348 - Hollywood: Backlot Emperor (Patreon)

348 - Worth Mentioning

Todd had reason to be cautious. Backlot Pictures had grown quickly, but Hollywood was littered with production companies that had not survived their first few years. Some were vanity outfits set up by stars or studios; others had real ambitions. As the big media groups consolidated their hold on the business, few independent companies gained any ground.

Backlot had been founded in 2000 and, three years on, already had several hits. A run of inexpensive horror films such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Saw would have been impressive enough. Then there was the romantic comedy that had cleared $200 million in North America on a budget of only $5 million.

On a return-on-investment basis, Saw could almost stand beside My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Plenty of older mid-tier companies would have struggled to match those results. Much of Backlot's record rested on Adrian's judgment, so Todd was right to worry that success might make him reckless.

Todd's warning was unnecessary this time. Adrian had set his sights higher, and he had finally shaken off the role that had occupied his mind for months. Neither change meant he intended to gamble blindly.

"I know what a live-action version would cost," Adrian said. "The effects alone would be enormous. Backlot can't finance it by itself."

He smiled. "I could put up the money personally. I doubt the whole production would top two hundred million. But other people will see the commercial potential too. The toys were huge, and there have been animated series for years. After Harry Potter, a studio can imagine the upside."

"And if we try to keep all of it," he added, "the majors will make sure we regret it."

That was the reality of the present market. The major studios, backed by media conglomerates, controlled too many distribution channels and too much infrastructure to ignore. An independent producer could take a risk and win once; doing it repeatedly without powerful partners was another matter.

If Backlot obtained the film rights to Transformers, it would need a major studio to turn them into a durable business. The issue was how much control it could retain. On National Treasure, Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer drove production. Backlot had joined rather than originated the project; a $40 million stake and a negotiated share of profits were valuable, but they did not give Todd's company the final say. Even that share would need careful accounting.

The National Treasure investment had also bought relationships and credibility. Profit was only part of the point. Owning a piece of the Transformers rights would change the balance at the negotiating table: Backlot could help shape the film instead of merely following another producer's lead. It would still need the right partners.

"You already have someone in mind?" Todd asked. Adrian had clearly done his homework.

"DreamWorks and Universal."

Rights alone would not guarantee leverage. Adrian wanted partners with the reach to make the picture but not the ability to dictate every term. DreamWorks and Universal seemed the best fit. DreamWorks came to mind when he remembered Steven Spielberg's connection to the franchise in the life he recalled; he checked the company's position before bringing it up. Universal's circumstances stood out as soon as he compared the major studios.

DreamWorks looked formidable. It had prestige pictures and Spielberg's name behind it. But the animation business carried much of its weight, while its live-action operation faced the same expensive distribution fight as every other independent. Founded in 1994, after consolidation had already changed Hollywood, it had never enjoyed the infrastructure of the largest conglomerates. Awards and ambitious releases did not make those pressures disappear.

A property with an obvious audience would interest DreamWorks. Financing the entire film alone would be harder. That, Adrian thought, gave Backlot room to negotiate.

Universal had a different problem. Among the established studios, it had spent years changing hands. Warner Bros. and Disney had grown within their own groups; Fox, Paramount, and Columbia had powerful corporate owners. Universal had passed from one buyer to another.

Matsushita acquired MCA in 1990. Seagram bought a controlling stake in 1995, and Vivendi took over in 2000. Now there was talk of another sale.

Ron Meyer was a capable executive, but even a good steward had limits when the ownership above him kept shifting. Universal's position looked less secure than its name suggested.

If Universal came in with DreamWorks and Backlot, neither smaller partner would want the studio to dominate. Together, they could keep the arrangement balanced. Universal, in turn, would gain a promising franchise. Adrian could see the outline of a workable three-way deal.

"It's a strong idea," Todd said. "I might have arrived at something similar. But it depends on Hasbro giving us the film rights."

"That's where you come in." Adrian spread his hands. "I trust you can at least get us into the conversation."

He understood the objection. A perfect financing plan meant nothing if Hasbro said no. Still, no one knew the answer until they asked.

Todd studied him for a moment, then smiled. "All right. I'll make the approach. Just remember that a plan can change the moment it meets a real negotiation."

"I know." Adrian nodded. "See what you can do."

He cared about the opportunity. Even a partial stake in the Transformers film rights could make Backlot a very different company.

But Todd was right: contracts, rival bids, and timing could undo the neatest strategy. For now, Adrian could only hope the first conversation went well.

September 2003 came to an end. Alongside The Aviator shoot, the malicious gossip around Adrian, his private entanglements, and the plans he had set in motion, a few other developments deserved attention.

Backlot's reworked The Butterfly Effect opened at the end of September, taking an unusual late-season slot. The female-led version drew a surprisingly warm response. Its central mechanism remained: Kayleigh could use her journals to revisit the past and change events she regretted. Every attempted repair, however, set off consequences worse than the harm she meant to prevent.

Writer-director Eric Bress had changed the emotional center of the story. In the earlier version Adrian remembered, romance drove the protagonist's choices. Here Kayleigh's bond with her closest friend gave her a reason to keep going back.

There was still a romance with the male lead, and the relationships among the three could become complicated. But the love story no longer carried the film by itself.

Kayleigh's goal, through every revision of the past, was to save her friend.

One critic put it this way in a column: "Most of us have promised we'd do anything for a friend. Kayleigh is forced to find out what that promise costs when the only way to save hers may be to leave her life."

In the theatrical ending, Kayleigh went back to a childhood party and drove her friend away. Bress had also shot a much darker ending in which she returned to the womb and ended her own life before birth. Adrian thought that version made the sacrifice devastatingly clear. Todd objected: it would drag the film into an argument over abortion, whatever the filmmakers intended.

Adrian could see the danger. The ending might make Kayleigh's choice more powerful, but it could also swallow the rest of the film in controversy. They agreed to use the childhood-party ending in theaters and reserve Bress's original version for the DVD.

The friendship-centered version earned stronger reviews than Adrian had expected. It took roughly $19 million on opening weekend, enough to put recovery of its modest cost within reach. Jessica's performance drew praise too, particularly in the sequence after her character loses an arm.

If Adrian had remembered Jessica's connection to the other version of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, would he have given her that film and put Jordana in The Butterfly Effect instead? It was an idle question now. The two films had taken different paths in this world.

More immediately, Backlot had another reason to celebrate: its accelerated version of Desperate Housewives had premiered on ABC.