Although Link knew Quentin's film had done well at the box office—costing $1.2 million and grossing over $4 million worldwide—he wasn't nervous at all.
Since coming to this world, in addition to having hundreds of classic movie scripts and related knowledge in his head, he also had an unverified cheat: the Box Office Subsidy System.
According to the system's message, as a reward for his contributions to the art of film in his previous life, any movie he participated in making would receive a box office subsidy—at minimum, doubling the real box office (X2).
The more involved he was in the production, the higher the bonus multiplier.
This system had only left a message in his mind upon his arrival—after that, it had never shown itself again. So whether it truly existed still needed to be verified.
He planned to test it using Buried.
At a Sundance Film Festival party, Link heard a laugh.
"Ha-ha, Director Link, congratulations on beating the competition and winning the Jury Prize."
Harvey Weinstein, the boss of Miramax, squeezed through the crowd with his big belly and shook Link's hand warmly.
Harvey Weinstein was a famous Hollywood producer, director, screenwriter—and a film trader.
In the late '70s, he and his brother Bob Weinstein founded Miramax. They'd buy films from around the world at low prices, re-edit them, and then distribute them to the North American market—kind of like antique dealers finding hidden treasures.
In recent years, the Weinstein brothers had successfully picked up Cinema Paradiso from Italy, My Left Foot from Ireland, and Sex, Lies, and Videotape from the UK—earning over $100 million in profits and making Miramax a top indie studio in Hollywood.
But because of their habit of buying films cheaply—often insultingly so—many international directors had mixed feelings about them.
They appreciated the exposure and recognition Miramax could bring, but hated their reckless editing. For example, the director's cut of Cinema Paradiso was 173 minutes long. The Miramax version? Only 123—50 minutes chopped.
Even though the film grossed over $50 million in North America and won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film at the 62nd Academy Awards, director Giuseppe Tornatore was furious and swore never to work with Miramax again.
So when Harvey approached him, Link smiled and shook hands politely."Thank you!"
"Director Link, have you found a distributor for Buried yet? What would you say to letting Miramax handle its North American release?"
Harvey quickly got to the point.
Link smiled and asked an unrelated question, "Mr. Weinstein, I heard Miramax is named after your parents—is that true?"
Harvey was stunned, then laughed, "Yes! My mother is Mira, my father is Max."
"They must be very proud to see Miramax become such a force," Link raised his champagne glass.
"Thank you."
Harvey clinked glasses with him and patted his shoulder.
"Now, back to business. I watched Buried. Not bad at all. For a low-budget indie film, it's quite fresh—definitely has market potential. I heard you shot it for $100,000? I'll give you $150,000. Hand over the North American distribution rights."
Link chuckled, "Shaye offered me $400,000. I didn't accept."
"Robert Shaye? He's not in my league. I can get you into the Oscars—can he?"
Harvey bared his teeth like a toad, aggressive and full of bluster.
Link swirled his drink and said nothing.
Robert Shaye was the president of New Line Cinema—one of the top indie studios. In terms of influence and reach, New Line was on par with Miramax. Harvey had a slight edge when it came to Oscar campaigning, but that alone wasn't enough to sway Link.
For Link, making money was the top priority.
He sipped his champagne and calmly asked, "Mr. Weinstein, how much box office do you estimate Buried will make in North America?"
Harvey frowned, raised a finger. "One million. Tops. Your film is fresh, yes—but it's just one actress in a wooden box, a few props, a dark and depressing atmosphere. How many people would pay $8 to watch that? Not many, I think."
He waved his hand as he spoke, sounding confident and persuasive.
Link also raised a finger. "Mr. Weinstein, your eye for films is well known. I'd love to work with you. I have a suggestion—hear me out?"
"Go ahead."
"We do a performance-based deal. If the box office is under $1 million, I get nothing. But for every additional $1 million, I get 40% of that revenue."
"40%?!"
Harvey frowned deeply. He'd never seen a debut director so bold—offering a box office gamble right out of the gate.
"You're really confident in this movie?"
Link smiled, "Absolutely. And I'm not afraid of risks. I'm sure you've heard about my bet with Quentin Tarantino."
"Ha! A trophy for three movies—you're a sly one."
"All voluntary," Link shrugged. "I didn't force him. Same with you—this deal is yours to take or leave."
Harvey stroked his chin in thought. "40% is too much. No one in Hollywood offers that high a split. 20%—that's my final offer."
Harvey estimated the film could gross around $4 million. Giving Link 40% of the surplus after $1 million would mean paying him $1.2 million—more than his own cut. He wasn't keen on that.
Link smiled, "Since it's a bet, there's risk on both sides. 35%—my sign of respect to you, Mr. Weinstein."
Harvey countered with 25%. Link refused.
After a few rounds of negotiation, they settled on 30%.
Harvey had one extra condition: If Buried exceeded $5 million, Link's next film must include at least 20% Miramax investment.
Link's condition: Miramax must pay 50% of his share within 45 days after theatrical release, and the rest within six months.
Harvey agreed.
"Link, how did it go?"Nicole Kidman walked over and asked.
She wore a long black evening gown, golden hair cascading down her shoulders. Her fair skin and tall figure, with those long legs, made many short men keep their distance. She was captivating.
When casting Buried, Link had simple requirements for the female lead: Beautiful, sexy, and talented.
After considering several actresses, he chose Nicole Kidman.
She had the looks, the screen presence, and the acting chops. Plus, she was married to Tom Cruise and had a strong fan base. The perfect candidate.
At first, Nicole wasn't interested—it sounded like a rookie director's experimental indie project.
But after reading the script, she found it compelling and emotionally rich. She agreed to join—for only $50,000.
Looking at her now, Link smiled. "It went well. We've reached a deal."
"You're letting Harvey distribute Buried? Be careful—his reputation in the industry isn't great," Nicole said with a smile.
"I'll be careful. Nicole, would you like to dance?"
"Of course," she replied with a soft smile, placing her hand on his chest.
Thursday, February 15th – Buried began limited release in 24 art-house theaters across 13 major U.S. cities.
In its first 3 days, it grossed $328,000 with an 80% occupancy rate.
The buzz was overwhelmingly positive.
The film told the story of a woman beaten unconscious by her alcoholic, abusive husband, locked in a box, and buried somewhere remote.
She had only a cell phone, a flashlight, and her nightgown. Desperate, she called the police, friends, and family.
The film gradually revealed the truth—she lived in a conservative town, her husband was impotent, violent, and jealous. She was a closeted lesbian, and her husband buried her alive after discovering her secret affair.
Her parents blamed her. The police mocked her. Her friends were dismissive. Her only hope? Herself.
A storm arrived. The husband, drunk, forgot the burial site. She had to save herself.
In the climactic final scene, her bloody fists pounded the wooden box, echoing in the theater like a drumbeat of despair.
Audiences cried. Cheered. Left shaken.
"Best film I've seen all year!""I cried so hard—don't watch if you're sensitive.""One actor, one box, one movie. Link is a genius.""Nicole Kidman gave her best performance to date.""Honestly, I just watched for Nicole. She's stunning. I'm going again."
Even CBS ran a segment outside a theater—80% of viewers gave it rave reviews.
Critics praised it too. Hollywood Reporter, Variety, and others gave it 5 stars.
They called it:
"A daring experiment."
"Emotionally powerful, structurally tight."
"Bold themes: domestic abuse, gender, social prejudice."
Nicole's performance broke her "pretty face" mold. Link was praised even more: a one-man crew with incredible talent.
In its first week, Buried grossed $3.37 million from under 100 theaters—ranking #11 at the box office. With a 37x return on its $100,000 budget.
The media dubbed it "The Year's First Box Office Dark Horse."
By week four, it had reached $30.81 million—a 300:1 return.
Link became famous in the film world.
Critics hailed him:
"Most promising new director."
"Likely Oscar contender."
"Visionary genius."
Meanwhile, Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs opened to $330,000. Total domestic gross? Less than $2 million.
"Link… you win."Quentin growled over the phone.
"Don't be discouraged, Quentin. Reservoir Dogs is great too," Link said kindly.
"Hmph! I'll win next time."
After the fourth week, Harvey personally handed Link three things:
A $10 million check from National Bank,
A Rolls-Royce Silver Spur key,
A luxury villa in Beverly Hills.
All part of his cut. Link accepted them without hesitation.
Later, Nicole called to congratulate him—and invited him out for drinks.
Link invited her to his apartment instead.
By noon, Nicole arrived with red wine, dressed discreetly.
After a few drinks, passion ignited again.
"Link… you're amazing," Nicole said breathlessly.
"At what exactly?" he teased.
"Your movies. They're brilliant."
He smiled and kissed her.
"Next year, I'll write a film just for you—to get you that Oscar for Best Actress."
"Really?"She was overjoyed.
He nodded.
Nicole climbed back on top of him.The room lit up with fire again.
Knock knock knock!
Suddenly, loud knocks came from the door.
"Who is it?!" Link called, annoyed.
"Sir, check-out time," the voice replied.