Marvel's Missing Pieces

The first reviews came in from people who had walked into Chronicle expecting a cheap effects film and found something harder to shake.

"I can't believe they made this for fifteen million dollars."

"Andrew is frightening because you understand him long before he becomes dangerous."

"The camera style makes the violence feel too close. Dane DeHaan sold every minute of it."

The Conjuring 2 drew its own crowd. James Wan had given the audience another reason to cover its eyes, and a few viewers immediately began asking when he would return to Saw. Ethan read enough to know neither release had been hurt by MGM's two-month absence from theaters.

At the end of the opening week, The Conjuring 2 had taken about $58 million in more than 3,500 theaters. Chronicle, in roughly 2,600, had reached $42.77 million. Wan's name had done much of the work for the horror film. Blomkamp's picture had opened on MGM's reputation and then given people a reason to recommend it.

The ending was helping. Matt believed he had killed Andrew, and viewers had left the theater carrying that image. They did not know that after the credits' final beat, police transporting the body would discover he was still alive. Andrew escaped before anyone could decide what to do with him. The added scene left the door open without undoing the cost of his rampage.

There were other doors too: the object that had changed the boys, the government's interest in it, and what a world might do after two of its young men had fought above a city in full view of cameras. Ethan would rather make a sequel with something to say than strip the mystery for a fast return, but he could see why MGM's finance people were already asking.

He called Blomkamp. "You delivered. The film looks twice its budget, and Andrew stays with you afterward."

"I learned from you," Neill said.

"You can save that line for the press. Where did you find DeHaan?"

"He came to an open audition. Nineteen, stage work but no screen credit, and no agent to put him in front of us. I nearly sent him home before he read."

"And then?"

"Then he looked up. He could turn hurt into anger without making Andrew look born evil. I didn't need another actor."

"What did you pay him?"

Neill hesitated. "Ten thousand upfront."

"For the lead?"

"I had fifteen million for the whole film. Most of it went into the last act."

"That doesn't make the number fair. Have business affairs check the union minimums, residuals, and every deferred term. If we owe him more, we fix it before someone else explains his own contract to him."

Neill sighed. "I thought you'd say that."

"You made a good movie. Don't make me spend its first month defending how we treated the actor who carried it."

"All right. What do you want me to do next?"

"Rest. Then send Dane's contact details to Kevin Feige. There's a role I want him to read for."

"Which one?"

"Harry Osborn."

Neill gave a low whistle. "So the kid really did find a way into Marvel."

Sony and MGM had already agreed to develop Spider-Man together. Ethan wanted a new Peter Parker with room to grow, not another film that introduced Peter's childhood friend just long enough to make him an enemy. Dane could play Harry's privilege and the fear beneath it. If Harry was going to become a Green Goblin, the audience needed to believe in the friendship he lost first.

He remembered the other timeline's The Amazing Spider-Man 2. Its Harry had entered late, carrying a hereditary illness and a demand for Spider-Man's blood. Peter's refusal drove the break before their old bond had much time onscreen. Ethan did not intend to repeat that shortcut. He could establish the Osborn family and its company early, then let the friendship turn over more than one film.

The idea went beyond Harry. Oscorp could be a rival to Stark Industries: biotechnology across from weapons and energy. In the comic books, Norman Osborn was not merely a man with a glider. He had money, laboratories, and political reach. Those assets could make him a threat to more than Spider-Man.

Ethan opened the folder of story outlines he had kept beside his desk. In the other timeline, Avengers: Age of Ultron had taken the team in a direction he would not use. He wanted to build toward Dark Reign instead: public trust in the Avengers faltering, Norman stepping into the gap, and a rival team of compromised heroes claiming official authority.

It could not be a direct adaptation of every comic. A two-hour film could not hold the Sentry, Molecule Man, Asgard, the X-Men, and two Avengers teams without losing its center. He marked the characters who mattered to the conflict and crossed out the rest for now. The final battle could bring Peter, the genuine Avengers, and Norman's chosen heroes together, if the groundwork made their collision inevitable.

The X-Men were a harder question. Their screen rights were not Ethan's to spend. Fox would have to agree to a license or a larger arrangement before he could put them in the same continuity. Sony's Spider-Man deal was a beginning, not a blanket permission slip. He wrote that beside the outline in ink.

By late June, Chronicle had expanded to more than 3,600 theaters and passed $127 million in North America. DeHaan was no longer an unknown audition tape. He accepted the Harry offer with a four-picture agreement that would pay him roughly $1.5 million for the first film. Andrew Garfield, still early in his screen career, had a $50,000 starting fee to play Peter. Ethan wanted both contracts built for the series they might become, not merely the first weekend they could open.

The Conjuring 2 reached about $153 million domestically and $239 million worldwide as its international run developed. MGM had a horror franchise it could count on, and Wan had earned the freedom to choose his next project.

The Dragon Ball shoot was finally finished as well. Ethan had been away for some of it, so the crew had made up several shots after he returned. He spent a day with the first assembly, gave the editor notes, and left the remaining cut to the team. His attention belonged to Warner now.

The summer moved on. In the last week of August, several days after Crystal Liu turned eighteen, Ethan visited her home. She had bought her mother a concert ticket and expected the evening to be theirs. After dinner, she and Ethan closed the living-room door and spent time alone together.

Ethan had sent Liu Xiaoli a brief message earlier: "Come home. It's urgent." Crystal did not know he had done it.

The front door opened sooner than Crystal expected. She heard her mother call her name, reached for a blanket, and froze. Xiaoli stood in the doorway. There was no mistaking what she had interrupted, and for a moment none of the three could speak.