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SH - Chapter 32: Palm Spring Festival I
🕑 Added 2025-09-29 17:09:04 +0000 UTCJune 24, 2022
This day the Palm Springs International Film Festival was celebrating its second day of activities.
The night before, the festival had opened with the inaugural screening of 80 for Brady, a comedy directed by Kyle Marvin featuring actresses Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Rita Moreno, and Sally Field.
During the opening gala, Owen, Sophie, Matt, and the rest of the Paranormal Activity team attended and had the chance to see several well-known personalities from the film industry.
The ones who caught Owen’s attention the most were Robert Downey Jr. and Cillian Murphy, who were there to receive honors for their contributions to cinema. Also present were Michelle Yeoh, recognized for her performance in Everything Everywhere All at Once, and Austin Butler, the star of Elvis.
Everything Everywhere All at Once premiered worldwide at the South by Southwest Festival on March 11 of this year and had its theatrical release on March 25, 2022. The film was a success, with a production cost of $25 million and box office earnings of $77 million in the U.S. and Canada, and $66 million in other territories, totaling $143 million worldwide.
Meanwhile, Elvis premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on May 25, 2022, and was set for its global release on July 1, after the Palm Springs festival had concluded. It had already managed to generate considerable anticipation.
The presence of these figures and the premiere of high-profile films added significant prestige and excitement to the festival.
It was 10:00 PM, and there were still an hour and forty-five minutes left until Paranormal Activity would be screened for the first time.
Owen and Matt were already at the venue. They wore formal clothes, though not overly so, since it was a midnight screening without a red carpet, for obvious reasons. Dressing in full gala attire wasn’t necessary.
They had arrived so early because of Matt. He had been hyperactive since the morning and couldn’t stay still in the apartment. He had checked his backpack at least three times, changed his shirt twice, and spent the entire trip to Palm Springs rehearsing in his head what to say if someone from the audience approached them after the screening.
“Mm, there’s no line yet, or anything,” Matt commented, scanning the front of the Camelot Theatres.
“Usually the line starts about an hour before if there’s hype for the movie,” Owen said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Sophie hadn’t arrived yet; she was coming with her family. According to the message she had sent a few minutes earlier, they were about twenty to thirty minutes away. Owen was a little nervous about meeting her father and sister, just a little.
As for his own family, they would arrive an hour before the screening. He had already bought their tickets in advance, just in case they sold out.
“Are you nervous?” Matt asked suddenly, as they crossed the lobby toward the theater’s small café.
The Camelot Theatres had that retro charm of restored old cinemas. The walls were decorated with framed classic movie posters. The carpet was a dark red, worn with age, and the soft, yellowish lighting gave the place a cozy feel that contrasted with the cool air from the ventilation system.
The lobby was calm, with several people inside but not yet crowded. Some were seated on padded benches against the wall, checking their phones or flipping through the festival program. Beyond that, the café’s display case showcased snacks and sodas.
The doors leading to the various screening rooms were still closed, though one of the festival ushers walked back and forth with a tablet, reviewing the projection list.
“No. I’m calm,” Owen replied.
“Really? What if no one shows up? What if we don’t even fill half the theater?” Matt asked nervously.
“Matt, the trailer went viral. Not in the numbers of super-famous videos or big-studio trailers, but for us. Over one hundred seventy thousand views, with only a few thousand dollars spent on promotion, no contacts, no distributor. For a twenty-thousand-dollar film, that’s huge,” Owen said patiently, while ordering a soda.
“Yeah, but those are online views. How many of those people are actually going to show up in person?” Matt said, doubtful.
“Enough. Add to that the people we bring ourselves, plus those who come to the festival not knowing what to watch at Midnight, and voilà. At least a hundred people will be in that theater,” said Owen.
“Mm, you’re right,” Matt replied, a little calmer. “Still, we’ve got competition,” he added, lowering his voice as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Witching Hour, from Blumhouse?” Owen asked, and Matt nodded.
Blumhouse is a well-known American film and television studio founded by Jason Blum and Amy Israel. It is best known for producing horror films such as The Purge, Sinister, Happy Death Day, Insidious, among others.
The Blumhouse model is to produce films with a modest budget, give directors creative freedom, and distribute them widely through the studio system.
When Hollywood talked about “modest budgets,” that meant something between $1.5 and $10 million, maybe up to $20 million in more ambitious cases. Examples were plentiful:
-The Purge (2013), budget of $3 million, box office $89 million.
-Sinister, Insidious, Happy Death Day, all born under the same spirit.
-The Gallows, made with just $100,000 and grossing over $43 million.
-Get Out, a runaway success, with a $4.5 million budget grossing over $250 million worldwide and earning a flood of Oscar nominations.
In this reality, many of those films did not exist. Owen had seen several of them in his past life, and that had effectively erased them from this world. Not all of them and of course, new films had sprung up to fill the gap.
But the ones he had seen in full, Get Out, The Gallows, and, paradoxically, the entire Paranormal Activity saga, had never been made here.
Thinking about that, he couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Now, in this reality, Paranormal Activity wasn’t a Blumhouse franchise. It was his. And now that same studio was competing against him with a new production.
The rival to Paranormal Activity was Witching Hour, directed by Jennifer Reiss, an up-and-coming filmmaker.
It starred Maika Monroe, an actress who had already become a staple face of contemporary horror cinema. Ever since starring in It Follows in 2014, Monroe had been considered a sort of “queen of modern screams,” with a career built on intense thrillers, psychological dramas, and characters always teetering on the edge of instability. Her presence alone was enough to spark anticipation.
The rest of the cast wasn’t particularly well-known, though the festival brochures mentioned two New York theater actors and a supporting actress from an HBO series. The real draw was Monroe, plus the Blumhouse name behind it.
Witching Hour had a budget of $5 million, many times more than Owen’s humble production, shot in just ten days.
Thinking about Blumhouse, Owen couldn’t help but compare it to A24.
Blumhouse had brand power, experience, and commercial partnerships.
A24, on the other hand, was the critics’ darling. It specialized in auteur cinema, risky, provocative films. Not only horror. And its brand of horror was different from Blumhouse’s: more atmospheric, you could say.
In terms of structure, the differences were obvious.
Blumhouse had more than 200 employees, development teams, marketing, relationships with major studios. It was big, profitable, commercial.
A24 had fewer than 50 employees. Small, selective, but also more awarded and respected. It had won the Oscar for Best Picture with Moonlight.
A possibility crossed his mind:
What if someone from Blumhouse was there to watch their own film, but ended up spying on the competition? What if they walked out intrigued by Paranormal Activity?
The idea wasn’t entirely absurd. Jason Blum had built his career on spotting talent where others didn’t bother to look. Even if it was highly unlikely that the head of the studio himself was present, his employees should share the same vision.
He could attract the interest of two very important studios. Although, if he could choose, he would rather go with A24.
With A24, distribution was direct. No intermediaries. No wading through layers of negotiations or splitting the film across multiple hands.
And above all, more creative control.
Blumhouse, on the other hand, was a different path.
Owen → Blumhouse → Distributor studio → Theaters/streaming platforms. Since Blumhouse was only a production studio, it didn’t distribute directly.
“Those damn Blumhouse people got the main 500-seat theater,” Matt muttered, drumming his fingers on the café table. “That’s what connections get you, huh?”
They were sitting in a corner of the lobby, near a column plastered with festival posters. Owen sipped his drink slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling, relaxed.
“Are you really complaining they didn’t give us the 500-seat theater? Ten minutes ago, you were convinced we wouldn’t even fill the 250,” Owen said with a half-smile.
“I know… You realize they’ll have press coverage, right? They’ll interview Maika Monroe and I’m sure they’ll crown it the horror movie of the year,” Matt sighed.
“Yeah. Makes sense. They’ve got Blumhouse backing them,” Owen nodded, shrugging. “But it’s not going to be the best horror film of the year. At most, it’ll be third place.”
Matt raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what are the other two?”
“Second place: Smile,” Owen replied without hesitation. “The trailer dropped two days ago. You can tell it’s really well put together. It’s got that twisted vibe that hooks you. If the film is as good as it looks, it’s going to hit hard.”
Matt nodded slowly, he had seen the trailer, and it did look promising.
“Fair enough. And first place?”
“Paranormal Activity,” Owen said, looking him straight in the eye, calm, as if stating something as simple as the time of day.
Matt blinked. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”
“All the time,” Owen replied with a faint smile.
Matt stared at him for a second… then burst into a nervous laugh, “You’re a delusional egomaniac.”
“And you’re a chronic worrier,” Owen said.
“Fine…” Matt said, confidence restored as he suddenly jumped to his feet. “Let’s go spy on the competition.”
“Seriously?” Owen said, a little lazily.
“Yeah, I want to see how a five-million-dollar film sells itself. Their screening is earlier than ours, we’ve got time,” Matt said, and Owen stood up.
They both walked toward the side hallway, where voices and movement could already be heard. A small crowd was gathering in front of the festival backdrop, with occasional camera flashes.
The side corridor leading to the main hall of the Camelot Theatres was more brightly lit than usual. A backdrop with the festival logo repeated across it had been set up, flanked by two soft LED lights that stood out without being blinding.
On either side, cameras and tripods were lined up, along with at least a dozen people with badges hanging around their necks: journalists, photographers, influencers, horror YouTubers, bloggers.
In front of the backdrop posed three figures: Maika Monroe, radiant in a sleek but understated black dress; the director, Jennifer, wearing a dark jacket and a warm smile; and a third person Owen and Matt couldn’t identify, probably one of the co-stars or a producer.
“There’s your queen of horror for the year,” Owen murmured with a half-smile.
“Not bad at all,” Matt replied, arms crossed, watching her openly. “She’s really pretty, honestly. Shame she’s 28. We’re 20… she must see us as kids just stepping into the real world.”
Owen glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything right away. His expression shifted for a second, as if the comment had struck deeper than it should have.
He was 20 in this new body, but in reality his age would have been 27, almost 28.
Matt didn’t notice the change in expression and kept talking. “I think she has a boyfriend, too,” he added with resignation.
“Yeah… if I’m not mistaken, she’s with Joe Keery,” Owen said, almost automatically.
“Who?” Matt asked, confused.
Owen was about to answer: “The guy who plays Steve in Stranger Things,” but stopped himself.
He fell silent for a moment.
He had seen Stranger Things in full. But here, in this reality, that series didn’t exist, and without that role, maybe Joe Keery had never had his breakout moment.
He unlocked his phone and typed quickly: Joe Keery actor.
There he was. Still working. A few minor credits, supporting roles in indie films, a couple of appearances in TV shows. But nothing close to the fame he had reached in Owen’s other life. In this reality, he was just another actor, one only a few niche audiences would recognize.
To cover up the sudden silence, Owen typed another search: Maika Monroe current partner.
And there it was: Theo James. British actor, known for roles in dramas and thrillers. Low-profile, but more famous than Joe.
“Nothing, I was wrong,” Owen said, pocketing his phone.
Matt frowned.
“So does she have a boyfriend or not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, she does. His name’s… Theo James, a British actor.”
“Who?” Matt asked again, baffled.
Owen gave him a strange look. Even if the name wasn’t hugely famous, he had at least expected Matt to recognize it.
“Look,” Owen said, discreetly pointing into the crowd. “There he is.”
Among the guests at the event, standing next to a producer, dressed in an immaculate jacket, Theo James watched the presentation with a faint smile, like someone used to the atmosphere, but with no need to be at the center of attention.
Matt looked at him with resignation. “Great. Even her boyfriend looks like he walked out of a fashion magazine.”
“We came here to spy on the competition, not to hit on the lead actress of the rival film,” Owen teased.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Matt said, chuckling softly.
They both kept watching. The presentation went on without big surprises, but with a polished display. The interviews were short, aimed at specific outlets. Maika spoke with charm, Jennifer kept the film’s narrative clear.
It felt like a well-positioned product, but one without risk.
Meanwhile, through a side entrance, the general audience was already beginning to file into the theater. Some with VIP tickets, others showing QR codes on their phones. Ushers guided them with flashlights and practiced smiles, careful not to disrupt the press still crowded around the backdrop.
Within minutes, most of the lobby in front of the main hall had cleared out.
“Alright, that’s it,” Owen said, checking his watch. “Our screening starts in an hour. Better head back to the lobby. Our families should be arriving soon.”
“Yeah, let’s go. I doubt 500 people actually walked in,” Matt said with a slight smile, as they retraced their steps down the same hallway.
Comments
Calvin Ellis
❤️TFTC❤️
Guido
Hi, there won’t be a vote for the future ship, I’ve already decided
Amos
Is there going to be a vote on the future ship, or have you already decided upon one? I mean, there are potentially Rachel, Monica and Willa right now
