Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
The year was 1997. Sensing that the movie industry was on the cusp of a boom, a Canadian banker by the name of Frank Giustra invested in Lionsgate Entertainment. With its new infusion of funds, Lionsgate Entertainment went on to acquire film production facilities as well as several smaller film publishers. And thus, Lionsgate Films as we know it today was officially formed.
It would seem that the Canadian film company’s DNA had been set in stone since its infancy, having established itself as the publisher of unconventional films—particularly those with violence, gore, horror, and other provocative themes. While its bold vision had paid off handsomely, it was the absurdity of the works it represented that propelled it to notoriety. Many years later, Lionsgate Films would go on to publish Saw, an iconic horror movie best known for its gory scenes—the maiden work of Chinese director James Wan, with a production budget of 1.2 million dollars and a worldwide box office revenue of over 100 million dollars. The success of Saw was a testament to Lionsgate Film’s unique foresight and commercial acumen.
However, at that point in time, Lionsgate Films had been just a budding company in the coastal city of Santa Monica, albeit one with a good reputation.
And on that day, in the screening room of Lionsgate Film’s head office building in Santa Monica, John Feldmeyer, the Vice President of Publishing; Tom Oldenburg, the Vice President of Acquisition; and Michael Prosenick, the Vice President of Production, gathered. The three head honchos of Lionsgate held on to their seats with their eyes glued to the big screen in front of them. Their faces were tense and anxious. Sitting on their right, Wang Yang studied their reactions out of the corner of his eye more than once.
Two days ago, Wang Yang had called John Feldmeyer to set up an appointment. Today, he was in Santa Monica. Perhaps he had Rachel’s professor to thank for the speedy arrangement. Thus far, Lionsgate Films seemed to have taken him seriously, even sending three of its VP’s to evaluate his movie. What’s more, since his film had started playing, the VP’s had given it its due respect by sitting and watching attentively. The entire process was solemn, with people bursting out in startled gasps every now and then, just like they would in a normal theater.
At that moment, the big screen was showing the final scenes of the movie. Sounds of footsteps. John and his fellow VP’s were on the edge of their seats with their eyes wide open, barely able to contain their gasps. Then, it stopped. For a while, the film was suspended in a jarring state of calm. Suddenly, the male protagonist, Kevin’s, body flew across the room and hit the DV camera in a loud crash. High-pitched screams came out of John and his colleagues as they were startled by the uncanny twist. Michael Prosenick, paler than a ghost, nearly fell out of his chair.
As he beheld Mae’s—the female protagonist—grim, adoring smile on the big screen, John Feldmeyer’s eyes bulged in horror. “Oh, God… Oh…” he blurted out in slow, terrified gasps.
“This… This is unbelievable…” As the movie cut to the credits, Tom Oldenburg turned his cold, sweat-drenched face to look incredulously at Wang Yang. Then, breaking into a smile, he initiated applause. “Wow! Young man, this is really something else. How did you come up with the idea?” he praised.
Still visibly shaken from the experience, the VP of Production, Michael Prosenick, gave Wang Yang an astonished look and said, “Wow! I dare say, this is definitely an outstanding horror film. That final shot almost scared me to death!” Then, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he said breathlessly, “My God! First, you lure us into a state of psychological horror, then, right in the end, you smack us across the face with a brutal jump scare. Wow! What a ride!”
Wang Yang recognized the man. Back when he’d used to binge on the horror films in his head, he’d come across some of the films he’d produced. Came to think of it, Michael Prosenick was the future producer of The Eye, and Jessica Alba was the future lead actress of that movie. The movie was mediocre at best, and because of it, he’d banished all thoughts of letting Jessica star in his own film.
“Thank you,” said Wang Yang smiling. Those were high praises coming from high-powered men. Though he was naturally pleased, he was careful not to let himself get carried away. After all, it wasn’t the first time a company had commended his effort. Prior to Lionsgate, there had been several companies that’d had nothing but praises after viewing his movie. However, when it had come time to put their stakes in the ground, their answer had still been a resounding “no”, Artisan Entertainment being one of the examples. Given the subpar image quality of the movie, most of them felt that the movie would never become a hit even with positive word of mouth advertising. To them, it would never be a moneymaker, so there was no point in staking their reputation for what seemed like paltry profit.
True to his premonition, scared and impressed as he might have been, John Feldmeyer still knitted his eyebrows and said, “But… I’m not sure about the market.” Throwing his hands up resignedly, he continued, “I agree that this is an outstanding film. But if you were to step into a cinema, you’d realize that there are so many choices out there. Between two outstanding horror films, which one would you choose? The one shot on traditional film, with crystal clear definition and stable camerawork, or the one shot on a DV camcorder with blurred, out-of-focus intervals?”
Before Wang Yang could advocate for himself, Michael Prosenick interrupted with a “hey”. Bullishly, he said, “John, I think there’s definitely a market for this film! Trust me. This film may not have gory images, but it’s definitely out there and scary enough. It’s psychological horror taken brilliantly to the next level!” He went on, extolling its virtues, “Look at the way it was shot; it’s like you’re right behind the DV camera. The intensity and the suspense are unlike anything I’ve seen before!”
Michael Prosenick’s words seemed to have struck a chord with John Feldmeyer and Tom Oldenburg. Seizing the opportunity, with his sales mode turned full on and his grateful eyes on Michael Prosenick’s face, Wang Yang began to deliver his usual pitch. “That’s right. It doesn’t matter if it’s called a ‘first-person movie’.” Then, he noticed John and said confidently, “Mr. Feldmeyer, if I may answer your previous question, I’d choose the DV movie. And the reason is that it would be my first time seeing a DV horror film at the theater. It would be a fresh, new experience for me, wouldn’t it?”
“You’ve made a fair point,” John said nodding, “People are always curious about fresh, new things.”
“I suppose you’re concerned about two things. One is money, and the other is reputation,” Wang Yang continued his pitch. After dozens of failures, he’d already wrapped his head around how film companies thought and operated. He knew what exactly to say to push their buttons.
John and his duo of executives looked at one another, then nodded. John spoke up, “Yes, you’re right; those are our main concerns.”
Wang Yang pondered strategy and formulated his response. Then, mustering a serious expression, he looked at them and said, “What I’m trying to say is, how did you think Lionsgate became the successful company it is today? If you ask me, it all comes down to its entrepreneurial spirit—its willingness to take calculated risks. Daring to be different, getting people talking, thinking outside the box—those are the hallmarks of Lionsgate. That’s what it’s known for.” There was a beat of silence among the trio of executives as Wang Yang began his speech. He continued, “So, in terms of reputation, there’s nothing for Lionsgate to worry about. Whether this is a bad movie or a good movie, one thing’s for sure: if you publish it, it will be the first DV movie ever to reach the silver screen, and Lionsgate will be hailed as the company that made it happen! Not only will it not jeopardize your reputation, but also set you apart from the competition.”
“Yes, you’re right.” John Feldmeyer nodded in agreement. His sentiment was shared by Tom Oldenburg and Michael Prosenick.
Wang Yang breathed a sigh of relief, unnoticed. Carrying on, he said, “In terms of financials, there’s nothing you should worry about, either. For starters, the film wouldn’t cost much in the way of promotion. 100 thousand dollars is all I need. Furthermore, we can test the waters with a limited release. Screen the movie at a few dozen theaters first and see how well it fares at the box office before deciding whether to move on to a wider release. If the movie doesn’t sell, all you’d lose is a little money. Then again, who is to say that it won’t become a hit?”
Looking across the room at the three executives straight in their eyes, he egged on, “Gentlemen, this is the opportunity of a lifetime!”
Individually, John and his colleagues ruminated over Wang Yang’s proposal. Then, they convened briefly in hushed tones. John Feldmeyer asked sharply, “Yang, I’m wondering. You said the promotional cost would only be 100 thousand dollars. What do you think we can accomplish with such a small sum?”
Promotional and advertisement fees usually comprised around 50 percent of a film’s production cost. Of course, it wasn’t a hard and fast rule. Depending on the publishing company’s whims, the amount could vary.
If Lionsgate were to publish Paranormal Activity, a promotional budget of 100 thousand dollars would have amounted to ten times the film’s production cost. It may seem like an outrageously large sum, but what could one realistically achieve with 100 thousand? Forget about buying an advertising slot on television networks and news outlets, or a pre-movie slot in the theaters, or even putting up posters in subway trains, bus stations, and other densely populated, high traffic areas. 100 thousand wasn’t even enough to cover the city of Los Angeles alone. In fact, it could hardly cover anything at all.
“The internet!” Wang Yang blurted out without hesitation. Giving them his two cents on the issue, he said, “First, we can set up an official website for the movie on the internet. The website has to be obscure and mysterious. No mention of the director or the actors. We want to paint it as if it were really Kevin and Mae who have been making the documentary, like a true story. Then, we spread the word all over the internet, through major websites, forums, and online communities. Soon, by word of mouth, it’ll reach tens, hundreds, thousands, and even millions of people.”
As a really engaging smile took over his face, he said, “And that is what we call viral marketing!”
John Feldmeyer’s eyes glistened as he listened with considerable interest. His face wore an expression that was at once intrigued, amused, and shocked. As a VP of publishing, he had no trouble grasping Wang Yang’s idea. The promotional method that he proposed was certainly economical. Besides, advertising the DV movie as a real documentary and letting people’s innate curiosity drive them to the theaters… it sounded like a pretty good idea. However… a problem suddenly occurred to him. “That sounds kind of like a scam. What if the audience accuses us of finagling them to watch the movie? That’d be disastrous for our company’s reputation.”
Wang Yang shrugged a little shrug and replied confidently, “It won’t be a scam. At worst, it’d be considered a gimmick. We don’t have to commit ourselves by stating outright that the movie is a true story. We just have to avoid letting on to the fact that it’s a work of fiction, leaving the rest to the audience’s imagination. Besides, we’ll add a disclaimer at the end of the movie saying the story is purely fictitious. A scam? We won’t have any legal liabilities at all.”
“By God! I think I’m finally getting what a mockumentary is,” John exclaimed as he turned his excited face toward Tom and Michael and nodded approvingly. “He’s right, we can definitely keep the promotional cost to 100 thousand dollars that way. It sounds like a good idea. I think it’s worth a try”
“Hah!” Michael Prosenick barked out a one-note laugh. Facing Wang Yang and giving a thumbs up, he said, “Wow, young man, looks like you’ve got a chance.”
For the first time in the meeting, Wang Yang felt nervous. Michael Prosenick had been supportive of him since the very beginning, and John Feldmeyer had just been sold on the idea. The only person left to convince was the VP of Acquisition, Tom Oldenburg.
For a minute or two, Wang Yang watched as Tom Oldenburg rubbed his chin with one hand, not saying a word, seemingly deep in contemplation. Then, as if struck by an idea, he looked at Wang Yang and asked, “How much would it cost if we were to publish this movie?”
How much? Wang Yang’s heartbeat quickened so abruptly and forcefully that he could even hear it in his chest. Tom’s words implied it; they’d already entered the early stages of price negotiation. It was the first time he’d gotten this far with a company! Fighting to keep his cool, he thought about how to best answer Tom’s question.
Nowadays, film companies tended to acquire independent films through one-time buyouts. They give the filmmaker the money, the film belongs to them, and the filmmaker washes his hands of the whole project.
However, Wang Yang had something else in mind. If he were to sell Paranormal Activity to Lionsgate Films in a single transaction, the most he would get in return was hundreds, if not tens of thousands of dollars. Other people might be perfectly contented with such an arrangement. After all, with the movie’s production cost being only 10 thousand dollars, even selling it for 100 thousand would yield a ten-fold return—an undeniably generous reward. But knowing that the first DV movie, The Blair Witch Project, would gross over 200 million at box offices worldwide, Wang Yang would not agree to a one-time buyout.
After thinking for a while, Wang Yang smiled and said, “No, Mr. Oldenburg. There is no acquisition cost for my film.” Looking at Tom Oldenburg’s bewildered expression, Wang Yang carried on with his explanation, “If your company agrees to publish my film, I hope to get a cut of the profits in return.”
“Oh, profit sharing?” Tom Oldenburg furrowed his eyebrows. Wang Yang nodded and said, “That’s right. Your company doesn’t have to pay me a single cent in advance.”
The grooves between Tom Oldenburg’s brows deepened as he grappled with the thought. In low, whispering voices, he and John Feldmeyer deliberated. The zero acquisition price tag was indeed enticing, for it meant Lionsgate Films would expend no more 200 thousand dollars during the film’s limited release if they were to publish it. However, entering into a partnership agreement wasn’t without its downsides. Ultimately, it’d depend on the movie’s box office figures and the profit-sharing ratio. Tom considered for a while, then said, “Young man, how do you propose we split the profits?”
Wang Yang knew that, for blockbusters and major productions, the publisher usually received a measly 30 percent cut. Sometimes, in their desperation to secure publishing rights, publishers might even go as low as 10 percent. However, Wang Yang’s movie was no blockbuster. It was a DV movie that had been overlooked by nearly everyone thus far. If it hadn’t been offered to them, Lionsgate Films wouldn’t have even missed it. Understandably, Wang Yang didn’t want to be too unreasonable with his demands. He thought about it and decided to throw the ball back into their court. “I can’t say, but I’m open to your suggestion,” he said, shaking his head.
Tom Oldenburg responded with a shrug and said, “We can’t give you too big of a cut. There’d be no point in taking the risk otherwise.” Gazing at Wang Yang, he revealed his card. “15 percent, then. Or a one-time initial payment with a five percent dividend.”
15 percent? Wang Yang’s eyebrows tightened unconsciously. No, it’s too low! Beating his brains out, Wang Yang stumbled upon a clever idea. He said to Oldenburg, “How about this—if the movie’s pre-tax box office gross totals less than a million, I get only a 10 percent cut; if the gross breaks five million, I get 20 percent; 30 percent if it breaks 10 million; 40 percent if it breaks 50 million; and 50 percent if it breaks 100 million. This is excluding sales from DVDs and other sources of revenue. What do you think?”
John Feldmeyer, Michael Prosenick, and Tom Oldenburg stared with their mouths agape as Wang Yang voiced out his opinion. Then, a chorus of laughter greeted his remark. A pre-tax box office gross of over 100 million? Was the young man pulling their leg?
Incredulous, Michael Prosenick held his head in his hands and said, “Easy there, young director. Looks like you have a lot of faith in your movie!” Wang Yang simply smiled and said, “Yes.”
John’s eyes jumped to meet Tom’s, and the two men nodded to each other in synchrony without saying a word. Tom Oldenburg spoke up. “If that’s the case…” He started to say, but his instincts, honed from years of experience in the business, stalled him. And though he smiled, he was a little tight around the mouth; something just didn’t feel quite right to him. What did he have to worry about? It wasn’t like the movie would gross over 100 million, and even if it did, his company would still be swimming in cash after giving the young man his 50 percent cut.
Wearing a faint smile, Tom nodded and said, “Sounds like an interesting proposal. But we’d need some time to think it over, oh, and to run it through our director.”
Michael Prosenick rose from his seat. With his arms wide open, smiling his most brilliant smile, he said to Wang Yang, “Congratulations! You’ve passed the evaluation.”
As Wang Yang looked at the three of them, immobilized, an extraordinary expression passed over his face. He thought, “So it’s a deal? They’ve agreed to publish my movie?” As if someone had opened a valve, a warm wetness began to flood his nose and eyes. He breathed in through his nose audibly, trying to fight back the tears, and stood up. Body still quivering from jubilation, he embraced Michael Prosenick, then John, then Tom, all the while uttering, “Thank you, thank you!”
“Young man, you deserve it,” John said in his embrace before releasing himself smilingly and giving him a few pats on the shoulder.
Holding back his tears, looking at the three executives smiling benevolently upon him, Wang Yang could hardly express himself. They’ve said yes. Lionsgate Films said yes! They’re going to publish my movie, and it’s going to be screened in the theaters!”
He thought about the grief he’d felt when he’d been expelled from university, the hardship of handing out flyers on the streets in the heat of the day, the fifty-four rejections by the film companies he’d visited prior, the grievous woes, the sleepless nights… but now, compared to the joy he was now feeling, it all seemed so insignificant! He finally made it. He finally got his big break! He wasn’t a failure. His dream didn’t die. Once again, he was forging ahead with his ambition in the film industry!
“Thank you!” said Wang Yang smilingly as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Then he looked at John and the other two VP’s and said, “I don’t think I’ll ever forget about this moment for the rest of my life.”
John and the men broke out in laughter. “Could it be the thrill of success you’re experiencing? Remember the feeling.”
Since Lionsgate Films had promised they would have a contract ready on the following day, Wang Yang elected not to return to Los Angeles after his meeting at the company. Instead, he decided to rent a room at a motel and spend the night in Santa Monica.
He strolled down the streets of Santa Monica crosswind, taking a far glimpse at the sea. Galvanized, emancipated, already in better spirits, he gave the air a one-two punch, bursting out in laughter every now and then. As he gazed at the sandy beach and the clear, blue sky, he thought to himself, “D*mn it, why is the scenery here so beautiful?”
After walking for a while, and the euphoria that had fogged his brain had dissipated somewhat, Wang Yang recalled something important. He couldn’t wait to take out his cell phone and tell all his friends about the good news. But just as he’d extracted the cell phone from his pocket, he froze. “Who should I call first?” He clicked his way into his cell phone’s address book. Jessica, or Rachel… alternating between their names, he pondered. Finally, he settled on the person who’d helped him get his foot in Lionsgate’s door, Rachel. At the press of a button, he called her.
Immediately, the call connected. Wang Yang made his way to a bench beside the road and sat down. Cheerily, he said, “Hi, Rachel! It’s me, Yang.” From the microphone came Rachel’s voice, as sweet and uninhibited as always, “Hi, Yang. So, how did it go?” Wang Yang laughed. Taking in the scenery around him, he replied with a smile, “Wow, it sure is pretty here in Santa Monica. The beach, the sea breeze, the sun, the sky… man, what a view!”
Rachel felt a flutter of preemptive joy upon hearing Wang Yang’s cheerful tone. “Yang, don’t tell me… you made it?” she asked impatiently.
“Yes, I made it!” Wang Yang laughed, full of joy. Before he could finish his sentence, Rachel made a “wow” face and said, “Oh, my God… you made it!” Nodding and smiling, Wang Yang said, “That’s right. Hurray! I’m so happy right now.” As his laughter trailed off, he thanked Rachel. “Rachel, thank you so much. Because of you, my horrendous record of interview failures will remain at fifty-four! Be honest, are you an angel sent by God to help me?”
Heart half-melted by Wang Yang’s sweet compliment, Rachel’s lips curled into a smile. “Yeah, God said to me, ‘Rachel, a young man in Los Angeles is going to make a film. Go forth and see him.’ So I flew to Los Angeles, acted in the movie, and in due time, I’ll be able to see myself on a big screen in a cinema!” She chuckled then said, “Gosh, what a crazy adventure!”
“You said it!” Wang Yang sighed with beatitude and said, “These have been crazy days, all right.”