Chapter 217 — Who Could Refuse You
"Sixteen million dollars?"
When Aaron heard the price Saul Zaentz was asking for the film rights to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, he paused.
He turned to his deputy, Don Steel.
"Is he refusing to budge?"
Don shook her head. "He seems firm."
Aaron leaned back and thought for a moment.
"Agree to it," he said finally. "The Hobbit counts as one film. The Lord of the Rings is essentially a trilogy—four books in total. Sixteen million isn't unreasonable."
The Hobbit runs about 220,000 words. The Lord of the Rings spans over a million. The world-building is vast, the lore intricate. For years, studios had considered the material nearly impossible to adapt properly.
If not for that perceived difficulty, the price would have been astronomical given the novels' global popularity.
Don hesitated.
"Are you really confident about this?"
Tolkien's work was notoriously complex—multiple storylines, sprawling mythology, entire languages. Even Zaentz himself had held the rights for nearly two decades and had only managed to produce an animated adaptation.
That alone spoke volumes about the challenge.
Saul Zaentz, now 72, was no amateur. A veteran Hollywood producer, he had co-produced One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest with Michael Douglas in the 1970s—a film that swept the Academy Awards, winning Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay, and both lead acting categories.
If someone like Zaentz hadn't pushed forward with a live-action epic in all these years, that only proved how daunting the material was.
Aaron smiled faintly.
"You've seen what Spielberg did with Jurassic Park. Audiences are ready for large-scale spectacle. Visual effects are evolving faster than we imagined."
He leaned forward.
"Middle-earth belongs to Dawnlight Pictures. I'm not letting this slip."
Don nodded slowly. The conviction in his voice left little room for doubt.
"Alright," she said. "I'll contact Zaentz immediately and finalize the acquisition of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings rights."
Aaron gave a small nod.
Some investments were about profit.
Others were about legacy.
And this one—this was about building a world.
Once Aaron had made his decision, Don Steel didn't argue.
"By the way," she added, "Disney just acquired Miramax for $60 million, including its debts."
"Miramax will still be run by the Weinstein brothers and maintain operational independence—but they'll only be able to greenlight projects under $12 million."
Aaron smiled faintly.
"That was fast."
He wasn't particularly concerned. With Dawnlight Pictures rising the way it was, the space for other independent studios was shrinking by the day.
Disney's live-action division was struggling badly. While Jeffrey Katzenberg had strengthened their animation slate, the live-action market was far larger—and far more competitive—than family animation.
Aaron shifted topics.
"What's happening with the Paramount battle? Redstone versus Diller?"
The outcome would reshape Hollywood.
"Still intense," Don replied. "Paramount's board hasn't committed yet. It all depends on what Martin Davis decides."
Martin Davis, chairman of Paramount Communications, held the deciding hand.
Aaron leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against his desk.
"So both Barry Diller and Sumner Redstone are determined to take it."
He paused.
"Forget that for now. Let's secure The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings rights first."
---
That evening, Aaron returned to his Bel-Air mansion with Catherine Zeta-Jones.
The Mask of Zorro had been in theaters for nearly two months. North American box office had surpassed $100 million, and overseas had crossed another $100 million. Momentum was strong.
"Aaron, Speed made another $13 million this weekend," Catherine said as she joined him on the couch. "It's holding very well."
Aaron smiled.
"Ten days in, $35 million total. That's solid."
Considering Speed cost only $30 million to produce—and was directed by newcomer Jan de Bont, starring the then-moderately known Keanu Reeves and Jennifer Connelly—the performance was impressive.
Critics were enthusiastic.
The Hollywood Reporter called it "a smart, inventive thriller that tightly fuses action, stunt work, special effects and relentless tension."
Even Quentin Tarantino, fresh off finishing Pulp Fiction, had praised it highly.
Catherine wrapped her arms around Aaron's neck and kissed him lightly.
"Four Weddings and a Funeral has already passed $200 million worldwide. Now Zorro and Speed are shining too. Dawnlight Pictures is dominating this summer."
"In Hollywood," she added with a teasing smile, "Aaron Anderson is the best producer."
Aaron brushed a hand along her waist.
"We're developing a romantic film," he said. "And it needs two actresses."
She looked intrigued.
"I want you and Jennifer Connelly to star together."
He was referring to My Best Friend's Wedding, a script he had originally prepared for Connelly. With both actresses gaining momentum from Speed and The Mask of Zorro, pairing them was perfect timing.
Catherine's eyes lit up.
"Your script?"
Aaron's instincts in romance films were nearly legendary at this point—just look at the success of Nicole Kidman in Ghost and Sleepless in Seattle.
"Yes. Romantic comedy. Straightforward production. We could start within three months and aim for next summer."
Pre-production groundwork was already done. It would move quickly.
"No problem," Catherine replied without hesitation.
She was receiving scripts from other studios now—but how could she refuse Dawnlight?
Aaron smirked.
"You're not even going to read it first?"
She laughed softly and leaned into him.
"Would any actress refuse an Aaron Anderson script?"
She continued, playful but sincere:
"First Nicole Kidman. Then Sophie Marceau. Now Jennifer Connelly and me. Every actress in Hollywood wants to be in your films."
She had even been watching her fellow Brit Elizabeth Hurley, who was currently filming Forrest Gump alongside Tom Hanks under the Dawnlight banner.
In this town, association mattered.
And right now—
No one was more desirable to be associated with than Aaron Anderson.