Simon, Amy, and Robert Rehme were discussing distribution details for several upcoming films when Jennifer finished setting up the projector. She and Amy's assistant Vanessa drew the conference room curtains, then Jennifer took her place beside the VCR.
At Simon's nod, she pressed play.
On the screen at the front of the room, a hellish pool of molten fire glowed in the darkness. A piercing cry cut through the air as an orange-red phoenix rose from the flames, circled briefly, then spread its wings and froze in the center of the frame. Droplets of fire fell from its wings, forming the words "Daenerys Pictures" beneath it, with a smaller line below: "A Daenerys Entertainment Company."
The five-second logo ended. Robert Rehme turned to Simon. "Phoenix?"
Simon nodded. "The immortal bird of Greek myth. Every five hundred years it builds a pyre, sets itself alight, and is reborn from the ashes. I love the legend. That phoenix will also become the official Daenerys Entertainment logo. I want the company to endure—through any crisis, to rise again from the flames."
The major studios all had iconic logos: MGM's roaring lion, Columbia's torch-bearing lady. From Run Lola Run onward, Daenerys Pictures had used only simple text intros, and the logos for New World and Highgate had been equally plain.
Now that the company was on solid footing, Simon had commissioned professional designers over the past few months to create proper studio logos and trademarks for all three labels.
Rehme had initially thought of Phoenix, Arizona, the state capital just southeast of California. After Simon's explanation, he still did not see the connection between "Daenerys" and "Phoenix," but he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.
They spoke briefly about it, then Jennifer loaded the next tape. Lightning flashed across storm clouds before they parted to reveal a clear blue sky. In bold CG lettering appeared "New World Pictures," with the same subsidiary line beneath.
Among the competing design proposals, Simon had noticed this one resembled Lionsgate's later logo. Since New World's positioning matched Lionsgate's exactly, he had chosen it.
Compared to the dramatic flair of Daenerys and New World, Highgate Pictures' logo was pure artistry.
Gentle music played as rolls of film stock flowed across a black background, gradually forming the words "Highgate Pictures." The meticulously rendered strips looked almost real, flickering as if frames of actual movies were running across them. Beneath the name, once again: "A Daenerys Entertainment Company."
In later years, conglomerate-owned studios commonly included parent-company credits, but the wave of media mergers would not begin until Sony's acquisition of Columbia the following year. Simon adopted the style early to quickly imprint the Daenerys brand in the public mind.
After the three logos finished, they discussed further and decided to release them to the press along with upcoming slates for each label—an excellent promotional opportunity.
By the time they wrapped up, it was past six. Simon did not let Amy or Rehme leave. "Stay for dinner. There's something else I want to discuss."
Rehme had not expected the evening to be only about the logos anyway and readily agreed.
Amy, of course, had no objection.
The three left headquarters and soon arrived at a nearby restaurant where Jennifer had reserved a table.
Once seated and after ordering, Simon got straight to the point. "I've noticed neither of you is particularly invested in Highgate Pictures. We moved New World's acquisitions team over, but last month Danny Morris took a group to Venice and came back empty-handed. The projects he's sent me since have been utterly uninspired."
Danny Morris, formerly vice president of acquisitions at New World, now carried the same title at Daenerys while heading Highgate.
Amy and Rehme exchanged a glance. Rehme spoke first. "Simon, from the late seventies into the early eighties, arthouse films did have a moment. That's when Saul Zaentz rose to prominence, and the majors all launched 'Classics' divisions. But with rising production costs, there's almost no profit left in the arthouse space. If you exclude Run Lola Run last year, the best-performing arthouse titles in recent years top out around twenty million—most lose money. Zaentz's The Unbearable Lightness of Being this year cost seventeen million and barely cleared ten million domestically. I don't think we should pour energy into it."
"You make a strong case, Bob," Simon said seriously, nodding. "But if Hollywood can produce one Run Lola Run, it can produce another—or many more. Have you noticed the trend in theater development lately?"
Amy frowned. "You mean the government relaxing restrictions on studio ownership of theaters?"
"No," Simon said, turning to Rehme. "Bob, AMC—you know it?"
"A chain owned by the DuDubose family, headquartered in Kansas City. Their hallmark is multiplexes. They operate about one hundred fifty theaters but over thirteen hundred screens, though individual auditoriums are smaller." Rehme rattled off the details easily. "I spoke with their people Monday about distribution. Simon, you're not thinking of acquiring a chain, are you? AMC is expanding fast; the family won't sell. United Artists would have been perfect, but John Malone's Tele-Communications took control earlier this year. We missed the window."
"I have no plans to enter exhibition in the near term," Simon clarified. "I'm talking about a trend. Multiplexes are the future."
Rehme nodded. "They've proven successful. Everyone's studying the model. But how does that relate to what we're discussing?"
"Of course it does. Annual attendance may not grow dramatically, but multiplexes will sharply increase total screen count in the coming years. More auditoriums mean more variety. A ten-screen theater might dedicate eight to mainstream hits, but with excess capacity, operators will slot niche arthouse titles into the remaining two. That's opportunity."
Amy could not help objecting. "Even if you're right, Simon, wouldn't our energy be better spent on those eight screens?"
Without concrete examples, Simon realized he could not fully convey how vibrant the 1990s independent scene led by New Line and Miramax had been.
He abandoned further explanation and exercised his prerogative as boss. "Fine. We'll spin Highgate out as a separate subsidiary reporting directly to me. I suspect Danny Morris shares your view and has been coasting. Let him run New World instead. With the success of The Butterfly Effect, Final Destination, and the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise as precedent, he should feel right at home."
Rehme had not expected Simon to read Morris so accurately.
As New World's former head of acquisitions, Morris had wielded significant authority—most of their slate came from outside purchases. After the merger, assignment to Highgate had felt like exile.
Arthouse synonymous with money-loser.
Rehme and Morris were not just colleagues; they were close friends.
Morris had already complained several times. With Daenerys rising fast, he had no intention of quitting he simply wanted a role with more upside, even distribution.
Rehme had planned to raise the issue with Simon soon, but Simon had preempted him.
Yet Rehme felt no joy for his friend.
Simon clearly had high expectations for Highgate; appointing Morris had been a vote of confidence. Now Morris had lost significant points. If he failed at New World, the consequences were predictable.
After dinner, Simon began searching for a new head for Highgate the next day.
Hollywood already had two ideal candidates: the Weinstein brothers.
In their mid-thirties and at peak energy, the brothers had over a decade of experience.
Miramax was struggling. Two years earlier they had abandoned distribution to direct Playing for Keeps, a John Hughes–style teen comedy that bombed, nearly bankrupting the company. They had yet to recover.
An offer from Simon now would likely succeed.
Though Harvey's later scandals tarnished his name, moral purity was not an option if Simon wanted to keep building Daenerys.
The brothers, however, were not the type to stay leashed.
As a Disney subsidiary, Miramax repeatedly defied the parent company. During critical cable-license negotiations with the Bush administration, despite Michael Eisner's warnings, they backed Fahrenheit 9/11 a film aimed at unseating Bush. It made money but earned Disney government retaliation.
Once Miramax rose, the brothers tried expanding beyond arthouse with big-budget failures like Cold Mountain and The Aviator, eventually splitting from Disney.
Simon had watched the Weinstein scandal unfold. He believed that if the brothers had remained under Disney, it never would have happened just as John Lasseter's similar allegations during the same period barely caused a ripple.
Many fell in that storm; Lasseter emerged unscathed, featured as one of Disney's "four giants" alongside Robert Iger, Kevin Feige, and Kathleen Kennedy on a Vanity Fair cover.
Had Harvey stayed, Disney might have boasted five pillars Marvel, Lucasfilm, Pixar, and the Oscar-dominating Miramax making the company even more formidable.
Deciding against inviting trouble, Simon resolved to keep the brothers down before their rise, preventing future competition with Highgate.
It would not be difficult.
In the original timeline, Miramax's breakthrough came next year with the Palme d'Or winner Sex, Lies, and Videotape. Simon knew their subsequent successes well and could easily poach them.
Without hits, a still-recovering Miramax would not last long.
While overseeing Highgate, Simon's primary focus remained casting for Batman, The Sixth Sense, The Bodyguard, and others. Most leads were set, but key supporting roles still required attention.
Meanwhile, after deliberate delays, the MPAA finally granted Scream its R-rating on October 12—another Wednesday. The majors evidently lacked the resolve for open war.
With clearance secured, Daenerys launched a two-week promotional sprint. Buoyed by the studio's prior successes and theaters' post-strike content drought, Rehme secured 1,755 screens for Scream possibly more than the original.
Dead Poets Society landed 1,693 for the competitive Christmas season understandably fewer. Steel Magnolias, widely seen as a women's picture, drew only 922.
Yet while Daenerys's trio proceeded smoothly, MGM's Rain Man encountered problems.