VARIETY
Good Will Hunting Surpasses $300 Million at the Worldwide Box Office and Confirms Owen Ashford as Hollywood's Most Unlikely Indie Phenomenon
July 31, 2023 — Los Angeles
Good Will Hunting has just crossed a threshold few dramas manage to reach at the modern box office.
The film written, financed, and starring Owen Ashford closed the weekend of Sunday, July 30, with $18.5 million globally, enough to officially surpass the $300 million mark at the worldwide box office.
The drama distributed by Neon has now accumulated $302.5 million worldwide, an extraordinary figure for a prestige film that does not belong to any major traditional studio.
The achievement is even more striking considering the film's profile. Good Will Hunting is not a low-budget horror bet. It is a character-driven drama, powered by performances, screenplay, and word of mouth. Precisely because of that, its commercial performance has become one of Hollywood's biggest talking points this summer.
At the center of it all is once again Owen Ashford.
At 21 years old, Ashford continues to build one of the most unusual track records in the recent industry. He first surprised everyone with Paranormal Activity, a film made for barely $20,000 that ended up grossing $144 million at the worldwide box office. Then came A24's The Spectacular Now, where he was the screenwriter and lead actor, another small-scale independent project that, with a budget close to $4 million, reached approximately $68 million worldwide.
Now, with Good Will Hunting, Ashford adds another success to a career that, so far, has known no major failures either at the box office or in critical reception.
The film also consolidated its artistic prestige after its run at Cannes. Since then, the conversation around the movie has only continued to grow, driven by enthusiastic reviews, audience interest, and the awards campaign that is already beginning to take shape ahead of the fall season.
Ashford's next commercial test will arrive in November with The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, where he appears in a supporting role.
Unlike his own projects, Ashford did not write or produce that film, so his creative responsibility will be much smaller. However, his participation will allow audiences to see him inside an established franchise and in a context completely different from that of his own productions.
The big question will be whether his streak can also extend to projects where he does not control the script, the production, or the creative strategy.
Meanwhile, the industry is already looking toward his next personal move: Black Mirror, the anthology series Ashford is producing under the Second Take Films banner and which, according to several industry sources, is already on the radar of multiple streaming platforms.
…
Sadie Sink was having breakfast early that Monday morning when she read the news. In reality, she had already seen several similar headlines.
Good Will Hunting had finally crossed the figure the entire industry seemed to have been waiting for: three hundred million dollars.
A figure that no one in their right mind would have predicted months earlier, even after its enormous reception at Cannes.
Because prestige was one thing, and box office was something very different.
In recent years, films celebrated at festivals seemed increasingly disconnected from the general public. They were important, yes. They could earn ovations, enthusiastic reviews, and future nominations, but many times they remained trapped in a smaller, more cinephile circuit.
Good Will Hunting had everything needed to belong to that category: a drama, an ovation of more than 10 minutes at Cannes, and immediate awards conversation.
Even coming from the same guy who had turned Paranormal Activity into a $144 million phenomenon, few expected a prestige drama to end up behaving like a massive commercial success.
Sadie took a sip of coffee and looked back at the screen. 'The movie cost thirteen million, right?' she thought.
She began doing quick calculations in her head.
That meant the second film directly financed by Owen had multiplied its budget by more than 20 times.
Second, if she only counted the projects where he had actually put up the money.
The Spectacular Now had also been an enormous success. He starred in it and wrote the screenplay, but he had sold that script to A24; it was not a film made by his production company.
Even so, the numbers there were also high: a $4 million budget and $68 million in grosses.
17 times its cost.
As for Paranormal Activity, it had cost $20,000 and achieved a return on investment of more than 7,000 times its budget.
A historic record that probably not even Owen himself could surpass, because the secret lay precisely in the starting point: a film made with an amount of money that was almost insignificant by industry standards.
Sadie set the cup down on the table, still processing the scale of it all.
It was strange to think about.
Owen was only one year older than her. He had been born in 2001, and she in 2002.
And yet, while many actors of his generation were only just beginning to succeed, even older ones, Owen had already won Sundance, an Oscar, Cannes, and had turned 3 independent films into commercial and critical phenomena.
Now she was working on her first television project under that same banner.
A project the entire industry was watching with a mixture of curiosity, expectation, and a certain anxiety over whether it could succeed on the small screen.
Even so, while many actors of his generation were only just beginning to establish themselves, some of them quite a bit older than him, Owen had already won Sundance, an Oscar, Cannes, and had turned 3 independent films into commercial and critical phenomena.
Now she was working on her first television project under that same banner.
A project the entire industry was watching with a mixture of curiosity, expectation, and a certain anxiety, wondering whether Owen would also be able to carry his streak over to the small screen.
Sadie was sure he would.
He would probably even surpass expectations.
As the co-star of one of Black Mirror's three episodes, she already knew the quality of the script very well. She had finished rehearsals with Owen and Kogonada, and finally, that day, filming would begin.
She did not know the scripts for the other two episodes in depth, but considering Owen's track record, they had to be good.
She also had not spent her breaks digging for information. Even so, she already knew the titles.
White Bear, which, as far as she knew, was already finished.
And Shut Up and Dance, which had begun filming the previous week.
She had also met Joe, the lead actor of Shut Up and Dance, and she had liked him. During lunches at the Second Take Films offices, they had talked, played pool, and shared a few games of ping-pong.
Because of that, added to the little Owen himself had told her, she knew that episode was quite dark.
The series, in general, seemed to have a pessimistic and paranoid view of technology.
San Junipero, on the other hand, was different: brighter, more optimistic, and with a happy ending.
"Nervous?" Lori, her mother, asked, having breakfast across from her.
Sadie looked up at her, "Not really," she answered.
"Nothing? Not even a little?" Lori insisted, arching an eyebrow. "You're going to kiss the boy all of Hollywood is talking about. At this point, I don't even know if I should call him a promise anymore. He seems more like the golden boy of the industry."
Sadie rolled her eyes. "No, Mom. Nothing," she said, shaking her head.
It was the truth.
The casting stage had been more tense for her.
Back then, she wanted the role, needed to make a good impression and, as always, there was that inevitable anxiety of wondering whether she had done enough, whether they would call her, whether there was another actress in a better position, or whether she would end up falling just short.
Then came the first days of rehearsal.
There, she had also felt somewhat nervous.
Not in the exaggerated way her mother described it, as if Owen were some unreachable figure wrapped in golden light, but there was a certain expectation about meeting him and working opposite him.
Because, leaving aside his scripts and productions, his acting ability was hard to ignore and commanded respect.
He had starred in Paperman, a short film that had ended up winning the Oscar not only because of its story, but also because of the emotion he managed to convey as one of the leads. And afterward, he had won Best Actor at Cannes at twenty-one, becoming the second-youngest winner in the history of the award.
That did not happen by chance and, after watching him during rehearsals, Sadie could confirm it.
Owen's acting range was the highest she had seen in someone his age. In fact, if she was honest, he was among the best actors she had worked with in general.
With the acting range he had demonstrated in GWH, the conversation around him was not an exaggeration.
But now she already knew him.
They had rehearsed for days, talked, repeated scenes over and over again, and little by little, a sense of professional trust had formed between them.
That was why filming did not make her nervous.
"And there are no kissing scenes today. Besides, he has a girlfriend, Mom. It's not professional," Sadie said, referring to the earlier comment.
Yes, there were kisses in the script, but not on this first day.
San Junipero was a love story. It was inevitable that scenes like that would exist. But they had not kissed during rehearsals.
Those kinds of moments were saved for filming, in front of the cameras, when everything was prepared and coordinated. Besides, when the time came to film those scenes, there would be an intimacy coordinator in charge of speaking with both actors, agreeing on boundaries, and making sure everything was done clearly, comfortably, and professionally.
During rehearsals, Sadie and Owen had only worked on the dialogue, the intentions, the pauses, the looks, and the body language.
And, honestly, a kissing scene on a set did not feel the way someone outside acting might imagine it.
It was not some romantic fantasy of "kissing a famous and attractive actor."
First, you were also in the industry. Second, there were crew members around with cameras, microphones, a director watching everything, and probably other actors who were not in those scenes.
Everything was too controlled for it to feel spontaneous.
"I know, I know, I was just saying," Lori replied with a slight smile. "Besides, I'm worried my tomboy daughter will ever get a boyfriend someday."
"I'm not a tomboy," Sadie muttered under her breath. "I have collaborations and I'm a Prada ambassador."
Although, if she was honest, her mother was not making that up completely out of nowhere.
She was Texan. She had grown up surrounded by brothers and with a father who coached football. Since she was little, she had been more used to noise, competition, sports, and rough jokes than to behaving like a delicate Hollywood actress.
Lori, however, already seemed to have stopped listening to her. "It's a shame that boy has a girlfriend," she continued thoughtfully. "He's a great catch. He reminds me a little of Leonardo DiCaprio when he was young. He has that same aura, as young people say nowadays."
Sadie said nothing. She could not completely deny that she understood what her mother meant.
Owen had that particular air about him.
Not only because of his looks or because of the attention he generated when he entered a room, but because of that strange mixture of genius, quiet confidence, and professionalism. Besides, he was kind, knew how to listen, and had a pretty funny sense of humor.
But he already had a girlfriend, and Sadie was not the kind of person who got involved in someone else's relationship, nor the kind who tried to flirt with someone who was clearly already with another person.
She remembered a piece of news from a few months earlier.
It had been shortly after Cannes, when Good Will Hunting had barely been in theaters for a week and Owen's name was starting to appear everywhere.
Jenna Ortega had appeared on a podcast and, during the conversation, openly talked about how protective she was of the characters she played. Especially Wednesday Addams.
According to what she explained, many of the things originally written in the script did not fit the character's dark essence, so she decided to change them herself on set, modifying some of the writers' lines.
One of the lines she mentioned referred to the black prom dress. Originally, Wednesday was supposed to say something like, "Oh my God, I'm freaking out over a dress. I literally hate myself."
Jenna had stood her ground and said Wednesday would not talk like that.
Those statements generated immediate controversy.
Several screenwriters on social media, along with a good number of random users, accused her of being arrogant, spoiled, and even toxic, as if she were implying that she knew how to do the job better than the show's own creators.
Then Owen spoke.
Not exactly to defend her sentimentally, nor with a speech from an outraged boyfriend.
Sadie remembered that a paparazzo had managed to intercept him and ask him about the subject, right when his relationship with Jenna was becoming public. The question was obvious: what did he think of those statements, being both a screenwriter and an actor himself?
Owen did not dodge the answer.
He agreed with Jenna.
He said those original lines were bad for the character and that, if Jenna had not changed them, Wednesday would have ended up sounding like a generic teenager from a teen series, instead of like Wednesday Addams.
And he did not stop there.
He also pointed out that there were other questionable decisions in the adaptation. To him, Wednesday would never have naturally fit into a love triangle.
Forcing a cynical, dark, and antisocial character to have two such flat romantic interests felt false, almost as if Netflix had tried to force a teenage formula into a character who, historically, worked precisely because she did not respond to those conventions.
The impact was immediate.
His words completely reshaped the conversation.
Suddenly, Jenna was no longer seen only as a spoiled actress who had challenged the writers, but began to be interpreted as someone who had protected the essence of the original material.
And that happened, in large part, because of Owen's status.
He was practically the same age as her, but he already carried a different kind of prestige. He was not only a famous actor; he was also a recognized screenwriter, with major awards and a track record that made his opinions on writing and adaptation be taken seriously.
Public opinion and a good part of the critics stopped treating the matter as a simple actress's tantrum and began discussing it as a real problem of creative direction and corporate adaptation.
Sadie remembered thinking then that it said quite a lot about him.
Not only as an artist.
Also as a partner.
Because he had not come out shouting that people should leave his girlfriend alone. He had done something much more effective: he took the debate, brought it into the territory of the script, and made it clear that Jenna was not being difficult out of ego, but defending the character she played.
It was a fairly intelligent way to support her.
And, added to everything else, it made her mother's observation a little harder to ignore.
But Sadie quickly pushed that thought aside, finished her breakfast, and began getting ready to leave. Her mother accompanied her to the set, although obviously she did not go in with her.
Filming was taking place in a rented soundstage in Burbank, not too far away. The space was already completely prepared for the first day: the eighties nightclub where both protagonists, hers and Owen's, would meet for the first time.
There would be no overly intimate scenes that day.
They were shooting introduction scenes, glances, and their first lines of dialogue.
When Sadie entered the soundstage, she stopped for a moment.
The set was far more impressive than she had imagined. It was the first time she had seen it. Neon lights, an illuminated bar, controlled smoke, extras who were already beginning to get dressed in eighties clothing, and music playing in the background while the technical crew finished adjusting cameras and lights.
It was strange. For days, they had worked on those scenes in a rehearsal room. Now, suddenly, it felt like San Junipero existed.
Sadie greeted Kogonada first and then several members of the crew. Finally, her gaze found Owen. "Hey, congratulations on the three hundred," she said, approaching him.
Owen smiled. "Thanks. Now we're going for four hundred. Or am I exaggerating?"
Sadie let out a small laugh and tilted her head, thoughtful. "Umm... that's difficult. But I don't know. The movie already feels like a classic. I don't really understand how the box office works, weekly drops and all that, but maybe."
"Hopefully," Owen replied, shaking his head slightly. "But it'll be difficult."
He did have a clearer idea.
Neon had already sent him some estimates and, although the numbers were still extraordinary, reaching four hundred million seemed very difficult.
Before they could continue talking, a production assistant approached Sadie.
"Sadie, they're waiting for you in makeup."
She nodded and looked back at Owen with a resigned expression. "Time to sit for two hours while people retouch my face and hair," she said, raising a hand in farewell. "See you."
Owen laughed softly and returned the gesture. "Good luck. I'll also have at least an hour, but not that much."
"Lucky," Sadie murmured, while the assistant guided her away to stay on schedule.
Sadie's preparation was longer.
Between makeup, hair, wardrobe, and the specific details of the eighties look, it could take between an hour and a half and two hours. Owen's process, on the other hand, was closer to an hour, or an hour and a half at most.
While she headed to her trailer, Owen took advantage of that window to speak with Kogonada and review some details for the day.
He confirmed with the other producers he had hired for this episode that everything was in order.
And so the first day of filming San Junipero began.
It was not a short day.
Between extras, neon lights, camera movements, art adjustments, and Kogonada's meticulousness, the day ended close to eight in the evening.
Owen spent the day moving between two mental states.
On one hand, there was the actor: attentive to Sadie, to the glances, to the rhythm of the scenes, and to his dialogue.
On the other, there was the producer: watching to make sure the day did not fall too far behind, that the crew did not lose focus, and that Kogonada was getting exactly the shots he needed.
It was not always easy to balance both things.
But, by the end of the day, the general feeling was positive for a first day.
San Junipero, at last, had begun to exist in front of the camera.
And so, almost without realizing it, the days of filming began to move quickly.
-------------------------------------------------
You can read 15 chapters in advance on my patreon.
Link: https://[email protected]/Nathe07