Chapter 64: Too Subtle?
At the end of June, Days of Thunder—a high-octane racing blockbuster directed by Tony Scott and starring Tom Cruise—opened in 2,308 theaters across North America. Its first weekend pulled in $15.49 million. The numbers were solid, but the word of mouth? Not nearly as glowing as audiences had hoped.
That same week at the Beverly Hilton, Aaron Anderson found himself face-to-face with Cruise at a party. Thanks to past connections, the two were on friendly terms.
"Aaron, you're something else," Cruise said with his trademark grin. "You just went and started your own film company, then produced your own picture. I saw Phone Booth—really sharp work."
"Thanks, Tom." Aaron returned the smile.
For years, Cruise had leaned toward prestige dramas. Now, though, he was pivoting hard into commercial films. The shift made sense—his star power was unquestionable. Rain Man had been a cultural juggernaut, and just last year Born on the Fourth of July turned a modest $14 million budget into $160 million worldwide—$70 million in the U.S., $90 million overseas.
Days of Thunder was meant to be another Top Gun-style smash. Even if the critics weren't kind, its box office had a safety net.
"It's a shame," Aaron added, raising his glass, "that your performance in Born on the Fourth of July didn't take home the Oscar. You deserved that statue."
Cruise's smile tightened. He didn't need reminding that Daniel Day-Lewis and My Left Foot had stolen the moment. Born on the Fourth of July walked away with Best Director instead.
"You really think so?" he asked, feigning nonchalance—but the hunger in his eyes betrayed him. The Oscars still haunted him.
"Of course. The Academy voters, though—they've always had their biases. Looks and talent aren't always the deciding factors." Aaron clinked his glass against Cruise's.
Cruise nodded, clearly agreeing. Hollywood's insiders had long whispered about the Academy's prejudice against actors who were "too pretty." Few embodied that stigma more than him.
After a few minutes of pleasant small talk, Cruise was pulled away by other well-wishers. Aaron drifted through the crowd until he spotted his former boss, Paula Wagner.
He gestured discreetly across the room. "What's going on over there? Spielberg chatting with the Sony guys?"
Sure enough, Steven Spielberg was huddled in animated conversation with Mike Medavoy, the new head of Sony/Columbia Pictures, and Michael Ovitz of CAA.
Medavoy, once a co-founder of Orion Pictures, had only recently joined Sony to oversee Columbia/TriStar.
Wagner leaned closer and explained, "Ovitz is trying to lock Spielberg under CAA again and push him toward Hook, with Columbia footing the bill.
"Medavoy used to handle Spielberg's contracts years ago. So now CAA is packaging Hook, tying it to Sony. Columbia gets the box office, CAA gets Spielberg's contract, and Spielberg…well, he gets a mountain of money. Everyone wins."
As for Spielberg's public stance—that he'd only direct for Universal or Warner Bros.? That was just posturing. With Sony's deep pockets after the Columbia acquisition, those principles could melt away.
Before long, Dustin Hoffman and Robin Williams had joined the huddle too, turning the conversation into something of a summit.
Aaron chuckled. "CAA really does love their power plays. I can only imagine how much Columbia had to give up for this."
Getting Spielberg on board came at a steep cost. Amblin would never chip in a dime for production—every dollar would come from the studio. Rights, back-end points, merchandise, distribution splits…Spielberg always walked away with the lion's share.
Spielberg's deal terms were staggering. At minimum, he demanded half of the box office revenue. On top of that, he expected cuts from upfront fees, home video sales, and television rights.
"How much does that leave for the studio?" Aaron asked.
Paula Wagner gave a knowing smile. "With Hook, more than half the profits won't even stay with Columbia/TriStar."
Aaron nodded. "Good thing Ovitz didn't manage to persuade Sony during the acquisition. If Guber and Peters weren't running Sony Pictures now, a sweetheart deal like this would never have happened."
Wagner glanced around the party. "Since Sony bought Columbia, they've dramatically ramped up their slate—films they fully finance, co-invest in, or just distribute. The volume alone is intimidating."
Aaron smirked. "That's because for Sony, movies aren't just about profit. They're a tool to push their electronics and music empire. For them, cinema is a marketing weapon. And with Japan's economy booming the way it is right now—they can afford to flex."
Wagner shifted the subject. "Speaking of films—Jack mentioned you're backing another project? A few million, wasn't it?"
Aaron nodded. "New director. Just graduated. Black kid. Story's set in South Central—about life in the community there."
"You're asking if I've got Black actors?" Wagner's smile thinned. "Not my lane, Aaron. I don't exactly have many African American clients."
Aaron's gaze drifted back toward the Spielberg circle. Something clicked.
"What about Hook? Doesn't that film need a female lead?"
He remembered well—Hook's heroine was supposed to be Julia Roberts. But Roberts had left CAA with Richard Lovett to join ICM. With Pretty Woman making her the hottest star in Hollywood, would Spielberg still cast her?
"Julia Roberts would be perfect," Wagner admitted. "But that's the irony, isn't it? Thanks to you, CAA lost her. Big-budget spectacle, huge marketing, major stars—that's Spielberg's formula. Roberts fits it like a glove. Whether they bring her in…well, that's up to Spielberg, Medavoy, and Ovitz."
Aaron let the matter drop. Instead, he remembered Quentin Tarantino's request. "What about Natural Born Killers? Has anyone picked it up yet?"
"You're interested?" Wagner tilted her head.
"Not me," Aaron said quickly. "Quentin wrote it. He's at Dawnlight now. He asked me to check in."
"It's still sitting in the script library. If there's interest, Quentin will hear. And Jack Wells keeps close tabs—he'll pass word along."
Aaron hesitated. "Quentin's hoping you'll push it. The way I once hustled True Romance for him."
He paused. Maybe he'd been too polite. Did they not realize? Or were they just politely ignoring him because the script hadn't sold?
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