"Danny, right now, the major studios are all interested in When Harry Met Sally. The commercial prospects are rock-solid. But to keep control of the project, Daenerys Films prefers to go it alone on the investment. On the other hand, the funds I have tied up won't be available until year's end, and we're set to start shooting in September. That's why we're open to partnering with a third party."
Though HandMade Films had reached out after Daenerys let slip they were seeking collaborators, Dennis O'Brien—after hearing Simon lay out the project's broad strokes—still zeroed in on his own sharp questions.
"Simon, from what I know, Daenerys has absolute control over both Final Destination and Pulp Fiction. It shouldn't be hard for you to negotiate the same terms for When Harry Met Sally with one of the majors, right?"
Simon shook his head. "Danny, this one's different. The key is that I plan to invest personally too. If we team up with one of the Big Seven, even if we secure control during production, the distribution—North American theaters and every other channel—would lock us in with them completely. And the majors' accounting systems won't guarantee Daenerys gets our fair share. You've got to have some experience with that."
Dennis O'Brien nodded emphatically, all too familiar.
Any capital venturing into Hollywood despised the "Hollywood accounting" practices of the major studios and even the second- and third-tier distributors.
To skim as much as possible from independent producers' rightful earnings, Hollywood distributors would inflate costs every which way.
Take theatrical distribution, for instance. For an independent project, the split between distributor and producer typically went like this.
After release, the distributor deducted a chunk of the box office as their commission. The percentage depended on the contract; stronger producers paid less.
In the original timeline, DreamWorks paid Paramount just 8% during their collaborations. But weaker producers could get hit with up to 15%.
And that was only the start.
The real "genius" of Hollywood accounting lay in the marketing and distribution expenses that followed.
Films needed promotion, sure.
Print costs, TV ad buys, write-offs from company losses, lawn maintenance at the studio lot, executive vacations on private jets—if they could bill it, they would.
In the end.
What might actually be less than half the production budget in real promo costs could balloon on the books to exceed the film's entire making price.
So, could "Hollywood accounting" be avoided?
No.
It was an open secret in Hollywood. Even the Harry Potter series, with billion-dollar global grosses per film, showed losses on paper. Even if a producer was tough enough to send in their own auditors, they'd just end up with an inflated promo budget anyway.
Of course, that raised a question.
Nobody was an idiot.
If Hollywood pulled this crap, why did capital still flock to it?
Obviously.
There were ways around "Hollywood accounting."
Heavyweight investors usually bought into the studio as a whole, settling accounts across the board, sharing profits and losses. No matter the tricks on individual films, the overall financials had to be crystal clear—or the IRS wouldn't stand for it.
For mid- and small-sized investors, it was either sell the rights outright or start your own company and handle distribution yourself.
Right now.
Simon's distribution plan for When Harry Met Sally mirrored Run Lola Run's: hold onto as many ancillary rights as possible, push it into North American theaters first, then leverage domestic box office to roll out the rest. Mostly through outright sales, of course.
In the office.
Simon and Amy spent over an hour detailing the cast, shooting schedule, distribution strategy, and more to Dennis O'Brien.
Finally, Simon got to investment shares and profit splits.
"Danny, if HandMade wants in on When Harry Met Sally, here's my offer: $15 million budget, split fifty-fifty—$7.5 million each. But for profits, as the lead producer handling everything, after costs, Daenerys takes 60% of net, and HandMade gets the remaining 40%."
Dennis O'Brien shook his head immediately. "Simon, that's too steep."
Simon held firm. "Not at all, Danny. Remember, this is assuming profits. Daenerys does all the heavy lifting on production, and we're only asking for a 20% net cut as our fee. That's fair."
Dennis O'Brien paused, then pressed: "Simon, what about the settlement process? If we invest, when do we see returns?"
"We can hash out those details next—you and Amy. But Daenerys is in this for the long haul in Hollywood; we won't drag our feet on partners' payouts. To show good faith, once we seal the deal, HandMade can send an accountant to monitor the whole thing."
Dennis O'Brien mulled it over, then said, "Simon, I'll need to run this by George. Maybe reply Monday."
Simon nodded. "No problem. But HandMade isn't the only one sniffing around this project. Daenerys is offering the same terms to everyone—no haggling. So if someone bites tomorrow—or even tonight—we'll have to pass."
With that, seeing Dennis rise, Simon and Amy stood too.
They escorted O'Brien out and headed back into the building.
Simon returned to his office, Amy trailing. As he sank comfortably into the leather chair behind his desk, she tidied the scattered files in the seating area. "Simon, you shouldn't have offered to let O'Brien send an accountant."
Simon picked up Forrest Gump, flipping to his bookmark and lounging back with it. "Amy, I'm being sincere. I want Daenerys to go the distance—no need for games on the small stuff."
Amy stacked the files and slid them into the wall cabinet. "A lot of studio founders started out thinking that. But Simon, reality doesn't always let us play clean."
Simon chuckled. "In that case, you handle the backpedaling with them."
Amy rolled her eyes lightly, shut the cabinet, and sat across from him, eyeing the young man. "Ron, Wes, and I head to New York tomorrow. Location scouting for Final Destinataion is done; we're reviewing all the sites, plus talks with Queens borough and JFK about shooting permits. This was the project you wrangled from Fox, and it seems like you're not invested at all."
Tomorrow was Saturday.
But the federal forty-hour workweek was really just for the working class.
The Fair Labor Standards Act had a clause exempting executives in companies with two or more employees from the forty-hour rule. Overtime for them? No pay required.
To Simon, it boiled down to a simple truth: if you wanted to rise above, don't expect an eight-hour day.
Hearing Amy's half-serious gripe, Simon turned a page. "I'm the boss—snagging those profit terms from Fox was my job. The rest? This project doesn't need my full attention."
With the script done, Wes Craven directing, and Amy's team on board, Simon was confident. The Butterfly Effect's smash hit meant no one doubted Final Destination would clear its $20 million guarantee. A pure popcorn teen horror flick didn't warrant his constant oversight.
They chatted a bit more; Simon checked his watch, closed the book. "Quitting time soon. Do you have plans tonight?"
Amy arched a brow, smiling. "Dinner with my boyfriend."
"Oh, never mind then," Simon shrugged, explaining: "It's Jonathan, actually. You know, Robert De Niro's gone without an agent forever. After losing out on that Fox lead in Big, he's shopping for a agency. Jonathan wants to snag him for WMA—throwing a party tonight, hoping I'd show."
Lately, Simon's push to hoard rights stemmed from spotting so many projects slipping away.
Like Big.
In the original timeline, it not only topped $100 million domestic but earned Tom Hanks his first Oscar nod for Best Actor.
Simon only learned De Niro had vied for it during a casual chat with Jonathan Friedman. Plus, Fox had Die Hard locked in—a franchise goldmine.
Beyond Fox, plenty of hot properties from his memory were already out of reach.
And some, he was torn on pursuing.
Like Rain Man, next year's domestic champ in the original timeline, its script still adrift.
But Run Lola Run was poised to claim this year's crown. If next year, the one after, even further out—all tied to Simon? That wasn't just standing out; it was choking everyone else out.
If they couldn't breathe.
Tsk.
With that in mind, Simon planned to mix in some non-blockbusters from memory during his rights grab, even produce them with ample funds.
Across the desk.
Amy, hearing his rundown, said: "If De Niro's agency-hunting, CAA seems more likely, right? Oh, and earlier—faxing that Nicole Kidman's info to Jonathan, telling them to poach her—what's that about?"
Simon recalled his Monday meet with Michael Ovitz, shrugging. "Nothing much. Just think CAA's gotten too dominant. We should use their clients less going forward."
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