The $18.5 million in advance sales for the midnight screenings confirmed Matthew's expectations. With the strong foundation of "The Curse of the Black Pearl" and Disney's extensive targeted marketing, the box office for "Dead Man's Chest" was never in doubt. CinemaScore, based on the early box office figures and audience feedback, revised their forecast to predict a North American opening weekend gross of around $150 million for the film.
Matthew was, of course, thrilled. In this era, a film grossing over $100 million in its opening weekend in North America was extremely rare. None of his previous films had ever achieved such a monumental feat.
"Dead Man's Chest is a sequel," Helen Herman said in the office of Angel Agency. "For a non-adapted, non-sequel film to gross over $100 million on opening weekend in North America is nearly impossible."
Matthew nodded in agreement. "Original films have had a tough time lately."
Helen Herman zeroed in on the core issue. "Very few original films achieve significant box office success. Given the current market dynamics, even a mid-to-low-budget production requires a multi-million dollar investment. Investing this kind of money in an original film is several times riskier."
While this trend wasn't favorable for the long-term health of the film industry, production studios were commercial enterprises. They weren't in the business of pursuing art for art's sake. Even if Matthew were investing, he wouldn't choose riskier projects over those with higher returns and lower risks.
"This is just the way things are," Helen Herman, both an agent and a businessperson, said pragmatically. "If you had to choose between an original script and one based on a well-known property, which would you pick?"
Matthew internally acknowledged that he would choose the one with a stronger brand recognition. However, he couldn't say that to Helen, so he shrugged and replied vaguely, "Isn't that a no-brainer?"
In Hollywood, choosing a project was similar for stars and studios alike. The script was just one factor among many. The director and producer often took precedence over the script itself.
Matthew had gained a deep understanding of Hollywood. For example, in TV show production, the script was crucial, and writers held significant power. There were cases where a lead actor clashed with the writers and ended up being written out of the show. However, in film production, the director and producer's roles were far more significant than that of the screenwriter. Screenwriters often found themselves in a somewhat awkward position.
Interestingly, the Producers Guild's agreements with Hollywood's various guilds all had the same expiration dates. This meant that when the Writers Guild's agreement expired, the Screen Actors Guild (SAG) and the Directors Guild's agreements would also be up for renewal.
Whenever these agreements expired, Hollywood faced its most turbulent times. The guilds aimed to secure better deals, while the Producers Guild, representing the studios, typically resisted these demands.
While the SAG and Directors Guild rarely ended up striking because studios would offer enough to avert it, the Writers Guild often found itself at an impasse, leading to strikes.
Writers often wanted the same level of power and rights as actors and directors, but studios did not see them as being on the same level of importance.
Matthew wasn't too familiar with the independent film sector, but in mainstream commercial filmmaking, producers typically took the lead. Scripts often came after securing a producer and a project. For example, in the case of "Mr. & Mrs. Smith," without Akiva Goldsman, a top-tier producer, would Summit Entertainment have paid attention to Simon Kinberg?
Matthew remembered reading the scripts for James Cameron's "Titanic" and "Terminator 2" last year. By themselves, they were rather ordinary. The script for "Terminator 2" was slightly better, but "Titanic" seemed like a clichéd love story between a poor boy and a rich girl.
Screenwriters often clamored for more authority and recognition, wanting to be treated like directors, but in today's Hollywood, their demands were unrealistic. Hollywood didn't need writers to unleash their creativity with groundbreaking ideas. Mainstream commercial films, even those vying for awards, had to adhere to the traditional three-act structure.
Writers who wanted to break these conventions had to either finance their own projects or find another line of work.
In fact, most films that resonated with audiences, achieved box office success, or garnered award season accolades, followed the typical three-act structure.
Hollywood was a business, and the market dictated supply.
Most of the time, the scripts for major Hollywood productions were not the work of a single writer but a collaborative effort. Multiple writers working on a script was the norm, and each lead writer often had a team of smaller, uncredited writers. These contributors, despite their significant input, rarely received recognition in the film credits.
This assembly-line approach to scriptwriting had its flaws, but it also offered benefits.
Each writer had their strengths and weaknesses. For instance, "Pirates of the Caribbean" had a large team of writers. Some focused on writing British dialogue, others on action scenes, some provided humorous lines, and others handled the maritime details.
Each writer, working within a unified style and framework, contributed their strengths. While they might not be experts in all aspects, they ensured the content at least appeared credible.
This wasn't particularly evident in "Pirates of the Caribbean," but it was crucial for films centered on specific professions, such as football, medicine, counter-terrorism, or law. This collaborative model helped prevent glaring amateur mistakes.
If a film about a professional field failed to accurately portray its basic aspects, its chances of success were slim.
Of course, not all scripts followed this model.
Some writers and production teams, when faced with specialized content, opted for a lazy solution—filling the gaps with romance when professional accuracy was lacking.
As a result, some movies or TV shows, ostensibly about workplace or business drama, would skim over professional details, rushing through with music video-like montages or Michael Bay-style rapid cuts, eager to return to the core love triangle narrative.
When a show's professional elements were beyond the writer's grasp, they resorted to the ever-reliable romance angle. For some writers, it was as simple as injecting a convoluted love triangle into the mix, employing the Mary Sue or Gary Stu trope to smooth over the rough patches.
Imagine if someone applied this method to "Dead Man's Chest."
Matthew could picture it: Will Turner would be the Gary Stu. He and Elizabeth Swann would be on the brink of marriage, only to learn that Jack Sparrow had been captured by a tribe of cannibals. For the sake of his best friend, Will postpones the wedding, leading to a heated argument with Elizabeth.
This confrontation, filled with dialogue and emotional camera work, could easily stretch the first thirty minutes of the film. Will professes his deep love for Elizabeth, while she tearfully accuses him of truly loving Jack more.
Eventually, Will chooses to rescue Jack. The subsequent bromance could carry the next thirty minutes.
The island sequence could be transformed into a catfight between Elizabeth and Jack over Will, each venting their frustrations and eventually brawling, which would cover another half-hour.
In the end, Jack, tricked by Elizabeth, would be swallowed by the Kraken. Will, driven by... let's say, friendship, would jump into the Kraken's mouth without hesitation.
Elizabeth would vow to chase them to the ends of the earth to keep them apart, thus setting the stage for the next film.
This would be a perfect example of a Gary Stu love triangle plot.
Matthew could imagine the horror if such a film were made under the guise of a pirate adventure, with every plot point serving the love triangle. Most of the audience would be dying in their seats from the sheer absurdity.
Matthew spent the better part of the morning at Angel Agency. Before leaving Helen Herman's office, he reminded her to coordinate with the agents for Johnny Depp and Keira Knightley. With "Dead Man's Chest" poised for a blockbuster performance, it was crucial to negotiate for greater compensation in the upcoming "At World's End."
Leaving Angel Agency, Matthew didn't bother with the paparazzi following him. He drove straight to Amanda's apartment in Westwood, where Alexandra Daddario, clad in a tight-fitting T-shirt and snug capris, was already waiting outside.
As Alexandra got into Matthew's car, she asked, "Where are we going?"
Matthew noticed the flashing lights nearby but ignored them. "I've reserved a table at a seaside restaurant in Santa Monica."
Alexandra nodded, "Great, I'm starving."
The white Mercedes SUV drove off, followed by a car carrying Matthew's security team and a swarm of paparazzi vehicles trailing behind.
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