Chapter 47: The Template Hidden in the Project Proposal
Jimmy had noticeably accelerated the pace of negotiations with Warner Bros., and the studio, eager to get things moving, was equally determined to avoid any further surprises.
After two rounds of detailed talks within just five days, Jimmy and Wayne once again found themselves seated in a Warner Bros. conference room.
Unlike the previous three meetings, this time the CEO of Warner Bros., Kevin Tsujihara, was present in person for the final round of negotiations before signing the deal.
While the rest of the room was still deep in back-and-forth over director royalties and revenue splits, Tsujihara's attention was clearly focused on the project's detailed production proposal in front of him.
He had skimmed the script and proposal once the previous week. Now, with the contract signing looming, he was giving the plan a thorough read to ensure there were no hidden pitfalls.
Wayne's proposal wasn't bulky—there was no formal requirement for length or formatting. What mattered was whether the plan was practical, professionally presented, and clearly communicated. It needed to contain all vital information, be easy to digest, and understandable not just to producers but to the studio's decision-makers as well.
This proposal delivered on every front. From pre-production and concept development to post-production strategy, everything was laid out clearly. The overall impression it gave was one of high feasibility and competent planning.
Kevin continued flipping through the pages, carefully reviewing each section:
> "Film Business Overview and Strategic Objectives; Script Summary and Production Outline; Copyright Verification Documents; Current Trends in the Thriller Genre; Target Market and Audience Demographics; Box Office and Budget Comparisons with Recent Similar Films…"
As he read, Kevin couldn't help but feel impressed. In all his years, he'd rarely seen a director of this age produce such a thorough and well-constructed proposal. Too often, young filmmakers showed up with nothing but a half-baked script, expecting studios to beg for the rights.
But this director? He more than lived up to his USC film school pedigree. The industry knowledge he demonstrated was miles ahead of most rookies. In fact, Wayne had the polish of someone who could step directly into a producer's shoes if he wanted to.
There was none of the vague "artistic vision" fluff that typically filled indie proposals. This was the work of someone who understood both the creative and commercial sides of filmmaking—and knew how to bring them together.
And this was only the beginning.
As Kevin flipped further, the plan became even more detailed. It outlined the proposed crew, from director to production staff and even preliminary casting profiles. Each confirmed role came with a basic résumé attached.
For the still-open positions, required qualifications were listed to help Warner's in-house producers fill the gaps appropriately.
The document included production specifications, desired shooting locations, and technical standards. It also had a weekly budget breakdown, cash flow projections, and proposed management methods for each production phase.
There was even a meticulously marked timeline with dates for pre-production, principal photography, and post.
Attached were signed rights agreements, copies of director and screenwriter guild registrations, early storyboards, and conceptual poster artwork.
Start to finish, the proposal was airtight.
There wasn't a single flaw Kevin could find. No matter who read it, the reaction would be the same: this was a professional, viable, and investor-worthy business plan.
After going through it twice, Kevin finally put the materials down and looked across the table at the young director.
This, he thought, wasn't just a project proposal—it was a full-fledged Hollywood-standard producer's template.
And in that moment, he felt absolutely certain: even if this kid flopped as a director, he was still destined to succeed as a commercial film producer.
Wayne sat silently as his agent handled the negotiations. Across from him, Kevin Tsujihara, CEO of Warner Bros., gently tapped the production proposal Wayne had compiled and finally spoke his first words of the day.
"Director Garfield," he said softly, "I've reviewed your project plan carefully. This is clearly an R-rated film."
He paused before continuing. "We all know that R-rated films come with a built-in disadvantage when it comes to audience reach. If you're willing to tone down some of the explicit content—cut the graphic violence and more intense scenes—we could likely secure a PG-13 rating from the MPAA."
Wayne was briefly stunned. He hadn't expected the CEO to review the materials so thoroughly. He had assumed Tsujihara was merely there for formality, to sign off on the deal—not to dissect the screenplay and production plan.
But when it came to the film's rating, Wayne didn't hesitate.
"That's not possible, sir," he said firmly. "If I remove all the intense scenes and graphic violence, the built-up tension from the racial undertones in the story would never have a proper release. It would destroy the entire narrative."
Kevin leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly as he mentally walked back through the script. Wayne was right. From an audience's perspective, the emotional payoff relied on that tension being resolved. Without it, the film would lose its edge.
The premise was surreal—brain transplants and deeply layered racial metaphors. Its twisted brilliance gave it a distinctly dark tone that couldn't be translated into a family-friendly rating. It had to be R-rated.
"You're right, Director Garfield," Kevin finally said, smiling as he reached that conclusion.
He couldn't be blamed for initially trying to push for PG-13. From a business standpoint, the broader the audience, the higher the potential box office. An R-rating inherently limited reach—but in this case, he could see that it was creatively essential.
"Looks like we're ready to sign," said Jeff Robinov, breaking the moment of contemplation shared by Wayne and Kevin. "You're about to get very busy. I'm confident you'll do just as great a job this time as you did before."
Wayne turned to see that Jimmy and the Warner team had already wrapped up their final points. All eyes were now on him. He reached for the freshly printed contracts, and with a nod from lawyer-Ryan, confirming everything was in order, he smiled.
"No problem, Jeff. Shall we sign?"
"Of course," Jeff said. "Kevin will sign with you personally. I'll go grab some champagne—we may not have the press here, but this is still worth celebrating."
Jeff left the room, and Wayne and Kevin sat facing one another, each signing the documents, then switching them for the final signatures. They stood and shook hands.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tsujihara."
"Likewise, Director Garfield. If anything comes up, feel free to go through Jeff."
"Absolutely. And thank you again for Warner Bros.' trust."
Wayne accepted a glass of champagne from Jimmy and clinked glasses with everyone in the room before downing it in one go.
As Wayne, Jimmy, and Ryan left the conference room, the Warner execs finally allowed themselves to relax.
"Jeff, don't you think we gave that director a bit too much power?" asked John Gray, one of the studio's production execs who had been silent during the negotiations. "He's not exactly A-list yet."
"Listen, John," Kevin cut in before Jeff could speak. "He may not be a big-name director yet, but that project plan he delivered? It's more organized and detailed than what 80% of our producers put together. That tells you a lot."
"You're a key production manager here," Kevin continued. "You should know better than anyone that with low-budget, high-concept projects like this, the model isn't producer-centric—it's director-led. Keep the budget tight and put the decision-making in the director's hands. That's how these films succeed."
"As long as we stay within budget and keep oversight in place, the director should control the creative process. Everyone else needs to rally around him. That's how you make the most of a lean production."
"And the only real question is whether or not the director is worth betting on," Kevin concluded.
Jeff nodded, picking up where Kevin left off. "That's why I'm assigning you to the project as the production manager, John. Your job is simple—track spending and support Garfield as much as possible. Make sure he has the authority he needs to execute his vision."
John absorbed this with a thoughtful nod. He'd managed productions before—just not at this scale or with such a lean budget.
"Trust me, John," Jeff said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Garfield's sharp. With your support, he'll be able to handle the entire production team. This won't be a difficult job—just keep your eyes open and your notebook ready. I promise, it's going to be a very different kind of experience."
As Jeff and Kevin walked out, John remained behind, deep in thought.
"Hey Jeff," Kevin said with a chuckle as they strolled down the hallway, "aren't you worried that pairing a young director with a sharp production manager could spark some power struggles?"
"Not at all," Jeff replied with confidence. "They'll work well together. John's not the controlling type—he's like glue for a team, not a fuse for drama. No chance of two powder kegs going off here."
Meanwhile, not far away in a nearby French restaurant, Harvey Weinstein set down his phone with a scowl and drained his wine in one long gulp.
"What's got you so worked up, Harvey?" asked the burly man across the table.
"Just a minor inconvenience, Mel," Harvey said after a breath, trying to compose himself. "Some arrogant young director who doesn't know when to shut up. That's the second time he's turned down my offer. I bet you've heard of him—your last film got steamrolled by his."
"F**k! Wayne Garfield?"
"That's the one."