Anne was still on the move, her schedule packed to the brim by her agent, Sandra. L'Oréal GG shoots, a Vogue interview, an acting masterclass, and even a late-night talk show guest spot filled her days. She was like a finely crafted wind-up doll, spinning through one glamorous event after another, often dragging herself back to her Leon apartment late at night—or just crashing at a hotel. Leon could see the exhaustion behind her smile, but in Hollywood, that's the price of fame. No one's exempt.
Meanwhile, Scarlett was still making waves at European film festivals. The buzz around Lost in Translation was growing like a snowball, her phone buzzing with stories from far-off places and the thrill of awards-season highs. But her voice carried the rasp of fatigue from endless travel. Lately, she was in London, griping about the chilly weather and never-ending cocktail parties, her tone betraying a longing to get back to Los Angeles.
Leon, for his part, had put his Silicon Valley investment plans on hold to pour everything into The Princess Diaries. This script, tailor-made for his "clumsy princess," was like a seedling he was carefully nurturing, searching for the perfect soil to grow it. His first choice was Fox Searchlight, a studio he'd worked well with before. Armed with a polished project proposal, he and Laura walked into Allen Levine's office at Fox Searchlight. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting bright patches on the desk, but the mood wasn't as relaxed as usual.
"Leon," Allen said, rubbing his hands with a hesitant smile, "Final Destination was a huge win. Everyone at Fox thinks you're a rockstar."
"But…" He paused, glancing at Laura.
Laura jumped in, her tone direct and practical. "Leon, your track record—Scream, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation, Final Destination—it's all rooted in horror. That's where the market and your brand live." She flipped through the proposal. "But The Princess Diaries? It's a full-on teen romantic comedy, family-friendly vibe. That's a big leap."
Allen added, "And you're not just writing this one—you want to produce it, take final cut, get a piece of the profits, and put in your own money? The board's gonna think this is like a kid who just learned to walk trying to race a sports car. It's too risky."
Leon leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk, his gaze steady and confident. "Allen, Laura, I get your concerns. But it's because this is new territory that I need control. I know what Mia needs to be. I know the tone this movie demands. It's not another Final Destination—it can't be churned out on a horror assembly line. As for risk…" A slight, self-assured smile curved his lips. "My involvement's the biggest draw and quality guarantee you've got. I'm putting my own money in to show I'm all-in. Doesn't that say enough?"
His words were clear, confident, almost commanding. Allen and Laura exchanged a look, both seeing the fire in Leon's eyes and the script's undeniable potential.
"Alright," Laura said with a sigh, relenting. "You've made your case. We'll take the proposal to the board. No promises, though—the higher-ups are unpredictable."
"That's all I need. Thanks," Leon replied, knowing that was the best he could get.
The next few days were a waiting game. Leon juggled Final Destination follow-ups and tinkered with new scripts, but his mind kept drifting to Fox's headquarters. The answer came quickly. Allen's voice on the phone was heavy with regret. "Leon, I'm sorry. The board passed. They see potential in the project but have serious doubts about you writing and producing, especially jumping genres like this. They're not ready to hand a major project to someone who's only proven himself in horror."
Laura's voice came through, sincere but apologetic. "Leon, don't lose heart. The script's fantastic—it's just not the right time."
Leon held the phone, silent for a moment. Disappointment stung, but it wasn't a surprise, and it definitely wasn't the end. He wasn't the naive kid who'd crumble after one rejection anymore. "Thanks for trying, Allen, Laura," he said calmly, hanging up. Without missing a beat, he had Greg prep the proposal for the next target.
But reality hit hard again. Warner Bros. doubted the teen comedy market's box office potential. Paramount politely said their slate was full. Sony Columbia showed interest but demanded total control, offering Leon only a token writing credit—a deal he shot down without hesitation. Universal balked at his demands for final cut and profit shares. With each polite rejection, even Leon's cool-headedness started to fray.
Standing by his apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city where dreams and harsh realities collide, Leon realized that even with successful films and a glimpse of the future, breaking through industry biases and barriers was no easy feat. The Big Six studios were like fortresses, each with its own guarded gates and picky gatekeepers.
Only one remained: Disney, the option he'd saved for last, and the one that left him conflicted. On one hand, he vividly remembered The Princess Diaries being a Disney hit in his past life, like it was fate. On the other, he knew Disney was a mess right now. Chairman Michael Eisner's power struggles with Roy Disney and others had the company on edge, its strategy overly cautious. Leon worried that an outside project, especially from a "horror guy" like him, could get caught in their political crossfire or bogged down in red tape.
To stack the deck, he'd prepared more than just The Princess Diaries. Drawing on his memories, he'd written and copyrighted scripts for two future Disney blockbusters: Snow Dogs for their live-action division and Monsters, Inc. for animation. These were his aces, bargaining chips to sweeten the deal if needed. With little optimism but a "do what you can" mindset, he had Greg send The Princess Diaries proposal to Disney, holding back the other two for now.
In the meantime, he started seriously considering going independent.