"Five hundred thousand…"
Tom Rothman tilted his head slightly, stroked his chin, and his gaze returned to the proposal in his hand.
To be honest, the script did have its bright spots at first glance; the clever plot designs occasionally made one's eyes light up, but there were also quite a few flaws.
The protagonist in the script was an awkward high school student, whose actions were peculiar and hard to fathom.
Even the ending was inexplicably abrupt, as if the story suddenly stopped, leaving one utterly confused.
"He even danced a bit?"
Tom couldn't help but frown when he saw this scene in the script, shaking his head gently, becoming even more puzzled by the script's direction and intent.
Fox Searchlight Pictures was currently following Miramax Films' path: specifically selecting low-budget films to acquire distribution rights, then releasing them on a small scale to test the waters and gauge market reaction.
Of course, Miramax Films also produced its own films, but most of the films it made were aimed at the Oscar, striving for achievements in art and awards.
At that time, Quentin Tarantino had only directed two films, Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. Although he had already demonstrated extraordinary talent, he had not yet become a household name, and his fame in Hollywood was still on the rise.
Speaking of which, it was Miramax Films' boss, Harvey Weinstein, who had the unique foresight to discover him. Since then, Quentin's films became one of Miramax Films' cash cows, bringing Miramax Films substantial profits and extremely high prestige.
In short, Miramax Films loved to target films that looked like they could make money; they possessed keen market insight and precise investment vision.
"Fox Searchlight Pictures is just starting out; we can't afford to mess up with such an uncertain film," Tom thought to himself, genuinely unsure if this script could make money.
He was a businessman, and his primary consideration was return on investment, not artistic creation.
Moreover, this script wasn't even an art film; it was purely a comedy, and the direction of the comedy market was often unpredictable.
"If we're going to invest, let's invest in big productions; the returns are usually higher."
Tom mused, although low-budget films occasionally made a huge profit, they were ultimately a minority.
Major productions like Avatar, The Avengers, and Titanic—which one didn't cost hundreds of millions? Yet, their box office easily surpassed a billion, which was the norm in the film market.
"Let's put it aside for now; we'll talk after Se7en is released." After making up his mind, Tom nodded, then asked his secretary to put the script into the filing cabinet.
He thought that if Kazir could make a name for himself with Se7en, proving his ability and vision, then this film, napoleon dynamite, might still have a chance.
Another week passed, and Kazir finally understood—he was hitting walls everywhere, and not a single company was willing to entertain him.
He visited every company that might be interested in this film, promoting his script and proposal one by one, but unfortunately, all he received were cold responses.
"I've visited all the companies I could, but unfortunately, no one takes it seriously." Kazir shrugged helplessly, though he had mentally prepared himself for this.
After all, in a highly competitive place like Hollywood, it was incredibly difficult for a nascent and unknown director like him to secure investment and recognition.
But he had lived half a lifetime in his previous life, and his mindset was already calm; he wouldn't get upset over such a small matter.
"You won't invest, huh? Then I'll try a different approach. Didn't Se7en also only get anywhere after being sent to David Fincher?"
Kazir didn't lose heart; instead, his eyes revealed determination and an unwillingness to give up.
He got up and walked out of his apartment, and not far away, he spotted a phone booth.
He thought he might be able to contact other connections and resources through the phone.
But as soon as he stepped into the phone booth, he frowned. A pungent smell of urine permeated the air, making him feel sick to his stomach.
"Are these people sick?"
Kazir couldn't help but curse, secretly guessing that it was indeed a place where gangs congregated; even the phone booth was so disgusting, and no one cared.
Finally, he couldn't stand the smell any longer and retreated from the phone booth, finding a relatively cleaner spot.
He took a deep breath, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Hello, it's me, Kazir."
A voice quickly came from the other end of the line, and Kazir quickly spoke.
Six years ago, the original owner had severed ties with his family after resolutely leaving home.
His father had strongly opposed his becoming a director from the very beginning, saying that Hollywood was a big dyeing vat, full of vanity, drugs, and pornography, which would ruin people's minds, and told him to give up this unrealistic dream as soon as possible.
Although his father's words were harsh, he wasn't wrong.
Hollywood was indeed a place full of temptations and traps. Every year, countless people came here with dreams, only to lose themselves and fall into the abyss of depravity.
But Hollywood was also an entertainment empire, a dream factory!
It was also an undeniable fact that every year, countless people vied to get in, just to make a name for themselves and realize their film dreams.
"The sun must have risen in the west for you to call me." Gray rubbed his forehead, his tone tinged with surprise and helplessness.
After the call, Gray immediately flew from New York to Los Angeles when he heard his brother wanted to see him.
He hugged him tightly and sighed, "I thought you'd long forgotten you had a brother like me."
"Sorry, I might have caused you trouble," Kazir said with some guilt.
"Trouble, not really…" Gray gave a wry smile. To be honest, after six years of no contact, suddenly receiving his brother's call really startled him. He felt both a little angry and a little happy.
"How have you been doing here? I've watched those films you made… how should I put it, they're a bit hard to describe. Why don't you try making comedies?"
Gray asked with concern.
He felt that his brother's previous style leaned towards film noir, favoring bloody scenes, and his themes were often gloomy, a style that might be more restricted in the market.
Kazir's previous works were indeed like that; he preferred the style of film noir, liked to use bloody scenes in his films to create a tense and thrilling atmosphere, and his themes were often heavy and dark.
This Gray's struggles in his previous life, which never amounted to anything, were very similar. He had long wanted to change his approach.
However, in this life, he wanted to make action films even more—that was his lifelong dream.
He had been obsessed with action movies since childhood; the thrilling fight scenes and heroic sentiments deeply attracted him.
Unfortunately, action films often required budgets of tens of millions, and an unknown person like him couldn't even dream of it; no one was willing to invest in him to make an action film.
"Speaking of which…" Kazir ran a hand through his hair, then pushed the script onto the table, his expression a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
"This is?" Gray asked, somewhat puzzled.
"A script I wrote. Brother, I need help," Kazir said, mustering his courage.
Gray picked up the script and first glanced at the tentative title.
"napoleon dynamite? Kazir, you called me here just for this lousy script?" Gray frowned. He had flown from the East Coast to the West Coast, originally wanting to see his brother and check on his life and work, but it turned out he was here to be a "savior"?
"Something like that," Kazir chuckled, a little embarrassed.
"Anything else?" Gray pressed, feeling that his brother surely had other things to say.
"It's just… I really missed you," Kazir hesitated, then said sincerely.
"Oh, stop it! You're giving me goosebumps!" Gray rubbed his arms, saying with a look of disgust, but the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curl slightly upwards, secretly quite happy.
He actually missed his brother too; they had been very close as children, spending many happy times together.
But ever since Kazir left home to pursue his dream, they had lost contact. For these six years, Gray had always worried about his brother, wondering if he was doing well out there.
All these years, the only way Gray could support his brother was by watching his films—even though each one was more terrifying than the last, making one's scalp tingle, he still watched every single one, wanting to understand his brother's creative and living situation.
'It's actually a comedy.' Gray thought, flipping through a few pages of the script, surprised to find that his brother wanted to change his style this time.
"Alright, let's put the script aside for now. First, tell me about your days in Los Angeles. You must have been through a lot these past few years, right? I'm curious." He tossed the script onto the table, having already guessed that his brother's call was mostly about script investment, but at that moment, he wanted to hear about his brother's experiences and stories over the years more.
To be honest, not being angry was a lie, after all, his brother hadn't contacted him for six years, but he was more happy; he finally saw him again.
"Where should I start… Oh right, I got married," Kazir thought for a moment, then said.
"What?" Gray's eyes widened, his face full of surprise.
"But I got divorced again; I'm single now," Kazir smiled helplessly, continuing.
"What?!" Gray was shocked again, his mouth hanging open for a long time.