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SH - Chapter 14: Owen's cinema
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 16:30:57 +0000 UTC“Whoa, Sophie, you look really elegant. Did your mom let you leave the house like that?” Matt asked with a slight smile, as if he were talking to a rebellious teenager.
Sophie rolled her eyes. Her long ivory dress, fitted and elegant in cut, made her presence stand out even in the dimly lit hallway.
“She doesn’t know. I told her I was going to church, all night,” Sophie replied with clear sarcasm as she walked in with steady confidence.
“Owen! Royalty has arrived! The ice princess is here, and apparently, she’s sinned,” Matt said in a dramatic tone.
Sophie rolled her eyes again, but she couldn’t stop a faint smile from forming on her face.
Owen turned from the couch, the television still showing the Oscars red carpet. When he saw her, for a moment, he fell completely silent.
Sophie’s almond-shaped eyes, framed by dark, defined makeup, carried an intensity that seemed to pierce through everything. Her face, sharp and elegant as always, was softened by the contrast of her attire: a long ivory dress that hugged her figure perfectly.
The diagonal folds of the fabric cinched her waist and accentuated her curves with a restrained sensuality, subtle, but impossible to ignore.
She wore small silver earrings, and her nails, painted black, stood out against the pale tone of the dress.
“Hey,” Sophie greeted casually, stopping just a couple of meters away from Owen.
Owen stood up and said with a faint smile, “Wow… I didn’t know this was an actual red carpet.”
It wasn’t a direct compliment. But it was one, in its own way.
During filming, the Sophie he saw wore home clothes, simple makeup, and the kind of average outfit a girl would wear around the house.
Very different outside the set. Her personal style was almost always oversized T-shirts, loose jackets, and comfortable pants.
Sophie narrowed her eyes for just a second. She was expecting, though she didn’t want to admit it, something more straightforward, more cliché. Something like “you look amazing.”
But Owen kept it to himself. Or didn’t realize. Or simply chose not to say it.
And as the good actress she was, Sophie didn’t let her mild annoyance show. She kept her half-smile, serene, never losing her composure.
“Well, Matt said we should come dressed up… and I’d had this dress sitting in my closet for ages,” Sophie replied with a shrug.
“And you?” she added with a scrutinizing look at Owen. “Is that your formal and casual look at the same time? Jordans… weird choice.”
Owen was wearing a well-tailored black suit, no tie, with the shirt open at the collar just enough to balance between formal and laid-back.
The most casual thing about his outfit was the Nike Jordans on his feet.
Owen let out a short laugh, glancing down as if only just realizing he was wearing Nike sneakers instead of the shoes more typical for that kind of suit.
“Hey, you gotta stay true to the indie spirit of the project, right? The budget was low, so was the dress code,” Owen said in his defense.
He was never the type to spend thousands of dollars on suits for galas or exclusive parties.
Even when his career in his past life had taken off, when, at 24, he first stepped onto the Oscars red carpet as a guest, and at 27 was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for a villain role that stole the show, he had never spent that much money on clothes.
He came from Nebraska, without parents, raised by his grandparents until they passed away when he was 18. Then he moved to Los Angeles with nothing but the clothes on his back and barely $1,000 in his bank account.
So he had to work part-time in cafés or bars to pay rent, sharing with one or two other guys, while at the same time looking for roles and trying to fulfill his dream of living off acting.
That’s why spending money on expensive clothes never made much sense to him, no matter how much he could afford.
“If we manage to get into the Palm Springs Festival, are you going to show up in those Jordans? Or will you chicken out?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow while giving his Jordans another glance.
“I will. As long as I get to see you in that dress again, I’ll go in Jordans,” Owen said with a faint smile.
Sophie didn’t reply immediately. She kept her gaze fixed on him, tilting her head slightly as if trying to figure out whether he was serious… but there wasn’t a trace of a joke in his eyes.
“Alright, deal,” Sophie finally said, returning a faint smile.
Owen began thinking about the Palm Springs Festival now that Sophie had mentioned it.
It’s a film festival held in Palm Springs, California, that usually attracts around 135,000 attendees.
It would be the first festival he planned to submit the film to. It wasn’t Cannes or Sundance, but it was something, a recognized international festival, especially known for its “Midnight Screenings” category, where genre films, horror, and bold bets found their place.
Normally it was held in January, but due to pandemic adjustments, this year it would take place from June 23 to 30.
The only problem was time.
The extended submission deadline was April 30, and the film’s post-production wouldn’t be finished until around May 27, almost a month after the deadline.
However, they could submit a preliminary version, a work-in-progress. Something that showed the tone, editing style, and acting strength, the essentials. This version would be ready by April 20 at the latest, giving them enough time to submit.
If they were selected, they would have until early June to deliver the finished version.
At that moment, Matt reappeared, waving a bottle of wine like it was a trophy.
“Cheap wine for expensive people! Let’s make a toast!” Matt said enthusiastically, setting the bottle and three glasses on the coffee table in the living room.
“Hey man, half the people aren’t even here yet,” Owen said, smiling despite himself as he glanced at the clock on the wall.
Only five minutes had passed since the agreed time.
“I don’t care, they’re already late, and the red carpet is almost over,” Matt said, uncorking the bottle.
“You’re a hopeless drunk, you know that?” Sophie teased.
“Absolutely,” Matt replied as he poured wine into each glass. “But I’m a responsible drunk. I love alcohol, sure, but I never get to the point of puking and forgetting what I did the night before.”
Sophie laughed softly and took the glass Matt handed her. Owen shook his head in amusement as he accepted his.
“To Paranormal Activity!” Matt said, raising his glass.
The three clinked their glasses with a soft clink. Then they drank. The wine was sweet and cheap, but it worked for the occasion.
Owen sank back onto the couch. Matt dropped back onto the single armchair beside him with an exaggerated sigh, eyes glued to the TV.
“That dress must have cost more than the entire budget of Paranormal Activity,” Matt remarked.
On screen, Jessica Chastain strutted down the red carpet in a striking gown with a plunging neckline and jewelry that probably required private security.
“You can bet on it, maybe three times more than our film’s budget,” Owen agreed.
“Some dresses easily go for over a hundred thousand dollars. Renowned designers, ridiculously expensive jewelry, custom-made shoes… all for just one night,” Owen added, shaking his head.
Matt let out a dry laugh. Sophie, who had pulled up a chair to sit with them, listened with amusement to Owen and Matt’s critiques.
“Even if I had the money, I’d never blow it on a damn outfit,” Matt said. “Cinema before glamour,” he added with a faint smile, as if delivering a memorable line.
Sophie laughed but gently shook her head. “I don’t completely agree. I get that it might seem like an unnecessary expense, but there’s something special about that part too. It’s a celebration of cinema, of the work of everyone who’s there.”
“Maybe… And if you have that much money, you’ve got to spend it on something, right?” Owen said with a shrug, not giving it much importance. After all, everyone has their own ways of celebrating and spending their money as they please.
“Did you guys see The Eyes of Tammy Faye?” Matt asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, I saw it shortly after it premiered. I loved it,” Sophie said without hesitation. “Jessica’s performance is incredible. For me, she has to win.”
“I agree,” Matt said. “I really liked the directing too. They paid attention to every detail. And the story… very well done.”
Then both looked at Owen, waiting for his opinion.
“I only watched halfway…” Owen admitted truthfully.
That was the reason the film still existed in this reality. Did it bother him that a movie nominated for several Oscars wasn’t one he could recreate and produce himself?
Not at all. At the box office, the film could be considered a flop. It cost $1.5 million and only grossed $2.6 million.
Generally, for a film to be considered successful, it has to make 2.5 to 3 times its budget. In other words, for this film to break even, it would have needed to gross at least $3.75 million.
Although of course that is not the only way to recover the investment of a film.
“Seriously?” Matt asked, surprised.
“You quit halfway?” Sophie said, half-indignant, half-amused.
“Actually, I watched less than half. It didn’t hook me. I tried, but I got bored. It felt slow, and when I realized only twenty minutes had passed and I still had over an hour and a half left, I turned it off,” Owen replied.
“Slow? It’s just a little over two hours… Besides, Jessica and Andrew Garfield give such captivating performances,” Matt said, throwing Owen a look as if he were a kid who couldn’t hold his attention because of TikToks.
Owen noticed and smiled. “Since when do you talk like a New York Times critic?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m just not into that kind of film, that’s all. Biographical, dramatic, realistic tragedies… Basically, most of the movies that win Oscars… That’s just how it is,” Owen added with a shrug.
“I hear some criticism in there,” Matt said, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile.
“It’s not criticism, it’s preference. I just don’t connect with them. I’d rather watch something that excites me. Stories that make people want to go back to the theater. The ones that pull you out of the world for two hours, that thrill you, surprise you, entertain you. They don’t have to be serious, tragic, and dramatic to be good,” Owen explained, giving a glimpse into the kind of movies he liked.
“In short, you’re a capitalist,” Matt said, raising his glass as if they were at a round table of executives.
“What you love are the movies that break the box office and sell action figures: Marvel, DC, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, anything that turns a profit,” he added with a faint smile.
Owen laughed but didn’t defend himself right away. He took a second, as if carefully putting his words in order.
When he realized that the movies he had seen in his past life didn’t exist here, he thought The Lord of the Rings wouldn’t exist either, but it did.
He had seen the three main films and The Hobbit. He had even read Tolkien’s four corresponding books.
However, there was one Tolkien work he hadn’t read and had completely forgotten about: The Silmarillion.
The Silmarillion is a collection of works by J. R. R. Tolkien, edited and published posthumously by his son, Christopher Tolkien.
Owen had thought that since it was published by the son, the movies wouldn’t exist here, but he was wrong. They did.
“I’m not saying those movies are bad. Cinema with a message, the kind of cinema that wins awards, has its place. There are brave, harsh, necessary stories. But they don’t inspire me. Of course, there are exceptions I’ve seen and liked. Still, I’ve never left a theater feeling uplifted after watching a tragedy based on true events. Misery, pain, sickness, or some social message…” Owen said.
“Because it’s clearly a tragedy,” Sophie murmured, finishing the sentence for him almost unconsciously.
Owen nodded.
“I did walk out of Avengers: Endgame with goosebumps. I still remember the whole theater going crazy when Captain America lifted Thor’s hammer. Strangers hugging each other, clapping, screaming like lunatics, whistling… Or when Tony died, so many people were crying…”
Owen had given that example because Endgame was a relatively recent case, from 2019, and it perfectly represented the kind of collective experience that fascinated him. But a film didn’t need to be a global phenomenon of that scale for him to enjoy it.
There were others that had left a mark on him, even if they hadn’t reached those box office numbers. Films like Interstellar, which offered an epic and emotional experience, or even movies that managed to balance their own style with both critical recognition and solid commercial success, like Inception, Gravity, or Mad Max: Fury Road. That kind of cinema, even if it didn’t draw crowds on the level of Avengers, was still what he loved the most.
He also enjoyed more grounded films, centered on life, but that ended well, with a hopeful message. Something like Forrest Gump or others like it, where the emotion didn’t come from the epic or the spectacular, but from a well-told human story that left the audience with a sense of relief and satisfaction at the end.
Of course, since Owen had already seen these films, they didn’t exist here.
“I can’t argue with the hammer, man. That was a historic moment,” Matt said, nodding.
“And it didn’t win a single Oscar,” Owen added.
“Touche.”
Avengers: Endgame, despite being a global phenomenon and one of the highest-grossing films in history, didn’t win a single Oscar. It only received one nomination, for Best Visual Effects, and lost.
It was the perfect example of the contrast between cultural and commercial success versus academic recognition. While Endgame made millions of people cry, cheer, and applaud around the world, the Academy, true to its style, chose to reward more sober, serious, or dramatic productions. Films that were “important,” but rarely moved crowds.
Of course, that didn’t mean Owen thought any blockbuster was a good film. But he didn’t believe you had to name a 1962 Polish black-and-white film as your favorite to be considered a cinephile either.
“Mm, so you’re not into tragedy or the deeper films. What else?” Sophie asked with genuine curiosity, wanting to learn more about what Owen liked in cinema.
“It’s not that I hate tragedy. That’s not it. A good story always has some sadness, some loss… even pain. But it has to be part of something bigger. Part of a journey, of an emotion that sweeps you away. Not just constant misery, as if that alone were synonymous with depth,” Owen explained his point, and Sophie understood.
“Mm, I see. What else do you like? Romance, action stories?” Sophie continued her “interrogation.”
“Yes, I like romance stories, and even better if they have comedy, since that’s another one of my favorite genres. They can end badly or happily, but if it’s well told, it leaves something inside you,” Owen replied.
Just as Sophie was about to ask another question to get to know Owen better, the doorbell rang. The three of them turned their heads toward the door almost at the same time.
“Must be the others. Finally,” Matt said, getting up from the couch.
Owen and Sophie stood up as well to greet them.
The sound of greetings, laughter, and footsteps soon filled the living room.
