As the morning sun streamed through the blinds of Harry's office, he browsed Gregory's notes for the blind pianist. He would produce it under his own umbrella company, FunTime Pictures. Greg would still be the official producer for appearances sake. It was a tricky scenario: Harry wanted full credit, but at the same time, he was aware that he couldn't take the credit for everything.
The phone vibrated on the desk. Harry's agent, Toni Howard, was calling.
"Harry," he said briskly, "Fox is setting up a marketing meeting for Memento. Oscar season is heating up. They want you there."
Harry rubbed his temples. "Do I really have to?"
"Yes," Toni replied firmly. "You're the producer, and from what I know also one of their shareholders. They're going to need you to use your face, your words, your… presence. This is the game now."
By noon, they were at Fox's offices in Century City.
The building was buzzing with studio executives, assistants rushing around with folders, posters of upcoming releases plastered on the walls. Harry and Toni were ushered into a glass-walled conference room where Sandy Grushow, Gail Berman, and a handful of marketing execs were already waiting.
The meeting almost immediately turned to strategy. Fox wanted to think of Memento upfront as the smartest Oscar outsider to the Oscar race, which everyone in the room accepted was a sleek mind-bending thriller vs. the usual fare of dramatic Oscar-worthy films. But we all knew what lurked in the room.
"Harvey's got his hands on Gangs of New York – everything goes to Miramax on this one. Weinstein knows how to play the Academy like poker," Sandy explained quietly.
Harry relaxed in his chair. "So we're the underdog."
"That's right," Gail said. "But underdogs get attention when they know how to play it. Nolan is the big piece when his Insomnia press wraps. If Nolan is effective, he's raising his own credibility, and we can use that heat to bring Memento to a higher profile."
Toni gave Harry a look. "So you need to keep Nolan sticky."
Harry smirked just a little. "He's already behind on a drink or two."
The meeting wound down with calendars and promises. Fox would do screenings for Academy members, schedule print ads in Variety and The Hollywood Reporter, and hold Q&As. It is not a sure bet, but it is a fight worth taking on.
As they walked out to the parking lot, Harry muttered, "Fox wants to go to war with Weinstein, fine. We'll just see who bleeds first."
Toni laughed as he turned on the car. "Be careful, Harry. That man doesn't take a loss gracefully."
As they drove down to Santa Monica for James to meet at a beachside café, Harry leaned back against the leather seat and took a long breath.
"I shared the news about the pianist movie with Greg last night," he said. "They're starting pre-production."
Toni raised an eyebrow. "Wow. That's quick."
"Sometimes too quick," Harry said, unable to hide the smile that played on his lips.
Toni looked at him. "Who is on your radar for the lead?"
Harry turned his head to watch the California coast zip by outside. "Daniel Heyes. We discussed it at Christmas. He's young, has the right look, and I have worked with him in Providence."
Toni tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips. "I'll call him. I want to get something in writing before someone else tries to."
"Don't worry. He assured me he would have his agent clear out entire half year's schedule."
The café was a low building with chipped paint and the smell of saltwater wafting in through all the open windows. James was already there, with a file folder spread open on the table in front of him and a large cup of black coffee on his right.
"About time," James said, standing up to shake Harry's hand.
Harry sat down, stealing a French fry from James's plate. "So, how are we?"
James pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, in a calm tone. "Closer than I think. DC is not the powerhouse that people think. They have been bleeding money for years, primarily in their animation, but they don't want to keep absorbing losses anymore, so they are engaging in discussions."
Harry nodded and said, "And?"
James replied, "Their head of publishing wants to meet with you in person. They want to make sure this is not a vanity project. They are concerned with new studios, particularly one headed by a young director who has hardly a years' experience working.
The disaster Marvel had in the 90's still scares them. But…" James slid the folder across. "They are at least listening, which is more than I thought would be possible."
Harry opened the folder and scanned the financial figures. "So they will sell it... if the price is right."
James sighed. "That is the issue. They have had other offers; Universal sniffing, a couple of private groups. They are not going to let go of Batman or Superman easily, but the smaller properties, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern offshoots—they're chum on the line. If you want, you are going to have to sell them that you can carry the whole brand."
Harry drummed his fingers lightly on the table, thinking over the options. "Okay. Set it up, I will meet with them."
Toni raised his eyebrows. "Harry, you've got Fox, your new film, and now DC on your list? You want that?"
Harry tensed up. "Yes, because if Marvel goes to Disney and if WB outbids them, I want DC on my side before this whole board flips."
James leaned back. "Alright, I'll put it on the schedule. Just proceed with caution... This isn't an indie thriller - you're trying to purchase an IP that's already slipping."
_______
That same week, on the other side of town in a dark Miramax office, Harvey Weinstein was seated at the desk, with a cigar sitting in an ashtray.
Screeners for various films and For Your Consideration ads littered every surface. He was plotting his Oscar attack for Gangs of New York and Chicago, treating it like a game of chess, where every Academy Voter was a chess piece.
Then, an assistant told him that Memento was gaining traction with Fox support. That made Harvey stop moving. He flicked the ash off of his cigar, and then squinted.
"Who's behind it?" he asked.
"Harry Jackson," the assistant replied. "Young producer. Son of—"
"I know the name," Harvey interrupted, spitting the words with distaste. "Jackson. Thought the family head died." He leaned back, lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "If he thinks he can play my game, he's got another thing coming."
The assistant nodded nervously, jotting notes.
Harvey waved him off, muttering under his breath. "Jacksons. Always thought they were untouchable. Tch."