Wald Pictures.
As soon as Zucker walked through the company doors, Wald Pictures' employees gave him a warm welcome.
It wasn't just because Zucker was the boss. It was also because Run Lola Run had been a success.
Run Lola Run had been in theaters for twenty days since its release on April 5, and its box-office performance was quite good—at least for a company like Wald Pictures. The box-office report for the previous day had just come in that morning: Run Lola Run had earned $13.7 million in North America. Considering its budget was only $800,000 and it was Wald Pictures' first theatrical release, that was an outstanding result.
"Thirteen-point-seven million dollars at the box office?"
"This is nothing! Just wait until I raise the money and make Spider-Man 1. Its box office will be close to a billion dollars. That'll scare you all half to death!"
Zucker was happy, but not especially moved.
He'd been in this world for almost a year and had seen plenty of big things. He no longer got as excited as he had at first, jumping around like a maniac.
He walked into CEO Victor's office.
Zucker got straight to the point and handed him four scripts. "Victor, these are the results of my recent efforts: four scripts."
Victor took them and began skimming through them.
Before long, Victor exclaimed, "Boss, you wrote these scripts in the last ten days?"
"That's right!" Zucker nodded, rather smugly.
I'm amazing, right?
Well, even if he had cheated to get them.
"Boss, I can't speak for the others, but The Sixth Sense is absolutely brilliant. Especially the twist at the end—it's a masterstroke. If we make it, there's a good chance it'll earn us a fortune."
"Of course, we can't make it right now. The budget would be too high."
"But the other three scripts are good, too, and at least they're cheap. The Wrong Turn series in particular—if we make one a year, it could bring the company a steady $2 million in profit annually."
Victor continued to offer his opinions on the scripts.
Zucker nodded in agreement.
The two chatted for a while. Then, without wasting any more time, they called in several of the company's screenwriters to add to and revise the four scripts.
Zucker had no objections.
These are the only tricks I've got. If I don't get professional screenwriters to revise them, and we shoot them exactly as written, we could be in trouble.
What else was the company paying these screenwriters for?
Wasn't this exactly their job?
Hollywood's film industry was later described as an assembly line, and nowhere was that more evident than in screenwriting. Typically, a script was written by several people.
If you were good at emotional scenes, fine—you'd handle those.
If you were good at action scenes, you'd write the fights.
If you were good at story and dialogue, you'd take care of those.
In short, everyone was one part of the assembly line. Working together, they put all their effort into creating a relatively polished work.
"Victor, keep an eye on things here. I'm heading out. I need to go home and get some sleep."
Just as Zucker was about to leave, Martha, head of the company's legal and accounting departments, called out to him. "Boss, should the screenwriting fee for Run Lola Run also be deposited into your salary account?"
Zucker thought for a moment before replying, "Leave it for now. I'll give you a new account number in a few days. From now on, deposit my producer fees, screenwriting fees, and any copyright payments for scripts into the new account."
"Understood, boss."
Martha left.
That was right: as the boss, Zucker received a salary every week and every month.
That was how Hollywood worked—or, for that matter, the entire United States.
Wald Pictures was wholly owned by Zucker. That was true, but he still had to draw a salary. What's more, he had directed Run Lola Run, so he was entitled to a director's fee, as well as payment for transferring the script rights.
Business and personal finances had to be kept separate!
Everything had to be transparent!
The individual and the company had to be accounted for separately.
There was a popular saying in the United States: "The company is yours, but it belongs to everyone, too!"
What that meant was that, yes, you were the company's boss and could make decisions about anything it did, but the use of its funds had to be professionally documented to protect everyone's interests.
For example, Zucker's director's fee for Run Lola Run was $30,000, and the script-rights transfer fee was $20,000. He was also entitled to a 3% share of the box-office profits as its producer.
That money went into Zucker's personal account, not the company's.
Zucker would also collect screenwriting fees for Wrong Turn, The Sixth Sense, Juno, and Hard Candy.
After he got home and had a good sleep, Zucker lay in bed and began thinking about the future.
Hard Candy and Wrong Turn were both cheap to make. The two could be produced for a total of $3 million. But making only those two films in the short term would mean growth was still too slow for Zucker.
"Isn't there a movie that's cheap, quick to shoot, and guaranteed to make money?"
"Ugh! What am I thinking? How could there be?"
"Huh?"
"Maybe there is!"
As he thought it over, a sudden inspiration struck Zucker. There really was a film business that was all but guaranteed to turn a profit.
—Knockoff movies!
Zucker remembered a Hollywood story he'd learned about in his previous life.
10,000 BC, Transmorphers, The Da Vinci Treasure, Atlantic Rim, 30,000 Leagues Under the Sea... Didn't those titles sound familiar at first, yet somehow feel a little off?
That was right: they were familiar yet strange!
All of these films were produced by a company called The Asylum. They were knockoffs of Hollywood blockbusters, designed to ride the wave of the year's theatrical hits and piggyback on established IP.
After their first successful knockoff, a version of Spielberg's War of the Worlds that sold 100,000 copies, they stuck to their guiding principle of "high concept" (brilliant ideas) and "low budget" (five-cent special effects), focusing on knockoff blockbuster movies.
When 10,000 BC became a hit, they made 100 Million BC.
When Transformers became a hit, they made Transmorphers.
When Pacific Rim became a hit, they made Atlantic Rim.
In short, they made whatever was popular.
Because the costs were so low, putting in a little effort to ride the wave was a surefire way to make money.
What's more, take the genuine Hollywood blockbuster Battleship that came out that year. The original failed at the box office, losing $200 million, while American Warships, produced by the knockoff specialists at The Asylum, recouped its costs and still made a 50% profit—$250,000...
What was interesting was that most of the company's "knockoff movies" were finished before the originals came out, allowing them to be released first.
Of course, making too many knockoffs was bound to bring lawsuits.
But there was no need to worry!
They had plenty of tricks up their sleeves!
For example, in 2012, The Asylum released The Age of the Hobbits and put it out on DVD on November 11, three days before the official The Hobbit opened in North America.
The Hobbit's production company sued The Asylum. But the company argued that its hobbits weren't Tolkien's hobbits. Instead, they were based on a real human subspecies—the Homo floresiensis discovered in Indonesia in 2003—which scientists also called "hobbits."
In the end, the court ruled that they were in the clear!
"Brilliant! If they can do it, why can't I? The Asylum can make knockoff movies in the future, so I can do it now!"
Zucker couldn't help thinking of this year's box-office champion, Independence Day.
If theirs was called Independence Day, then his knockoff could be called Not Independence Day.
Anyone could ride a hit's coattails!
All right, most people wouldn't actually do it. It was shameless!
But Zucker had such low "standards" that he didn't care!
Before you continue