"They want to offer you one of the leading roles in their next major production: Frankenstein, directed by Guillermo del Toro."
When Larry had mentioned that he had two offers for leading roles, Owen's curiosity had immediately been piqued. However, the first one had failed to capture much of his attention, mainly because of the title: Babygirl.
The name of the lead actress, on the other hand, was impossible for him to ignore.
Nicole Kidman had won the Academy Award for Best Actress for The Hours (2002), in addition to earning several nominations and building a career that had made her one of the most respected figures in the industry. The possibility of working alongside someone of her stature sparked a certain curiosity in Owen, though not enough to make him genuinely excited about the project.
Not like the second offer.
"Frankenstein…" Owen murmured.
He leaned forward and brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought.
The project was already generating enormous anticipation. There were constant rumors in the press, discussions online, and conversations within the industry itself about what the screenplay that would supposedly remain so faithful to the original novel would be like, who would ultimately join the cast, among other things.
It was, after all, Guillermo del Toro's dream project.
An adaptation the director had been trying to make for decades and had finally managed to set in motion thanks to Netflix, following the success of his version of Pinocchio.
And this was not just any story.
Frankenstein was one of the most celebrated novels of all time. A foundational work of literature, adapted countless times for the screen and transformed into an inseparable part of popular culture.
Larry smiled faintly when he saw the immediate change in Owen's expression and raised a hand to stop him, "Wait a moment. First we're going to talk about Babygirl. Then we'll move on to Frankenstein."
He had anticipated that Owen would show far more interest in Del Toro's film. That was precisely why he preferred to save it for last.
The other offer would be much easier to analyze. The project was smaller, the shoot less demanding, and whether Owen decided to accept or reject it, they would probably reach a conclusion fairly quickly.
Owen leaned back against the sofa once again, "Yes, of course. An A24 film starring Nicole Kidman," he said, regaining some of his interest, "I'm listening."
"All right… give me a moment," Larry said as he opened the briefcase he had left beside the armchair, took out his laptop, and placed it on the coffee table. After turning it on, it took him only a few seconds to open the document they had sent him.
"To begin with, it's a direct, first-choice offer," he explained, "They don't want you to audition or compete for the role. Halina Reijn wants you."
Owen nodded slowly.
A24 would finance part of the film and handle its distribution. The rest of the financing and production work would fall to 2AM and Man Up Films, the other companies involved in the project.
Nicole Kidman was already officially attached as the lead and, according to the message CAA had received, she had also expressed interest in working with Owen.
That last part made Owen narrow his eyes slightly.
Not because he thought it was impossible.
His career had grown at an incredible pace lately. He had become one of the most talked-about young actors in the industry, and practically in the world.
It was only natural that producers, directors, and even established actors would be curious about working with him.
Even so, that statement sounded a little too convenient.
Nicole probably had no objections to his casting and might even have reacted positively upon hearing his name, but Owen doubted that she had personally insisted on hiring him. It seemed more like one of those lines producers added to a proposal to make it more appealing.
Larry continued explaining how the project was structured, who was involved in the production, and what stage of development it was currently in. When he finished that introduction, he looked up from the screen.
"What do you want to know first? I can tell you what the movie is about, talk about your character and the main parts of the script, or we can go straight to the initial financial offer," he asked.
"The script," Owen replied without hesitation.
Larry nodded. It was exactly the answer he had expected, "It's an erotic thriller. The story follows a powerful CEO who jeopardizes her career and family life when she begins an affair with a much younger intern."
Nicole would play Romy, the executive.
Owen, meanwhile, would portray Samuel, the intern who entered her life and began to exert an increasingly powerful influence over her.
Larry explained the main aspects of the character without revealing every detail of the story. Samuel was self-assured, provocative, and difficult to interpret. He quickly recognized the desires Romy concealed behind her position of authority and used that knowledge to alter the power dynamic between them.
Although she was the one who held the more important position and appeared to have complete control, in private she took on a submissive role.
The film contained several sexual encounters between the characters, along with dominance games that grew progressively more intense. In some scenes, Samuel gave her orders, controlled her movements, and treated her in a deliberately degrading manner. There was even a dynamic in which Romy took on the role of his pet.
Owen made no comment.
Larry continued speaking for several minutes, describing the overall tone of the feature film, Samuel's place within the story, and some of the character's most important scenes.
"That's the general idea," he concluded, "To properly assess it, I'll send you the full script. That way, you'll be able to see Samuel's arc, how prominent his role actually is, how the relationship develops, how it ends, and the exact tone of the sexual scenes."
CAA had received the screenplay through a secure platform. Larry would only need to send him the link so Owen could access it from his own account.
The silence that followed was enough to make him look up from the laptop.
Owen remained leaning back against the sofa, wearing an expression that was difficult to hide. He did not seem shocked or uncomfortable. More than anything, he looked disappointed.
Larry let out a small smile, "You didn't like it, did you?"
Owen blinked and relaxed his face, returning to a more neutral expression, "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," Larry replied with a brief laugh, "I knew it wouldn't be to your taste, but Lubin insisted that you read the offer."
"I see..." Owen said quietly.
Joel Lubin was his agent at CAA.
And he was not a junior agent, nor a secondary figure tasked with handling actors who carried little weight within the company. He was not even simply one among the firm's many senior agents.
Lubin held one of the most important positions within CAA's motion picture division and represented figures such as Josh Brolin, Robert Downey Jr., and Sacha Baron Cohen, among other well-known Hollywood names.
When Owen had first joined the agency, Lubin had not immediately been assigned to his team.
Back then, although Owen was already attracting attention, his professional career was still far too brief.
That had changed quickly.
After everything he achieved in the following months, CAA could no longer leave him under the supervision of a mid-level agent.
However, even from the beginning, the agency's top executives had understood that Owen should not be evaluated like a conventional actor.
His value did not depend solely on the roles he could secure.
As an actor, he could star in major productions and negotiate increasingly higher salaries. As a screenwriter, he could sell projects, collect fees for his scripts, or take part in rewrites. And as a producer, he was capable of financing his own films and creating job opportunities for numerous agency clients.
That was exactly what he had done with Good Will Hunting and Lights Out.
Every time Owen set a film in motion, he did not simply create work for himself. He could also hire five or six actors represented by CAA, in addition to directors, producers, and other professionals connected to the company.
For the agency, Owen had three main sources of value: actor, writer, and producer.
Lubin was responsible for representing his interests within CAA, negotiating with the studios, and making sure the most important offers reached him.
Larry, on the other hand, served a different role.
As his manager and personal representative, he was the person who best understood Owen's tastes, priorities, and plans. CAA sent him the proposals, and Larry was responsible for analyzing them, filtering out the less suitable ones, and deciding which were truly worth taking up Owen's time.
That was why he had known from the beginning that Babygirl was unlikely to stand much of a chance.
The problem was not only the abundant erotic content, a genre Owen had never shown much interest in. There was also his schedule.
He would soon begin working on Chronicle, his next project.
He had no need to accept a film he was not excited about simply to remain active.
Much less for the money.
After what he had earned from Good Will Hunting, even an offer of ten million dollars to star in an independent production would be unlikely to change his decision.
If Owen found no artistic value in the character, the figure written into the contract would not matter much.
Larry probably would have dismissed the proposal without even presenting it to him.
Lubin, however, had insisted that Owen hear about it, read the full script, and devote at least enough time to evaluate it for himself.
"I suppose it's because of Nicole Kidman and the salary," Owen said, "Right?"
"Exactly," Larry replied with a nod.
The simple fact that Nicole Kidman was leading the film was enough for the offer to deserve being brought to Owen.
She was not only an Oscar-winning actress, but one of the most respected figures of her generation. Sharing top billing with her could bring prestige, attract the attention of the specialized press, and place Owen in a different kind of production from those he had made up to that point.
In addition, Halina Reijn was already recognized as a director, A24 was handling distribution, and the project had enough important names attached that it could not be treated like just any independent proposal.
Larry understood Lubin's position.
Rejecting it without Owen even reading the script could be interpreted as inconsiderate.
That did not mean he was obligated to accept.
Only that it would be wise to study the proposal seriously before saying no.
"And, from what I know, Antonio Banderas may also join the cast," Larry added.
Another well-known name.
Owen raised an eyebrow slightly, "Let me guess. The cheated-on husband."
"Probably," Larry admitted.
Larry turned his attention back to the laptop screen, "As for the offer, this is what they sent."
The initial proposal included a guaranteed salary of two and a half million dollars.
Filming was tentatively scheduled to take place between December 2023 and January 2024. Depending on how they ultimately arranged the schedule, Owen would have to set aside between six and eight weeks for the shoot.
It was not a small figure for an independent film.
In fact, it represented a considerable portion of the budget allocated to the cast, especially for an actor his age. However, the studio understood that it was not negotiating with a young performer who needed the work, but with someone whose presence could immediately increase the film's commercial appeal.
The deal also included additional bonuses.
He would receive payments if the film reached certain box-office thresholds, if it was selected for major festivals, and if Owen earned nominations or awards for his performance.
The most striking clause, however, was a two-percent share of adjusted gross receipts.
It was not two percent of the entire worldwide box office from the first dollar.
Before calculating his share, the contract would allow certain previously established items to be deducted, such as the portion owed to theaters, some distribution expenses, and other negotiated deductions. The remaining amount would be considered adjusted gross receipts, and Owen would receive two percent of that figure.
If the film grossed fifty million dollars in theaters, for example, that did not mean Owen would automatically receive one million.
After deducting the exhibitors' share and the permitted expenses, the adjusted base could be reduced to around twenty or twenty-five million. In that case, his share would be approximately four hundred thousand to five hundred thousand dollars.
The guaranteed salary and any potential bonuses would still be added on top of that.
In the best-case scenario, his total compensation could approach or even exceed four million.
"It's an excellent offer," Larry said, "One that would make any normal actor your age drool."
Owen did not respond.
"And it's only the first proposal," Larry continued, "Lubin and I believe there is plenty of room to negotiate. We can probably raise the guaranteed salary to four million, improve the bonuses, and increase the participation to two and a half or even three percent."
Depending on the film's commercial performance and its run on the festival circuit, Owen could end up earning between five and six million dollars in total.
Larry noticed that Owen did not look particularly impressed.
It was understandable.
"Send me the script," Owen said, "I'll read it over the next few days and then give you an answer."
It was not an acceptance, but neither was it an immediate rejection.
He would give the full screenplay a chance before making a final decision. After all, if an actress of Nicole Kidman's prestige had read it and already agreed to take part, it was reasonable to assume the project had more depth than a simple summary suggested.
It did not seem like an empty erotic production created solely around provocative scenes.
The people involved had too much critical prestige and careers that were far too established to accept just any script without giving it serious thought.
It had to be a far more respectable screenplay than Fifty Shades of Grey.
And if he still had no interest after reading it, nothing serious would happen.
Lubin did not expect him to accept out of obligation. He only wanted Owen to examine the proposal thoroughly enough before dismissing it. If the script managed to spark some interest, the next step would be to arrange a meeting with the director.
Then the real negotiations could begin.
Owen settled back into the sofa, ready to set the project aside for the moment, "Let's move on to the other offer," he said.
Larry closed the document and opened another file on the laptop, "All right," he said, now more serious, "Let's talk about Frankenstein."
This time, he knew the chances of Owen accepting were much higher.
"What do you know about the project?" Larry asked.
"That it's a personal obsession of Del Toro's," Owen replied. "He's said several times that he's been trying to make it for decades. And after the success of Pinocchio, he managed to get Netflix to finance it with a budget of more than a hundred million dollars."
Guillermo del Toro was one of the most acclaimed filmmakers of his generation.
A Mexican director, screenwriter, and producer, he had received awards such as the Goya and the Ariel, in addition to winning three Academy Awards: Best Picture and Best Director for The Shape of Water, and Best Animated Feature for Pinocchio the previous year.
His name was closely associated with dark fantasy, gothic horror, and stories populated by creatures that, through his eyes, often seemed more human than people themselves.
Owen knew his work well.
He had seen some of his films in his previous life, including Pan's Labyrinth and Crimson Peak. Those specific works had never existed in this reality, but that had not prevented Del Toro from reaching a similar level of prestige.
He had simply told different stories.
Other monsters, other worlds, and other characters had taken the place of those films, still leading him to become one of the most respected directors in the industry.
For a young actor, working with a promising filmmaker like Trey Edward Shults or Halina Reijn could be an interesting decision. It meant building an early relationship with someone who still had a great deal to prove and who could grow enormously over the years.
With Del Toro, the situation was different.
He had already reached the top.
This was not about getting onto the radar of a director with potential, but about being chosen by one of the most important auteurs in contemporary cinema for a project he had spent much of his life trying to make.
"And I also heard some very strong rumors about Oscar Isaac, Andrew Garfield, and Mia Goth," Owen added after a few seconds, searching his memory, "People said all three of them would be part of the cast."
Frankenstein was a film that interested him even as a viewer.
It was a classic, one of those stories that always sparked curiosity whenever an important director announced a new adaptation. That was why, when the first rumors began circulating, Owen had read a few articles about the project.
However, after seeing those names, he had assumed the main cast was already more or less in place.
That had happened in May, moreover, when all his attention was focused on Good Will Hunting, its premiere at Cannes, and everything that had happened around the film. At the time, he had not even considered the possibility of trying to secure a place in the production.
"Yes, those rumors were true," Larry confirmed with a nod, "But a film of this size needs more than three important characters."
He paused briefly before looking at him with curiosity and asking, "Which role do you think they want to offer you?"
Owen raised an eyebrow.
He had not expected Larry to turn it into a guessing game, but he decided to play along.
He began mentally reviewing the novel.
Victor Frankenstein was the main protagonist, while the creature occupied a more complex position. In some parts, it functioned as the antagonist, but it was also a kind of co-lead.
The story showed its suffering, its abandonment, and the way it went from being a victim to becoming a victimizer.
Then there was Elizabeth, Victor's fiancée, a role Owen assumed was intended for Mia Goth.
There were also Victor's parents, although they would probably have a more secondary presence.
He then remembered the captain of the ship exploring the Arctic. He was the one who found Victor dying on the ice and listened to his account, serving as the narrative frame for the entire story.
There was also a close friend of Victor's, later killed by the creature, as well as one of his younger brothers.
Owen looked up, "A friend of Victor's?"
Larry shook his head. "No."
"The captain who rescues him in the Arctic?"
Larry shook his head again.
Owen remained silent for a few more seconds.
If Oscar Isaac was still attached to the project, the most logical assumption was that he would play Victor. Andrew Garfield could have been considered for several roles, although his age fit better with a younger version of the scientist.
There were not many important options left.
Then he understood.
"The creature?"
Larry's eyes widened slightly, surprised by how quickly he had arrived at the answer, "Yes…" he admitted, "How did you know? Why didn't you think of Victor first?"
Owen gave a slight shrug and replied, "Because even though Victor is fairly young in the novel when he creates the creature, almost every adaptation turns him into an older, obsessive scientist who is quite far removed from the original character."
Another reason was that, at this stage of development, it seemed strange that they would still be looking for the main protagonist of such a large production.
If filming was approaching and rumors about Oscar Isaac had been circulating for months, then Victor Frankenstein most likely already belonged to someone.
Thanks to the offer, Larry had received much more information from Netflix and CAA about the project's actual status.
He confirmed that Oscar Isaac would play Victor.
Just as Owen had imagined, he would not be the young university student in his early twenties described in the novel, but a mature man in his forties, consumed by his ambition and by the consequences of his creation.
Mia Goth, meanwhile, would play Elizabeth.
What truly surprised Owen was discovering the role that had been intended for Andrew Garfield.
The creature.
"But he dropped out of the project," Larry explained, "They didn't give us a specific reason. It was probably a combination of scheduling and financial terms."
Owen barely nodded, without looking away.
"After his deal fell through, Del Toro asked them to go after you," Larry continued, "At least, that's what Netflix told CAA."
"Mm," Owen murmured.
He would take that claim with a certain amount of caution.
The producers of Babygirl had also claimed that Nicole Kidman was interested in working with him, and Owen was not naive enough to simply accept every line included in a proposal. In Hollywood, those kinds of comments could be true, exaggerated, or simply an elegant way of making an offer more appealing.
However, in this case, there were more reasons to believe it.
Frankenstein was not just any production for Guillermo del Toro. It was far too personal a work for him to allow the studio to choose one of its main characters without his approval.
And the creature was not a supporting role that could be handed to the first available actor.
Andrew Garfield had been attached to the character, which demonstrated the importance Del Toro placed on it and the level of performance he was seeking. If those negotiations had fallen apart, it was logical to assume that the director would be directly involved in finding a replacement.
That was why, although Owen was not willing to believe every word sent by Netflix, it did not seem unlikely to him that Del Toro had specifically asked for him.
"If you're interested, they'll arrange a meeting with Del Toro sometime this week," Larry said, "It doesn't mean you have to accept the offer now. Only that you're willing to hear his vision, talk about the character, and continue with the negotiations."
Owen clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees, "Tell me about the creature. Everything they've sent you from the script."
Larry turned his attention back to the laptop and began reviewing the notes.
The offer was direct and exclusive to Owen.
There would be no auditions or formal competition to find the perfect Frankenstein. Del Toro wanted to speak with him before considering any other alternatives.
And the more he listened, the more interested Owen became.
Receiving an offer to play Frankenstein's creature could seem unappealing if one only thought of the image established by popular culture.
A clumsy, nearly mute monster.
A grotesque figure that walked with its arms outstretched, greenish skin, bolts in its neck, and rigid movements, driven only by rage and instinct.
A caricature repeated so many times that it had eventually replaced the character from the novel in the imagination of much of the public.
But that was not Guillermo del Toro's version.
His creature spoke, thought, and learned.
Del Toro wanted the creature to be the emotional heart of the film.
It was a physical role, but also a dramatic one.
'It was only natural that Del Toro would create a monster capable of winning the audience's heart,' Owen thought.
Del Toro was known for his special fascination with monsters, outcasts, and beings misunderstood by the world around them. In his films, creatures were rarely simple threats. They were often given more humanity, care, and depth than the human characters themselves.
Owen had been right not to judge the role by its name.
Larry finished reading the last of the notes and looked up from the screen.
Owen did not need to think much longer, "I want it," he said immediately, "Arrange the meeting with Del Toro."
Larry watched him for a moment, "Don't you want to hear the financial offer first?" he asked, "Or the filming dates?"
"Yes, of course. But I want to have the meeting either way," Owen replied.
Neither the money nor the schedule would change his initial interest in the role. It was not that he had already accepted, but he at least wanted to have this first meeting with the director.
Larry nodded and looked back at the laptop.
Netflix had already sent an initial formal proposal.
The offer included a guaranteed salary of 4.5 million dollars, up to an additional 750 thousand in bonuses, and co-lead billing alongside Oscar Isaac, as well as other terms related to publicity, accommodations, transportation, and approval over certain promotional matters.
It was a substantial proposal, and it was only the starting point.
If Owen remained interested after speaking with Del Toro and the negotiations moved forward, both Larry and CAA believed they could raise the figure considerably. They would make a counteroffer.
Even so, the salary was what mattered least to him at that moment.
He had begun that conversation without even knowing the creature was available. Now he had before him a complex, physical, and emotional role in one of Netflix's most ambitious productions, under the direction of Guillermo del Toro.
It was not an opportunity he had expected to receive that day.
Larry remained there for nearly another hour, going over details of the project, the initial terms, and possible scheduling conflicts.
By the time he finally left, the meeting was already in motion.
As soon as Owen confirmed his interest, Netflix authorized access to the full script so he could read it before speaking with Del Toro. The meeting would take place that Thursday at Bleak House.
The director's famous property was not exactly a conventional residence.
It was his workspace, his studio, and, at the same time, an enormous collection dedicated to film, fantasy literature, horror, and the supernatural.
A kind of private museum that housed hundreds of original works of art, thousands of books on the occult, comic books, film props, and life-size monster replicas.
Over the following days, Owen read the full script, and the further he progressed, the more convinced he became that he wanted to accept.
The creature had even more weight than Larry had managed to convey. It was not merely one of the protagonists, but the emotional core of the film.
Moreover, there was no formal competition for the role.
Del Toro wanted to meet with him, and if they shared the same vision for the character, they would only need to reach a financial agreement and work out the schedule.
According to the preliminary timetable sent by Netflix, filming would begin sometime between late February and March 2024.
That left him several months to focus on Chronicle before joining Frankenstein.
The schedule would be demanding, but manageable.
On Wednesday afternoon, when Owen returned home after a day of work, the three finalists for the lead role in Curve had already been selected.
Violet Brinson, twenty-two years old.
Inde Navarrette, the same age.
And Chiara Aurelia, twenty.
The final auditions would be held in person the following day.
Owen still could not quite believe how much time it had taken to find the lead actress for a short film.
What he had initially imagined would be a relatively simple process had stretched on for days, with hundreds of submissions, recorded auditions, meetings, and several rounds of selection.
His YouTube shorts had become productions capable of attracting actresses with agents, professional experience, and growing careers.
After having dinner with Jenna and spending some time together, they both settled in front of the television.
Owen was waiting for eleven thirty-five at night to watch The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon.
It was a program they both knew well. They had both previously appeared in that studio as guests, although that did not mean they were regular viewers.
The show aired from Monday through Friday, but it started quite late on the West Coast. The episode was recorded several hours earlier in New York and then broadcast on delay to preserve its local late-night time slot.
That night, Owen had a specific reason to watch.
His colleague, Bryan Cranston, would be the main guest.
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