate.
They continued talking for a while longer about distribution strategy and the parade of meetings Owen would have over the coming days.
For Owen, the priority was not simply squeezing out the best possible backend box office percentage in the contracts.
His true goal was to find the studio that could guarantee him a massive global release, with the highest possible number of theaters, strong international distribution from day one, and a truly aggressive advertising budget.
Under that logic, the financial muscle of Lionsgate and Blumhouse made them the perfect candidates. A large-scale marketing campaign could mean the astronomical difference between grossing $100 million and climbing all the way to $150 million or more at the global box office.
In the end, that enormous gap generated far more net profit than if independent distributors like Neon or A24 tried to tempt him with an extra 5% in post-theatrical rights.
"With Lionsgate, you already have a prior relationship. Maybe that'll end up tipping the scales," Matt commented, crossing his arms.
Owen nodded.
His first dealings with Lionsgate had taken place during the negotiations in which he sold them the intellectual property rights to Paranormal Activity for more than $40 million.
In addition, Owen had joined The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes as an actor, a major production that Lionsgate would distribute and release in November of that same year.
Of course, in his role as just an actor, he had never met any of the company's top executives on set. Especially not back then, when he was still an unknown actor.
As for Blumhouse, his history with them didn't start from zero either. He had formally met with high-ranking executives on two occasions.
The first was when he was seeking initial distribution for Paranormal Activity.
The second came months later, when they also offered him a deal to purchase the Paranormal Activity IP.
But Owen didn't accept any offer from Blumhouse, as the deals presented by A24 and Lionsgate had seemed far better to him.
"Everything will be decided tomorrow or the day after," Owen said, rubbing his hands together with a gleam in his eyes, unable to resist savoring in advance the success and millions that Lights Out would soon bring him.
Matt couldn't help but laugh, "You sound like a greedy producer," he said with a smile.
"Hey, you're going to get a pretty nice slice too. Remember, you have a percentage of the backend," Owen replied with a slight smile. "How does it feel knowing your net worth is about to surpass a million dollars?"
When Owen hired Matt to direct the film, they had agreed on a relatively low fixed salary.
However, in exchange, Owen had given him something far more valuable: 5% of the movie's backend profits.
Owen wasn't exaggerating in the slightest when he said his friend was about to become a millionaire. In fact, internally, he knew his estimates were probably too conservative.
In a hypothetical scenario where Lights Out managed to gross $100 million at the box office, approximately $50 million would go to theaters.
The remaining $50 million would be divided between the chosen distributor and his production company.
Assuming a 50/50 split, the studio would keep $25 million, while the other $25 million would go to Owen. Of that amount, 5% belonged to Matt, which would come out to $1,250,000.
For any novice filmmaker, the idea of a low-budget horror movie reaching $100 million would sound impossible.
But Owen possessed a certainty that nobody else in this world could understand: in his past life, the original film had grossed $149 million worldwide in 2016.
And here, the circumstances played even more in his favor.
The movie was already riding a massive wave of hype thanks to the short film he had released less than two years earlier, meaning the concept was still extremely fresh in the public's mind.
Add to that his name as the creator, the promotional trailer that already had millions of views, and the fact that it would be backed by a giant marketing machine led by Lionsgate or Blumhouse, and success practically smelled inevitable.
Owen was convinced that surpassing the $150 million mark at the box office was a completely realistic goal, which would push Matt's earnings to even greater heights.
Even in the worst possible scenario, if the movie somehow "failed" and only managed to gross, say, $50 million, Matt would still pocket more than $500,000.
A figure he could never have earned at this point in his career through a traditional director's salary.
"I don't know... to be honest, I feel pretty nervous," Matt admitted.
Matt wasn't the kind of person who judged a movie's value purely by its commercial performance.
For him, what truly mattered were audience reactions, reviews on film forums, and the verdict of professional critics.
Of course, he understood that the box office functioned as a kind of global scoreboard. If an independent production managed to generate a mountain of money, it was usually a sign that you had done something right, unless it was a shameless cash grab inflated by a misleading advertising campaign.
However, now it would be impossible for him to look at box office figures with the same indifference as before.
The simple thought of watching those numbers climb made his stomach turn. He was fully aware that a direct percentage of every ticket sold would end up in his own bank account.
"What would be the first thing you'd do with all that money? Do you have some extravagant purchase planned or something?" Owen asked curiously.
Matt fell silent, seriously considering it. Finally, he replied, "Bet it all on red."
The room fell into silence.
Owen stared directly at Matt.
For several seconds, the two maintained eye contact with completely neutral expressions, frozen in a duel of absolute seriousness.
Until Matt could no longer maintain the tension on his own face and burst out laughing, "Just kidding. I'd probably buy an apartment."
Owen let out a sigh of relief.
He knew Matt was attracted to the world of gambling.
In fact, Owen enjoyed it too. Sometimes they would organize group outings with the guys to the casino, but they had always treated it as fleeting entertainment, a simple game.
Neither of them was naïve enough to believe it was a real method of becoming a millionaire. Though, of course, it was alarmingly easy to start with that harmless mindset and end up sinking into the depths of gambling addiction.
"An apartment, huh? That won't be cheap," Owen commented.
In a city like Los Angeles, the price of a decent apartment rarely dropped below $500,000.
With Matt's current net worth hovering around that same figure, spending it all at once on real estate would have been too much.
However, once he received his earnings from Lights Out, taking on that expense would be far more manageable.
"I know, but I hate the idea of throwing money away on rent every month. At the end of the day, that place doesn't belong to you," Matt said.
To him, living as a tenant left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It was the uncomfortable feeling of knowing that a property would never truly be yours. You could spend years living within those walls, decorating them and turning them into a real home, only for the lease to expire one day and force you to pack up your life and find somewhere else to live.
Besides, if you were paying, for example, around $3,000 a month in rent, you'd be spending $36,000 in a single year.
Over fifteen years, that figure would skyrocket to $540,000.
If you had the liquidity necessary to purchase a home, buying seemed like the more logical option to him.
Owen nodded silently. It was one way of looking at it.
"Speaking of apartments... there's a very good chance I'll be moving in with Jenna soon," Owen casually let slip.
Matt's eyes widened.
"Seriously? You're going to live together? Man, that's a huge step!"
"It's still not one hundred percent confirmed..." Owen began, before proceeding to explain the situation.
Jenna had already put the proposal on the table; now it was up to him to decide: yes or no.
Although Owen was still in the analytical phase, he had to admit that the arguments she had presented were extremely logical and difficult to refute.
"It's a big step forward for the relationship, man. Congratulations, seriously... assuming you go through with the plan, of course," Matt said, flashing a smile.
From the way Owen spoke and the reasoning Jenna had presented, Matt already saw a high probability that his friend would end up accepting the cohabitation arrangement.
"Thanks..." Owen replied. Then a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "And what about you? Any dates on the horizon, or are you still waiting for your camera lens to magically turn into a woman?"
"Very funny. And to answer your question, yes, there is someone," Matt replied, a mysterious smile forming on his face.
"Oh? And who is it?" Owen asked, immediately straightening up in his seat, curious.
Matt remained silent for a few seconds, stretching out the suspense, until he finally dropped the name.
"Maya Hawke."
This time, it was Owen's turn to widen his eyes, though not quite as dramatically as Matt had earlier. He hadn't expected that name.
'Maya, huh?' Owen thought.
They had met her at the Cannes Film Festival, where she had accompanied her father, Ethan, a good colleague of Owen's who had acted in Good Will Hunting.
She had fit quite naturally into Owen, Matt, Tyler, and Jacob's circle, and they had all had a great time during those days in France.
Though after the festival, Owen hadn't really crossed paths with her again in that same close way.
He had seen her recently, but under professional circumstances. Maya had made it all the way to the final stages of the auditions for San Junipero and had come incredibly close to becoming his co-star, though in the end the role went to Sadie Sink.
'Another Stranger Things gem approaches,' Owen thought with irony, deciding to leave behind that strange loop of cosmic coincidences and focus on his friend's gossip.
"When did all this start?" he asked.
"It was her birthday recently, and I took the opportunity to send her a message. We kept talking over the next few days, one thing led to another, and I ended up asking her out to dinner," Matt explained, scratching the back of his neck shyly. "It was on Monday. While you were on your date, I was on mine too."
"Nice," Owen approved, nodding lightly several times.
They continued chatting about it for a little while longer, until Matt adopted a more serious expression and abruptly changed the subject.
"By the way... I didn't expect you to talk publicly about Chronicle so soon."
He was referring to Owen's recent move in the media, where he had already revealed that his next film would be about superheroes, or at least a more indie version with a different tone than usual.
To the media, Owen had not revealed the title.
"I hadn't originally planned it either," Owen admitted, a faint sideways smile forming on his face, carrying the subtle arrogance of someone who knew he had just moved the right piece on the board. "But I saw the opportunity and decided to use it to start the marketing."
The snowball started rolling that very day.
"I understand that it helps build hype early on, but isn't it a little risky?" Matt questioned, taking the more cautious approach.
It was true that they had already discussed in depth the core premise Owen had shown him that day, but there still wasn't a script.
In fact, if Matt had to guess, he would bet that Owen hadn't even written fifty percent of the story yet.
In Hollywood, thousands of brilliant ideas were born that same way and ended up floating in limbo for years before fading away into nothingness.
If things became complicated and the project failed to move forward, the media and the public wouldn't take long to slap Owen with the label of a hype merchant.
The risk increased even further because of the work pace Owen had shown both the industry and the public, who were becoming accustomed to him releasing projects at a superhuman speed.
A prolonged delay would break that perfect streak.
"Relax," Owen replied. "As soon as San Junipero wraps filming, we'll start working on Chronicle full-time."
He said nothing more.
Obviously, he couldn't tell Matt that the script was already complete.
For Owen, it hadn't been any great feat. He had simply transcribed the original script from his past life.
Therefore, there was no real reason to worry about whether the idea would move forward or not.
It was going to happen no matter what.
The only thing that was true was that they would take a little more time than usual during the development stage. Owen intended to polish the script. He wasn't planning to radically change it or subject it to massive structural rewrites, but he did want to make it better than the original.
And for that, Matt's help would come in very handy.
"Oh, right... I still haven't sent anything to that YouTube director, the one who made The Chair... What was his name again?" Owen began, casually changing the subject as he turned back toward his monitor.
"Curry Barker," Matt answered immediately.
Owen nodded and began sliding the mouse across the pad, clicking on the browser tab to open YouTube. He searched for the guy's official channel and navigated to the information section in search of a business contact email. After a couple of clicks, he found it.
With Matt's help, they drafted a brief formal message from the corporate account of Second Take Films.
In the message, they expressed the production company's interest in his short film and extended an open invitation to schedule a meeting, leaving the door open for a potential collaboration in the future.
Deep down, Owen already had a clear plan in mind.
He remembered a short film from his past life that would be the next project for the YouTube channel.
Barker could be the ideal candidate to take charge of it.
However, he first needed to meet him, evaluate him, and, above all, take a close look at what kind of personality he had.
They kept talking about it, and just like that, the day came to an end.
Then Thursday and Friday passed in the blink of an eye, proving to be two fairly intense days for Owen.
Between the demanding rehearsal sessions for San Junipero and the constant parade of executives through the conference room, he had a packed and demanding schedule.
By Friday evening, Owen had four formal and final proposals for the global distribution of Lights Out.
1. A24
Marketing Budget (P&A): $15 million.
Strategy: They accepted without conditions Owen's demand to screen the film at Fantastic Fest in September as its launch platform, followed by a theatrical release in October.
Post-Theatrical Percentage (Backend): They offered Owen 55% of the remaining net revenue.
2. NEON
Marketing Budget (P&A): $10 million.
Strategy: They agreed to Owen's request for a Fantastic Fest premiere followed by an October release.
Post-Theatrical Percentage (Backend): To compensate for the lower advertising budget, they offered Owen an enticing 60%.
Neon had genuine intentions of expanding into more commercial genres, knowing that horror was an extremely profitable gold mine. However, they decided to play it safe. They were not willing to risk the kind of major capital investment they had once made in order to secure the phenomenon that was Good Will Hunting.
3. LIONSGATE
Marketing Budget (P&A): $35 million.
Strategy: An aggressive and massive advertising campaign designed to ensure an October release that would simultaneously flood more than 3,000 theaters across North America.
Post-Theatrical Percentage (Backend): 45% of post-theatrical revenue for Owen.
4. BLUMHOUSE
Marketing Budget (P&A): $30 million.
Strategy: A premiere on the opening night of Fantastic Fest, featuring none other than Jason Blum on the red carpet. Afterwards, a massive and relentless October release that would occupy nearly 4,000 screens.
Post-Theatrical Percentage (Backend): A balanced 50% post-theatrical share for Owen.
...
Owen had the entire weekend ahead of him to think about whom to choose, but deep down, the decision had already been practically made: he was going with Blumhouse.
The meeting with them had made a huge difference.
Jason Blum himself had shown up at the negotiating table, proving to be incredibly approachable, cordial, and enthusiastic about the prospect of working with Owen.
What was most surprising this time was that the horror studio didn't try to impose any of its usual clauses. They didn't demand a share of the intellectual property, nor did they push for exclusivity contracts or priority rights in the event of future sequels. None of that.
It seemed they had learned their lesson and knew that if they included any of those clauses, Owen would reject them just as he had before during the Paranormal Activity distribution negotiations and IP sale.
Blumhouse simply couldn't afford to let another Owen horror film slip through their fingers.
Meanwhile, on that Friday, July 21, two of the most anticipated movies of the year hit theaters simultaneously: Barbie and Oppenheimer.
On its opening day, Christopher Nolan's film grossed an incredible $39.8 million, while Greta Gerwig's pink phenomenon soared to approximately $70.5 million.
The cultural phenomenon known as Barbenheimer had officially begun.
Owen and Jenna had no escape.
They were practically dragged by force by Matt, Tyler, and the rest of the gang to the theaters to become part of the event.
It didn't matter that Owen and Jenna had already seen the film at the exclusive New York premiere. Their friends forced them into the seats to watch, once again, the intense three hours of footage.
Since the movie was so good, the experience of watching it as a group in a regular theater was completely worth it.
But it didn't end there.
The moment the lights came up after the credits, the group moved as one toward the very next showing: Barbie.
"It's cinema! This is cinema at its absolute peak, damn it!" Gaten exclaimed, his eyes bloodshot and visibly shaken after processing three hours and nine seconds of dense filmmaking.
"Without a doubt, my friend! Nolan did it again!" Matt chimed in, slipping into the hyperactive, jittery demeanor that always betrayed him whenever a movie completely blew his mind.
Maya, who had been invited, let out a musical laugh as she reached out to intertwine her fingers with his.
"Easy there, Mr. Director. We don't want you having a heart attack. We've still got another movie to watch."
"Wait, I'm confused about the movie. So Oppenheimer knew that internal affairs were setting them up?"
"I didn't understand. Did Oppenheimer know that Internal Affairs was setting him up?" Eric asked.
Tyler looked at him with a strange expression, "What are you talking about? There's nothing like that in there!"
"It was quite a ride, I have to admit," Caleb commented, ignoring the discussion between Eric and Tyler while slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.
Then he adopted a more serious expression and fixed his gaze on Owen.
"But... this is going to become direct competition for us, isn't it?"
Owen grimaced slightly and nodded, "Without a doubt..."
With the arrival of Christopher Nolan's film, the entire awards season landscape changed dramatically.
Good Will Hunting had just run into a fierce competitor, far heavier than either the media or the general public could have anticipated.
In fact, the situation had become alarming even for movies that were being marketed as future Oscar winners or major contenders and hadn't even been released yet.
Especially Martin Scorsese's new film (Killers of the Flower Moon), which had been shaping up as the overwhelming favorite to dominate the Academy Awards and finally deliver the legendary director another long-coveted Oscar.
However, at this very moment, that prediction was completely screwed.
Nolan had created a masterpiece.
Everyone in this group had seen Scorsese's film during the Cannes Film Festival, but it hadn't impacted them nearly as much as Oppenheimer had.
Owen pushed those thoughts aside, turned his head slightly, and looked at Jenna, who was walking beside him at an unhurried pace, her fingers warmly intertwined with his own.
"Ready to watch Barbie? Your antithesis," Owen commented, a subtle teasing smile forming on his face.
Jenna looked at him and narrowed her eyes, knowing he was referring to the aesthetic abyss between the doll's explosive bright pink color palette and the monochromatic gothic darkness of her own character, Wednesday Addams.
"Very funny. Although... a crossover between the two would be pretty entertaining, don't you think?" she replied, tilting her head slightly.
"Without a doubt. I think Wednesday would drop dead on the spot from such a color overdose," Owen commented with amusement.
As the challenge's unwritten protocol dictated, after watching Oppenheimer, you had to watch Barbie.
First, you processed the suffocating tension of nuclear conflict, then you lightened the mood and ended the night with something far more colorful and cheerful.
Barbie did not disappoint.
The production turned out to be an entertaining experience, exceeding the expectations of the entire group by a wide margin.
Even Matt's, who was usually the pickiest and most purist of them all.
The Barbenheimer phenomenon had more than lived up to the hype.
While the group discussed the movie, Owen pulled out his phone and opened YouTube.
'Almost twenty million...' he thought.
He was looking at the statistics for his YouTube vlog.
He had uploaded it at around 10 a.m. the highly anticipated vlog he had filmed during his trip to the New York red carpet premiere with Jenna.
The video had a direct and eye-catching title: We Went to Nolan's Premiere (Oppenheimer Vlog)
The thumbnail was a casual black-and-white selfie of Owen and Jenna. Both wore blank, almost eerie expressions, deliberately imitating the somber look of Oppenheimer himself when he delivers one of his most iconic lines.
The vlog had once again posted record-breaking numbers.
Just twelve hours after its release, it was already approaching the 20 million view mark.
'Another hit,' Owen thought as he looked at the screen of his phone.
-------------------------------------------------
You can read 15 chapters in advance on my patreon.
Link: https://[email protected]/Nathe07