By late November, Harry had gotten accustomed to the rhythm of box office Mondays. Providence had crossed the sixty-million threshold in the U.S., totals beyond even Fox's own initial predictions when they greenlit its expansion. With each Monday report the refrain had been the same: steady hold, acceptable drops, and word of mouth still mounting. Even its competitors couldn't ignore it.
On that Monday, Jackson Multimedia released American Edge. The opening weekend was looking strong with grosses above $40 million, but by Monday it was clear the initial excitement had quickly ebbed away.
The reviews were mediocre, the audience score was unremarkable, and the drop-off was worse than anticipated. In comparison, Providence was still going steady and slowly chugging toward the eighty-million mark.
Harry knew the time was right to make a move.
Harry had been collaborating with James, his new lawyer and fixer, and also Lisa's husband, for weeks, negotiating the rights to a novel that had taken hold of him: Cormac McCarthy's newest novel No Country for Old Men. The prose was spare, the violence was stark, and the energy of a villain who moved like a force of nature lingered in Harry's thoughts.
He knew the book's adaptation in his old life- one of the few movies he had watched. And liked.
But he had a problem. Harry was young, his production company was new, and McCarthy had already been approached by three of the major studios. Warner, Paramount, even Universal - all offering much bigger sums of money than Harry was comfortable with. So when James finally arranged a meeting down in Austin, Harry knew he had to make the argument of his life.
They met in a little café next to the university. McCarthy, calm and deliberate, sipped a black coffee while James introduced the two of them. Harry, anxious but resolute, leaned forward.
"I know the offers you've already received can't be matched," Harry said. "But here's the thing. For the studios, your novel is just another acquisition. They'll buy it, option it, and sit on it for it two years before they realize it is now a development nor watered down version of something you don't even see.
You wrote a wonderful piece of writing, lean, unsparing, and as sharp as a knife. It should be seen like that in the movie, and I will fight to keep it that way."
McCarthy raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I am not asking you to trust my resume, because I don't have one. I have worked more of a boss role like in JTV and now in Fox but I am asking you to trust what I have proven. Providence did not do eighty million because I made it; it did it because the story was good and wasn't affected by problems that the big production companies face. That's all I want to do for No Country."
The author finally spoke, his voice dry as paper. "I know passion is cheap in this business. Everyone who walks through these doors talks about respecting the work. Then you get the script back with a car chase where it shouldn't belong. You say you have someone in mind for the villain? Who?"
"Javier Bardem," Harry said without missing a beat. "I worked with him on Providence. I've never seen someone so easily slip into menace. Anton Chigurh needs to be more than scary—he has to feel like we can't get away from him. Javier can do that."
McCarthy seemed unconvinced, but just a little intrigued. "I'll say this. I like sincerity better than numbers. But I've heard sincerity before. You show me you mean it, we can talk again."
It was not a yes. But it wasn't a no.
Two weeks later, on December 1st, Harry and James set up a second meeting. This time Javier Bardem was invited. The Spanish actor had been hesitant at first, but when Harry handed him the book, he read it in a week.
At their meeting, Bardem shook McCarthy's hand and said, in slow careful English, "I have read Anton. He is not evil in the way men are evil. He is evil in the way weather is evil. He comes, he destroys, he doesn't care. He isn't even alive in the way people are alive. And that is the most frightening part. He is the silence that comes after the door has closed."
McCarthy kept looking at him a long time, then finally, for the first time in two meetings, he smiled. "If this film ever gets made," he said, "this man plays him. No one else."
Harry exhaled, relief releasing the knot like a hot air balloon that had been tied to his chest for weeks. James quickly leaned in, jamming into the details, legal details, timelines, options, purchase structures, as Harry and Javier went out into the Austin evening air.
______
They hailed a taxi to get back to their hotel with cracked leather seats and the stale smell of cigarettes. Harry gazed out the window at the lights and laughed.
"You know," he said, "I've got to get a car. And a driver. Because taking taxis to meetings while being supposedly a millionaire—it just doesn't work."
Javier smirked. "Millionaire problems."
"Right," Harry chuckled. "The papers keep saying that Providence was the best hit FunTime has had so far. It probably is. But I still feel like I'm hailing cabs like some poor kid."
The taxi ran into a pothole and they both laughed for a moment. Then Javier got serious. "Harry, listen. No matter what happens with McCarthy, congratulations. Providence is a hit. Not just in the numbers. I have people calling me now because of it. I get more phone calls. Casting directors view me differently. You did that for me."
Harry turned to face him. "Then let me give you something bigger. Chigurh is yours. When I finish the script you will have the character. And when this happens, Javier, no matter what Warner or Paramount still think about you now, you will finally make them pay attention. Hollywood will realize they cannot ignore you."
Bardem looked out the window, thoughtful, his reflection split by the glass. "If you keep your word," he said softly, "I'll follow you into whatever comes next."
Harry nodded. He meant it.