Another film that is reaping the Oscar buzz is Sex, Lies, and Videotape, which was proving to be the ultimate indie anomaly. Though it hadn't taken home gold on Oscar night—largely because it was competing against Alex's own juggernauts, Rain Man and The Princess Bride—it was riding a massive "Hayes-connection" wave.
By early April 1989, the film had grossed $71.7 million domestically and was still holding strong in over 1,000 theaters. With an international take of $44.5 million, its global total sat at $116.2 million. For a film with a shoestring budget and a provocative, talk-heavy script, these numbers were astronomical.
As of April 1989, Domestic Box Office Standings of films released in 1988 are:Rain Man ($234.6M) The Princess Bride ($188M)Who Framed Roger Rabbit? ($154M)Coming to America ($128M)Big ($114M)Twins ($111M)Crocodile Dundee 2 ($109M)Die Hard ($83.8M)The Naked Gun ($78M)Beetlejuice ($77M)Oliver & Company ($74M)Cocktail ($73M) (Starring Patrick Swayze)Sex, Lies, and Videotape ($71.7M)And the Global Box Office Standings are:Rain Man ($467.6M)Who Framed Roger Rabbit? ($351M)The Princess Bride ($326M)Coming to America ($288M)Crocodile Dundee 2 ($239M)Twins ($216M)Rambo III ($188M)Big ($151M)Die Hard ($140.7M) Sex, Lies, and Videotape ($116.2M)
Excluding Sex, Lies, and Videotape, the lowest budget among these films was Crocodile Dundee II at $14 million. By the end of its run, Sex, Lies, and Videotape was expected to challenge Die Hard—a film Alex personally considered a superior action masterpiece—and enter the domestic top 10.
However, the box office isn't just about pure quality; it's about timing and star power. Sex, Lies, and Videotape had both. With Alex Hayes at the zenith of his career, the film was reaping the full rewards of his industry prestige.
*********
The morning sun over Beverly Hills was bright, cheerful, and to Alex Hayes, personally offensive. He walked into Paula's office wearing dark Wayfarers, moving groggily and with extreme care.
"You look like hell," Paula noted, looking up from her desk.
"Thanks for the obvious," Alex muttered. He bypassed the guest chair and collapsed onto her leather couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Close the blinds, Paula. The sun is hurting like a bitch."
"You could have taken a break today," she said, looking at him with a mix of pity and amusement.
"We had an appointment. I don't miss appointments," Alex grunted. "It's a slight hangover. Nothing terminal. Just order me a fresh lemon juice with soda water, a pinch of salt, and honey. I need to replenish my electrolytes."
"This isn't a restaurant," Paula sighed, but she picked up the phone anyway and relayed the exact order to her assistant. She waited until he sat up, looking slightly more human. "So, have you decided?"
"Huh? Decide?" Alex turned his head toward her, staying flat on the couch. "About what?"
Paula exhaled in sharp exasperation. "You made it to the appointment but forgot why you're here? Or has the hangover turned your brain to mush? I'm talking about your next project, Alex."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Alex sat up, rubbing his temples. "First, tell me: what did you think of the three scripts I left with you?"
Paula leaned back, eyeing the stack in front of her: two overhauled by Alex and one by Quentin Tarantino, an assistant director at Hayes Productions. She picked up the Tarantino script first—a gritty, pop-culture-infused road movie titled True Romance.
"This one is... visceral. It has a strange kind of charm," she said. "But the dialogue? Specifically the scene with the hero's father. The racial slurs... it's incredibly uncomfortable, Alex. Can they be removed?"
Alex shook his head. "You have to look at the strategy of the 'Sicilian Scene' from a professional perspective. Clifford Worley, the father of the lead character Clarence, isn't being a bigot for its own sake; he's trying to provoke his torturer to ensure a quick death."
He paused before explaining. "Look, Clifford is a retired cop. He realizes two things the second Coccotti walks through that door: he's already a dead man, and his only job left is to protect his son. He knows if he stays quiet or tries to play it stoic, the mob will take their time. The torture will be slow, professional, and agonizing until he breaks and gives up Clarence and Alabama's location.By delivering that specific, highly offensive monologue, he isn't trying to 'win' a debate. He's weaponizing Coccotti's own pride and heritage against him. He's forcing the man to lose his cool. He infuriates Coccotti so much that the interrogation phase ends instantly. Coccotti jumps straight to the execution, and by getting shot immediately, Clifford takes the secret to his grave. It's the ultimate sacrifice—he wins the encounter by losing his life."
Paula nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Fine. If you're willing to take that heat, then so am I. But the ending... having Clarence die? I hated it. I actually loved the character."
Alex broke into a tired smile. "Thank you."
"What?"
"I told Quentin the exact same thing," Alex explained. "He said if I could find even one person who agreed with me, he'd give the kid a happy ending. You just saved Clarence Worley's life, Paula."
"I'm happy to be of use," she scoffed playfully. She set the first script aside and moved to the next—the revamped version of 3000, now titled Pretty Woman. "This is a complete pivot, Alex. You've taken a dark, gritty story and turned it into a fairytale. It's going to be a massive draw with women."
"Well, that's the goal," Alex said, taking a slow sip of water from the glass on the table in front of him.
"But you want to star in it as well as direct it?"
"Yes," he replied firmly.
"But the lead, Edward... he reads like a mature man in his late thirties or early forties, Alex. You're younger than that."
"Acting is all about selling the illusion," Alex countered. "The character reads that way because he is powerful. If I can channel that authority, I can make them believe he's a young hotshot businessman who carries that kind of weight. It's all about the presence."
"If you say so," Paula said, though she didn't look entirely convinced.
Finally, Paula picked up the third script. She looked hesitant, her fingers tapping the cover.
"What? You're stalling," Alex said, observing her. "Out with it, Paula."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Her assistant entered, carrying the lemon-honey-soda mixture. She spotted Alex and froze, looking completely starstruck. Her hands trembled as she set the glass down. Alex gave her a warm, tired smile. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."
The girl squeaked a reply and fled. Alex took a long sip and sighed as the salt and citrus hit his system. "Better now. So tell me—what's the issue with this one?"
"It seems like a film you've already done," Paula said bluntly, tapping the cover of Days of Thunder. "A NASCAR film? Critics will just call it 'Top Gun on Wheels.' Do you still want to pursue this?"
Alex had asked himself the same question. In his memory of the "other" timeline, the film had been a hit, but not a massive one, and it had been a critical dud. But Alex still liked what he saw; to him, it was pure, unadulterated fun. He believed there were specific flaws that had kept it from becoming a massive success, both commercially and critically. Alex wanted to fix those gaps and see if he could turn it into a much better film. Elevating its status was a challenge he was ready for.
He looked at her through his sunglasses, his voice firm. "I really want to do it."
Paula looked at him for a long beat, searching his expression behind the dark lenses. "Well," she said, a small smile finally playing on her lips. "Let's do it then."
"I knew you'd get it," he said, offering a small smirk.
Paula leaned back, the three scripts now organized on her desk like a roadmap for the next two years of Hollywood history. "So, which one do we pull the trigger on first?"
"Pretty Woman," Alex said without hesitation.
Paula arched an eyebrow. "I still have to shop it to the studios to gauge interest. You have to remember, Alex—your directorial debut hasn't even hit theaters yet. They're going to be cautious."
"I'm not asking for their money," Alex countered, his voice steady despite the headache. "I'm going to produce it myself."
Paula paused, the weight of that statement sinking in. "You're that confident in it?"
"I wouldn't be putting up my own capital otherwise, would I?"
She nodded slowly. It was a massive gamble, but then again, everything Alex touched lately had turned to platinum. "Fair point. What about the other two?"
"Send Days of Thunder to the studios," Alex said, taking a sip of the lemon-honey mixture. "The premise is close enough to Top Gun that they'll lose their minds over it. They love a sure thing."
"Are you kidding? They'll jump on it before you even finish the pitch," she smiled, then looked at the third folder. "And True Romance?"
"Let's put a lid on that one for now," Alex decided. "It needs revisions, and quality takes time. But right now, I need your help starting pre-production for Pretty Woman."
Paula looked startled. "Already?"
"I already have the cast in mind, but I need you to start scouting locations." He reached into his pocket and slid a folded piece of paper across the desk. "I need permissions for these specific locations."
Paula opened the paper and scanned the list of crucial filming sites. The Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel, Rodeo Drive, The Los Angeles Equestrian Center, The Voltaire Restaurant (The Cicada), Hollywood Boulevard & Las Palmas.
"Consider it done," Paula said, genuinely impressed by his preparation. "Anything else?"
"Yeah," Alex groaned, the weight of the morning finally crashing down on him. "A good sleep."
"Then go home, Alex."
"I don't have the energy to make it to the car," he muttered. He didn't wait for an answer; he simply lay back down on the couch and turned away from the light. "Just let me crash here for a bit."
Paula shook her head with a small smile. She stood up, grabbed a spare throw from the corner chair, and draped it over her star client. She stepped out of the office quietly, leaving him to sleep off his hangover in peace.