Santa Monica.
In a screening room at Daenerys Entertainment headquarters, as another segment of the Batman rough cut faded to black, an assistant leaned in to murmur a reminder. Only then did Terry Semel realize it was already five o'clock.
Reflecting on the past three hours, Semel felt a profound sense of awe.
It was Friday, May 5.
When Simon had collapsed back in February, Semel had flown to Australia as Warner's representative to visit him. The circumstances had been chaotic; he hadn't had time to view any footage. This was his first look at the rough cut.
Post-production on Batman had run parallel to shooting. After returning to Los Angeles, Simon had spent just one week assembling a first rough cut, six and a half hours long.
Semel had arrived that afternoon planning to skim an hour or so for a general sense of the film. Instead he'd stayed the entire afternoon, barely noticing when Simon who'd initially watched with him slipped out.
Though it was past quitting time, Semel felt a powerful urge to finish the remaining three hours right then and there.
Movies could actually be made like this?!
The thought had echoed through his mind countless times during the screening.
During prep, when he'd heard Simon intended to shoot as much as possible on practical locations, Semel had voiced concerns.
Practical shooting could heighten immersion, yes--but it also risked making the film feel mundane. At its core, Batman was soft science fiction; the genre demanded a sense of the unreal.
Too grounded in reality, without enough vivid superhero spectacle, and audiences would feel the disconnect: This isn't the superhero world I imagined.
That disconnect would doom the movie.
In Warner's many failed attempts over the years, directors who'd shown interest had almost universally favored building Gotham in a studio, creating a fully controlled, stylized city.
Now Semel's worries had vanished.
Even in uncolor-timed footage, the visuals rivaled or surpassed the stunning cinematography of Simon's Run Lola Run. That earlier film had become textbook material at film schools; here, many shots felt even stronger.
Through masterful use of lighting, color, and composition, Simon had turned real city streets into framed oil paintings worthy of the greatest masters. Some images could be printed and hung as fine art.
The overall cold, brooding palette delivered a surreal psychological cue: this was both a recognizable city and the Gotham of the comics.
Yet the visuals alone weren't what stunned Semel.
Simon's technical command was Oscar-caliber, but other films could replicate it with enough money and a top-tier crew.
What truly floored him was the content, especially the action.
Traditional Hollywood action had its peaks: Bruce Lee's kung fu, solid work from trained stars like Van Damme. But most was uninspired back-and-forth brawling.
Lacking flair, recent years had favored Stallone-style gunplay: shirtless musclemen mowing down enemies under hails of bullets.
Semel had seen Eastern martial-arts films too, but found their choreography overly elaborate and impractical.
In Simon's Batman, he felt he was glimpsing the future of Hollywood action.
Hand-to-hand combat wasn't bar-room sloppiness. Batman's blows landed with brutal, primal force that thrilled the blood; Catwoman's lithe, lethal grace exploiting every feminine advantage set pulses racing.
Car chases avoided mindless crashes and explosions, yet vehicles barreling toward the screen in shattering slow-motion felt more visceral than any fireball.
Gunfights weren't brainless charges through gunfire. In the tense showdown with Deadshot, a CG bullet screaming forward in slow-motion made Semel hold his breath. A single bullet could dominate the frame.
Beyond those set pieces, details like Batman's wingsuit flights, batarangs, Catwoman's gymnastic rooftop leaps all felt like textbook material for future blockbusters.
Semel couldn't wait for the finished film. Simon had already perfected these elements; as Hollywood's finest screenwriter, the story wouldn't lag behind.
A quiet conviction grew on him: this groundbreaking superhero film would deliver groundbreaking box office.
The thought wasn't comforting.
Remembering that DC had sold Batman and Wonder Woman outright—and Warner hadn't objected to the Superman transfer Semel felt sharp regret. He now believed the studio had made irreversible mistakes with all three properties.
The contracts had expiration dates, but in practice, when stakes were this high, rights holders never let go.
Take Superman: despite Superman IV's flop, Simon had paid the Salkinds six million for the remaining five-year term.
And though the original deal with Alexander Salkind expired in 1992, an auto-renewal clause kicked in as long as the property wasn't shelved. If the rights holder wanted sequels, the term extended.
Now Daenerys controlled that clause.
Clearly, unless they voluntarily relinquished the rights, Warner would never regain Superman or Batman or Wonder Woman.
A blunder.
Semel lingered a few more minutes, then rose and headed for the door, asking his assistant, "Is Simon still in the building?"
As they walked out, the assistant replied, "Mr. Westeros left at three for the Pretty Woman set."
Semel frowned. "Pretty Woman?"
The assistant explained: "A romantic comedy Daenerys just started shooting this week. The male lead race was fierce, Harrison Ford, Richard Gere, Alec Baldwin, Daniel Day-Lewis all chased the script. In the end Westeros personally picked a second-tier British actor, Pierce Brosnan. Julia Roberts from Steel Magnolias was locked early for the female lead."
As Steve Ross's right-hand man, Semel had been deep in Time-Warner merger talks for months and had missed much Hollywood gossip.
He couldn't place Brosnan and asked his assistant to pull a bio. He was surprised Harrison Ford had auditioned for a Daenerys project and lost.
Then it made sense.
Ford's twin pillars Star Wars and Indiana Jones had kept him among the rare super-A-listers since the late seventies.
But Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade's release later this month would leave both franchises dormant for years. Ford's non-franchise films hadn't performed strongly; to maintain his status, he'd need surefire hits.
Semel left the screening room. Simon didn't return from the set but sent an invitation to that evening's cocktail party via staff.
Back in L.A., Simon had taken only a weekend to recover before diving into work.
First: finalizing The Bodyguard and The Sixth Sense.
Both were essentially picture-locked. Simon had stayed involved from Melbourne; the cuts met his expectations. This week he tweaked details; next week they'd go to the MPAA for ratings.
The first TV spot for Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston's The Bodyguard was already airing; release June 2 on 2,021 screens.
The Sixth Sense, set for June 30, had been marketing for months, but final strategy remained undecided.
Simon had demanded strict plot secrecy during production.
To this day, many supporting actors didn't know the full story. After viewing the finished film, Amy, Remme, and other executives felt that aside from the final twist it was fairly ordinary, lacking standout elements.
If not for Simon's writing credit and De Niro's involvement and no better slot, Amy might have suggested moving it.
John Hughes's Uncle Buck looked strong from rough-cut reports, but post wouldn't wrap until mid-June, forcing an August 11 release at summer's tail end.
Hughes's second film this year, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, was already shooting for Warner, Christmas release.
Simon had backed Uncle Buck to secure Home Alone and kept a first-look option on Hughes scripts.
The Christmas Vacation script came to Daenerys first; Simon passed.
Yet with Uncle Buck halfway through post, Hughes hadn't produced anything resembling Home Alone nor cast Macaulay Culkin.
Simon planned to wait until year's end. If nothing materialized, he'd write it himself.
After watching some footage with Semel that afternoon, Simon visited the Pretty Woman set and stayed until wrap.
Aside from swapping Gere for Pierce Brosnan, it was largely the original team.
Brosnan's tall, handsome British charm perfectly suited the suave Wall Street tycoon Edward Lewis.
The cocktail party was held that evening at the Palisades mansion.
After months away, reconnecting was essential.
Janet would normally have organized it. With her in Australia, Simon considered asking Katherine (Kathryn).
But Katherine had overseen Point Dume construction for months, flown to Melbourne immediately after his collapse, and their history was so public even tabloids had stopped teasing. Thin-skinned Katherine still pretended otherwise.
Upon Simon's return, she'd cited prep for her next film and fled to New York clearly avoiding further Daenerys ties.
In the end, Jennifer handled arrangements.
Equally thin-skinned, she treated it as official business, drafting the guest list with Amy's assistant Vanessa. What was meant to be an intimate gathering became a bustling industry mixer.