Santa Monica.
In a five-story office building on 2nd Street, not far from Daenerys Entertainment headquarters, the space had once housed the headquarters of a real estate firm.
Last year's stock market crash had triggered a collapse in the North American property market. The struggling real estate company, desperate to cut costs, relocated south to Ocean Park, and Simon leased the entire building to serve as the new home of Daenerys Visual Effects.
Though the building lacked the sprawling footprint of Daenerys Entertainment's two-story headquarters and had no dedicated parking lot, its total floor space far exceeded the main office—perfectly suiting the needs of the effects company.
After several months of restructuring, Simon had merged the two companies he had acquired—Alias Research and Wavefront Technologies—into a single entity, appointing Mark Sylvester, Wavefront's original founder, as president of the new operation.
In that time, Daenerys Visual Effects had aggressively recruited talent. In just over three months the staff had grown to more than 110 people—twice the size of Daenerys Entertainment itself.
Yet while Daenerys Entertainment continued to generate substantial profits through projects like When Harry Met Sally and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, the effects division remained firmly in the red. Simon intended, during the upcoming integration of New World Entertainment, to fold Daenerys Visual Effects into the upgraded Daenerys Entertainment conglomerate.
It was now July 26, late afternoon.
In a small conference room at Daenerys Visual Effects, Simon, Terry Semel, Mark Sylvester, and several other senior executives sat around a table watching a clip projected on the screen.
The past few months acquiring companies, hiring staff, purchasing expensive graphics workstations had already cost Simon more than ten million dollars. He had no intention of letting more than a hundred highly paid specialists sit idle.
The evolution of film visual effects had always been driven by real projects. Simon had been feeding the team a steady stream of concepts for Batman and the planned Ghost, tasking them with developing solutions while producing short CG sequences as practice—much like creating 3D animated shorts.
On the screen, a vast swarm of bats swept through city streets like a terrifying black cloud. Though silent, the image alone was enough to raise goosebumps. Mark Sylvester rewound and replayed the ten-second clip several times before an assistant drew back the curtains.
Simon toyed with the pencil in his hand. When the room brightened, he turned to Mark Sylvester. "The composite is excellent. The bats just aren't quite realistic enough yet. I'd like them refined further by the time we need them."
"It's a rendering issue," Mark explained. Then he added, "Simon, if we can, we'd like to develop an entirely new renderer from the ground up. With adequate funding and manpower, we could have it ready in about a year."
CG effects production generally broke down into modeling, rendering, and compositing.
Of the two companies Simon had acquired, Alias specialized in 3D modeling the direct precursor to Maya while Wavefront focused on compositing. Between them lay the critical gap: rendering.
Rendering transformed raw digital models into convincing real-world objects through complex calculations of light, shadow, and texture.
Pixar's already-famous RenderMan was complete and could serve both animation and live-action effects. But Jobs remained inflexible, and Simon had no intention of relying on Pixar.
"I'll approve it," Simon said with a nod. "But Batman won't wait a year. From today you have eight months at most. Post-production begins then."
Mark considered it. "Eight months works. We can prioritize whatever Batman needs first."
They spoke a while longer before Mark and the other executives left the room.
Once they were gone, Terry Semel CEO of Warner Bros. Pictures, who had listened quietly throughout smiled and said, "Aside from the year-end slot next year, I'm growing more confident about Batman by the day."
Simon knew Terry had called specifically to "check progress" on Batman, but that wasn't the real reason. For now he simply replied, "A good film always takes time to get right."
Terry dropped the pretense. "Simon, I hear Pascal's been looking for new projects lately?"
Simon didn't deny it. "Yes. The company's still small. Once everyone finishes what they're working on, we'll have nothing ready for next year's prime dates."
"Then how about we work together?"
"Hm?"
Terry said, "I remember you were very interested earlier this year in the novel rights to The Bourne Identity that Warner holds. As it happens, we've been thinking of launching that project ourselves. So—why not a Warner and Daenerys collaboration?"
Simon smiled but didn't call the bluff.
Had he not shown interest, Warner would almost certainly have turned The Bourne Identity into a television miniseries this fall a common move for studios after the writers' strike.
Paramount's long-gestating big-screen Mission: Impossible had also collapsed because of the strike.
Yet Paramount had already released two hundred-million-dollar club films that summer—Crocodile Dundee 2 and Coming to America—and was guaranteed a strong year. They had no need to come courting Daenerys the way Warner did.
Word was that, with the feature dead, Paramount now planned to revive the television version this fall.
Terry noticed the faint smile on Simon's lips and felt a pang of bitterness.
Unlike the string of hits from Paramount, Fox, Daenerys, and even Orion that summer, Warner Bros.—supposedly among the strongest of the majors—had posted thoroughly mediocre results.
June's Chevy Chase vehicle Funny Farm still hadn't reached twenty-five million. Clint Eastwood's The Dead Pool, released opposite Basic Instinct this month, had dropped thirty-three percent over the latest weekend. That kind of fall made a long run unlikely; the film would probably finish just over thirty million in North America.
Basic Instinct, despite all the controversy, had fallen only seventeen percent in its second weekend, adding another $13.91 million.
With its $23.92 million opening, the film had already reached $37.83 million domestically in ten days a total The Dead Pool was unlikely to match even by the end of its run.
And over the same weekend, Warner's family comedy sequel Caddyshack II twenty million budget, 1,556 screens had opened to a dismal $3.96 million, headed for little more than ten million total.
Halfway through Warner's planned twenty-four releases for the year, the studio's top performer remained Tim Burton's initially overlooked Beetlejuice, which had just passed $71.63 million and would likely close around seventy-three.
More galling still: the second-best performer of Warner's first half was the same Funny Farm, still scraping along in the low twenties.
The only word for the studio's performance was dismal.
Terry Semel was a trusted protégé of Warner chairman Steve Ross and therefore not personally worried about his position, Ross protected his own. But as a public company, such poor film results demanded accountability, and Terry was the one who would answer for them.
Lately even Steve Ross had begun pressing him to turn things around quickly.
Movies were a high-risk business; no one could guarantee success.
Even Spielberg, the industry's golden child in recent years, had lost Warner thirty-five million on Empire of the Sun the previous year, returning only $22.23 million domestically.
Yet Daenerys Entertainment had shattered every conventional expectation.
From the sudden emergence of Run Lola Run to the present, every film tied to Simon Westeros—Run Lola Run, The Butterfly Effect, Final Destination, When Harry Met Sally, Pulp Fiction, and now Basic Instinct—six pictures, five of them crossing the hundred-million-dollar threshold. Miracle was no longer the word; this was something closer to divine intervention.21
If Simon Westeros were not a twenty-something kid, his reputation in Hollywood would already have reached godlike status—without exaggeration. After E.T., people had pointed at Spielberg and declared, "There goes God." But Spielberg had never sustained that level of infallibility; his recent films had been a mix of wins and losses.
Simon was acutely aware that his own streak over the past year had become almost too dazzling. More than once he had considered deliberately producing a few merely decent films to take some of the glare off Daenerys. Yet the idea of intentionally failing—of stepping into an obvious pit—was something his subconscious violently rejected.
Seeing the hopeful look in Terry's eyes, Simon spread his hands. "Terry, you can see how busy I am. I simply don't have time to take on anything more."
"You don't need to," Terry replied quickly, sensing an opening. "None of us has that kind of bandwidth. Just agree to work with Warner, and we'll bring in whoever you want. The film will be made entirely to your vision."
Feeling the urgency in Terry's voice, Simon suddenly understood something.
For all Daenerys Entertainment's meteoric rise, the company had faced surprisingly little pushback from Hollywood's established powers. Now he realized why: almost every Daenerys project had been a co-production with one of the majors.
Aside from Orion, the previous six films had delivered massive profits to Fox, Warner, and Disney. Current projects like Rain Man and Batman kept ties strong with MGM and Warner. As long as the big studios shared in the winnings, they had no incentive to strike at Daenerys.
The thought crystallized quickly, and Simon made his decision.
If he couldn't bring himself to sabotage his own success, then maintaining this web of collaborations was actually an ideal strategy. Keeping every major eager to work with Daenerys would only accelerate his influence across Hollywood.
Outwardly calm, he said, "Terry, what exactly are you proposing?"
Terry, clearly prepared, answered at once. "We can use the same model as Basic Instinct. Fifty-fifty split between Warner and Daenerys. Daenerys handles full production; Warner takes worldwide distribution."
The success of the Bourne series rested heavily on its sharp, visceral action and grounded style—elements that could absolutely be achieved a decade early. But Simon also knew that without his direct oversight, no director currently working in Hollywood could capture it properly. The result would likely be a pale imitation.
He was already running into similar problems on Rain Man, despite having the original team in place.
After a moment's thought, Simon shook his head. "I have very specific ideas for The Bourne Identity, Terry. But I haven't found anyone in town yet who could execute them the way I need."
Terry adapted instantly. "Then something else entirely. It doesn't have to be Bourne."
Simon gave a small smile and shook his head again. "If it's something else, I don't necessarily need Warner."
Terry smiled back. "Then tell me what you do need."
"Daenerys will co-produce one film with Warner, same fifty-fifty terms as Basic Instinct. In exchange, I want full rights to two properties currently at Warner: The Bourne Identity and Wonder Woman."
"Done," Terry said without hesitation. "But Warner retains investment and distribution rights on both."
"That won't work," Simon countered. "I can't keep tying Daenerys projects to other studios indefinitely. Look at Basic Instinct—hundred million domestic means roughly the same overseas, plus ancillary. Half of that cycle alone could put more than a hundred million in Fox's pocket. Bourne and Wonder Woman are my leverage."
"Simon, you can't guarantee our joint project hits those numbers."
"No one can," Simon said, spreading his hands with a grin. "So let's roll the dice."
They negotiated a while longer, but Terry held off final commitment. Bourne was negotiable; Wonder Woman's rights technically resided with DC and would require parent-company approval.
Simon wasn't worried Warner would launch either project without him.
Everyone understood that the same property in different hands could yield entirely different results.
After wrapping up the afternoon's work, Simon left around six and headed not to Malibu but to Beverly Hills.
It was Sandra's birthday. He had accepted her party invitation the previous week. Janet knew about it but had chosen not to accompany him—though she had fixed him with a fierce glare and ordered him home by midnight.