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SH - Chapter 55: Day off
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 18:09:01 +0000 UTC"Well, we’ve got our lead. Everything’s ready," said Matt as he came back into the apartment, dropping into one of the armchairs with a satisfied smile.
"Yeah. After the shoot, we dive straight into post-production," Owen nodded, settling onto the couch beside him.
"How long do you think that part will take? Three weeks?" Matt asked, in a tone that sounded more technical than it had months ago.
He’d grown a lot since their first projects. He and Owen had already completed a feature film and two short films together, and that experience was starting to show. He now knew how to estimate production timelines with much greater accuracy.
Paperman, for instance, had taken them about four weeks of post-production, and it was roughly the same length as the short they were about to shoot. That said, Paperman had required several different locations, which always complicated things.
This time, everything would take place in a single location, so post-production might only take three weeks.
"Yeah… if we want to polish it thoroughly, three weeks, maybe four at most," Owen replied.
Matt nodded confidently. "And we’ve got the right people," he added with a half-smile.
They both had full trust in the editor from Paperman, who had done an outstanding job.
The same went for the composer, who had perfectly captured the atmosphere Owen remembered from his previous world.
For Owen, who had no musical training, explaining those melodies had been difficult. But he and the composer had managed to recreate something almost identical to what Owen remembered.
They also had solid freelance contacts for sound design, visual effects, and color correction, young professionals with excellent work ethics and reasonable rates. The machine was well-oiled.
"Three to four weeks. By September 20th it should be done, no excuses," said Matt, scratching his chin. "By then, we’ll be superstars."
He said it jokingly, but with a spark of hope. Paranormal Activity would have been in theaters for almost twenty days by then, and Matt had faith in its impact.
His prediction was that the film would gross around $25 million at the box office, not bad at all, considering the $20,000 production budget and $500,000 marketing spend. A24, the distributor, was expecting about $10 million.
"Superstars?" Owen repeated with a skeptical grin. "I think you’re exaggerating a bit. Twenty-five million doesn’t get you a star on the Walk of Fame."
Of course, Owen had more ambitious expectations. By his estimates, they could reach at least $50 million if critics and word of mouth worked in their favor. And the critics were almost guaranteed to be positive, given how well the film had performed at the Palm Springs Festival and the fact that A24 was backing them.
"Man, a film that cost twenty grand making twenty-five million is insane. All of Hollywood’s gonna be talking about us. And with Paperman going to Sundance, our rates are gonna skyrocket," said Matt, raising his fist as if celebrating an early victory.
"Whoa, you sure have a lot of faith in Paperman," Owen said, amused by his enthusiasm.
"Of course. It’s a masterpiece. My best work yet."
And he wasn’t exaggerating. Matt had directed with a clarity and sensitivity that Owen admired. Even though he wasn’t overly technical, he was deeply involved in post-production at a creative level that made a real difference.
Owen trusted him, not just as a friend, but as a true partner. They didn’t work together just because they got along; Matt had earned his place as director. He’d proven himself in every project, showing commitment from pre-production all the way through final delivery.
In fact, Owen felt a bit guilty for how little he had paid Matt for Paperman and now for this new short.
For this one, Matt had accepted a payment of $1,500, the same amount Owen was paying his sister Sarah for her role, and even less than the $2,500 going to Gaten.
But it had been Matt himself who set that amount. He refused to take more money, even though, with the résumé he already had, he could easily charge between $2,500 and $3,000 for a short film of this level.
“They usually give the answer in November or early December…” Owen commented, having researched Sundance’s response times.
It had been weeks since they’d submitted Paperman for consideration, but so far, there had been no news.
“Yeah, lazy bastards,” Matt grumbled, making a face. The wait made him anxious every time he thought about it.
Owen smiled faintly, but before he could say anything, Matt added, “By the way, $2,500 for Gaten and $1,500 for your sister? You’re spending a lot on this short. Way more than necessary. How much are you at now?”
“Almost six grand, and post-production will easily cost another five,” Owen replied calmly.
“Eleven thousand dollars…” Matt repeated, frowning. It was a considerable amount for an indie short film.
For Paperman, Owen had invested around $8,500, and that included Sophie, an actress with great range and a strong résumé. Although Sophie hadn’t asked for a big paycheck, partly because of her relationship with Owen, he hadn’t taken advantage of that bond to pay her peanuts either.
The issue this time was that both leads were paid actors, and Owen himself wasn’t starring in it as he had in Paperman. In that short, Owen had been one of the protagonists, and since it was his own project, there was no point in assigning himself a salary.
With Sarah and Gaten, he could have done what many producers do: offer them $1,000 or less each and save about $2,000 in total. But he chose not to.
It wasn’t that Matt was stingy or wanted to underpay anyone, he valued Gaten and recognized his talent, but from his perspective, $1,000 or $1,500 each would’ve already been fair compensation. With short films, it’s rare to make your money back, and every dollar counts.
Between Paperman and The Black Hole, Owen had spent nearly $10,000 and so far had recovered about $6,000, thanks to the views on YouTube.
And those cases were rare; short films usually didn’t go viral enough to recoup that kind of money.
“I know I’m overpaying a bit,” Owen admitted, shrugging. “But Gaten’s worth it, and I want to give my sister both motivation and a healthy bit of pressure to do well. Besides, it’s not like I’m short on money.”
Months earlier, when he was surviving off what he got from selling his car and doing mediocre auditions, Owen would’ve been more cautious with the budget, not stingy, but definitely more conservative.
Now, with a hundred thousand dollars in his bank account and the projection of receiving 20% of Paranormal Activity’s post-theatrical profits, he felt that paying a bit more to Gaten or his sister wasn’t crazy.
“In the end, it’s an investment. If you pay them a little more, they’ll be more motivated and do better work. It’s worth it,” Owen said finally.
Matt nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like he was paying them ten grand each.
“Got any beer?” Matt asked as he stood up.
Owen frowned at that. “Beer at…” he glanced at his watch, “eleven-thirty in the morning?”
Matt froze for a moment, recalculating, then sighed. “Right. Too early. Anything that’s not water?”
“Juice, or maybe some old flat soda if we’re lucky,” Owen replied.
Matt nodded, went to the fridge, took out a pitcher of juice, and poured two glasses. He returned to the living room and handed one to Owen, who accepted it with a slight nod of thanks.
“By the way,” Matt said as he sat down, “any news from A24? And I’m not talking about Paranormal Activity. I mean the script you sold them. They bought it outright a while ago, didn’t they?”
Owen nodded.
“Yeah, almost two months ago. Cristian was assigned as creative producer, which makes sense since he’s the one who discovered the script. Last time I talked to him, they were looking for a director.”
“A director, huh?” Matt repeated with a faint smile. “I could apply…”
“They don’t hold open auditions for that, you know. Though I could give you Cristian’s number, maybe if you bug him enough, he’ll consider you,” Owen joked.
Matt shook his head. “I’ll pass. I don’t want to end up on his blacklist.”
He knew from what Owen had told him that The Spectacular Now was planned with a minimum budget of two million dollars. It was unlikely that A24 would take a chance on a director with no feature-length experience, no matter how talented.
“What about you?” Matt asked. “Are they gonna let you audition for the lead? The character’s practically your mirror, the age, the backstory, everything. And you wrote it.”
“Yeah, they hinted at it. Nothing official yet, but they said they want to hold a formal audition for me for the main role.”
Having starred in Paranormal Activity, written the script, and also secured a supporting role in The Hunger Games gave Owen real weight. But he still wasn’t at a level where studios handed him lead roles without an audition. He wasn’t a fully established star yet.
“That’s awesome. One role after another,” Matt said, raising his glass of juice as if to toast.
And he wasn’t exaggerating. If Owen landed that role, he’d be signing onto his third feature film within a year, two as a lead and one as a high-profile supporting actor.
For a twenty-year-old who, back in February of that same year, had an almost empty résumé and had been expelled from college, it was a meteoric rise. Not something that happened often, neither by talent alone nor by luck. Most actors took years to reach that level, and many never did.
“Let’s hope so,” said Owen.
His confidence in getting the lead role in The Spectacular Now was high. The audition would probably happen between September and October, by then, Paranormal Activity would already be in theaters.
At that point, hiring him would be the obvious move: he was the screenwriter, the character was almost a reflection of his own life (accidentally so…), he had strong acting skills, a good relationship with A24, and undeniable buzz from his film lighting up the box office. He was the logical choice.
Matt turned on the PlayStation, grabbed two controllers, handed one to Owen, turned on the TV, and flopped back onto the couch.
“If they hire you, which they almost certainly will, they should hire Sophie too,” he said, selecting Mortal Kombat 11.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Owen replied. Sophie could easily land the audition for the female lead. A24 already knew her and knew she had chemistry with him. It was a safe bet.
Matt glanced sideways with a smirk. “You miss her, huh? It’s been, what, almost a month since you last saw her?”
“Yeah… a bit, yeah,” Owen admitted.
“A bit,” Matt repeated in a teasing tone. “Come on, man. I know that as soon as she’s back, you two are gonna be glued together all day. Sophie’s mom will probably have to threaten you to make you separate.”
Owen rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re exaggerating. But yeah, I miss her. We went from seeing each other every day to nothing, just messages and video calls…”
“That’s Hollywood, my friend. One day you’re together 24/7, and the next it’s planes, hotels, and months apart. Better get used to it,” Matt said, like a life-worn veteran.
Owen looked at him with a faint smile. “Whoa, I never thought I’d see the day when you would be giving me a lecture about the industry.”
Matt raised an eyebrow and, without taking his eyes off the screen, replied with a half-smile, “The day had to come when I’d have to teach you a life lesson.”
“Wise teacher, focus, so you don’t get crushed in Mortal Kombat,” Owen said, locking his eyes on the screen and selecting Sub-Zero.
“This time I’ll show no mercy…” Matt said in a serious tone, concentrating harder than he ever did when working or studying.
“You said the same thing last time…” Owen replied, just as the sound of “Fight!” echoed from the TV, and both of them dove into the game, letting the conversation fade into the background.
Comments
Frédéric De souza
❤️ Thanks for this moment❤️
