Chapter 90: Everyone, Start Thinking
Aaron led Winona Ryder into a dimly lit bar just off Sunset. It didn't take long to spot Johnny Depp sitting in a booth with a few friends, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air.
When Winona told him what had happened, Johnny immediately stood and pulled her into a hug, whispering words of comfort.
"Thanks, Aaron," Johnny said after a moment, his voice a little hoarse. "I didn't even realize Winona had stepped out."
Aaron waved it off. "Don't mention it. I just saw her crying under one of your movie posters outside—figured something wasn't right. What happened?"
Johnny sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Honestly? The press has been hounding us nonstop since Edward Scissorhands came out. It's been rough on her. The constant attention, the gossip—it's too much."
He paused, his tone softening. "Winona's… well, she's always been sensitive. When she was a kid, she didn't really fit in. Got bullied in school. Dropped out, went to acting classes instead. Those scars don't really go away, you know? She has her ups and downs. Sometimes it's just—" he hesitated, searching for the word, "—too much."
Aaron nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
So it really is a psychological thing, he thought.
The sudden glare of fame had thrown both of them under the harsh spotlight. For someone fragile like Winona, it was only natural that her old wounds resurfaced.
"Well," Aaron said finally, "she's safe now, that's what matters." He smiled lightly. "She's a remarkable actress—genuine talent. I can see why people call her 'Hollywood's little fairy.' Maybe someday we'll even work together."
But he had no interest in meddling in their personal drama.
"Hey, come on, man," Johnny said, flashing a grin. "You're here already—sit down for a drink. Let me at least thank you properly."
Aaron chuckled and rose from his seat, patting Johnny's shoulder. "Appreciate it, but I'll pass. Got a full schedule lately. Maybe next time."
Truthfully, he had no intention of joining their kind of party. The rock 'n' roll crowd—booze, weed, uppers, hallucinogens—wasn't his scene. Those guys lived fast and burned out faster.
And if River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves were anything to go by—currently crashing at director Gus Van Sant's house in Portland while filming My Own Private Idaho—Aaron figured he'd best stay out of that particular hurricane.
According to Gus, the two had gotten so wild that he'd ended up fleeing his own home, leaving them the place entirely.
---
A week later, as Christmas lights glittered across Los Angeles, good news finally arrived.
Boyz n the Hood had officially received its R rating from the MPAA.
John Singleton burst into Dawnlight's office, practically glowing.
"Thank God! I'm going to church this Sunday—I swear it!"
The whole team—Quentin Tarantino, Jack Wells, and the rest—broke into laughter and cheers.
Aaron smiled, but raised a finger. "God doesn't deal with the MPAA, John. That was Sony's doing."
He leaned forward, his tone turning serious.
"Columbia has us slotted for an early March release next year. But here's the problem—some theaters are refusing to screen the film. They say it 'promotes violence.'"
That silenced the room.
"Promotes violence?" Quentin muttered. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Jack Wells looked uneasy. "So what do we do, boss?"
Aaron drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully.
"It's only a few theaters. Maybe some exclusivity deals are in play. Still…" He glanced around the room. "You all need to understand something—Sony releases dozens of movies a year. They won't waste major resources promoting a small independent feature like ours."
He straightened, voice firm.
"So everyone—start thinking. I want fresh ideas. Marketing angles. Grassroots campaigns. Controversy, community buzz—I don't care how. We're going to make Boyz n the Hood a conversation piece."
He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes sharp.
"No excuses. No waiting for someone else to do it. We've fought this far—now it's time to push back."
The room fell silent.
Everyone looked at one another, clearly out of their depth. Aside from John Singleton, who'd actually been to college, Jack Wells and Aaron Anderson had only finished high school — and Quentin Tarantino, well… best not to mention his academic record at all.
Aaron sighed and turned to John.
"Alright, John — you're the educated one here. Let's hear your thoughts."
John paused, thinking for a moment. "We could start by focusing on the Black community. Center our marketing around that audience. Boyz n the Hood speaks directly to them."
He gestured as he spoke, his enthusiasm building.
"Cube's already got a name in rap — we make him the face of promotion. He'll connect instantly with the audience."
Aaron nodded. "Good. That's pretty close to what I had in mind. But don't limit it to the Black neighborhoods — expand to other minority groups too. Latinos, Asians, Middle Eastern communities… they all face similar struggles."
In America, every community that wasn't white was fighting some form of discrimination.
The difference was how they fought it.
The Black community's issues often came from within — systemic neglect, sure, but also frustration turned inward.
The Latinos? They worked hard, hustled nonstop.
The Asians? Smart, resourceful, and increasingly wealthy.
Aaron leaned back, rubbing his temples with a wry smile.
"Alright, forget it. Jack, find us a bar — we're throwing a party tonight. I need a drink before I start lecturing sociology again. Next time, I'm hiring professionals to handle this."
Jack grinned. "On it, boss. I'll make the arrangements right away."
Aaron turned to John again.
"Make sure the crew cooperates with Columbia's marketing schedule, alright? And I've already reached out to BET. They'll be hosting the Boyz n the Hood cast for a segment soon."
He paused, scanning the room.
"When a distributor doesn't give your movie attention, you give it attention yourself. Nobody's going to care unless we make them care."
---
BET — Black Entertainment Television.
Founded ten years ago by Robert L. Johnson, the first African American to own a national cable network, BET had started as a small channel broadcasting music videos and talent shows for Black audiences.
Now, it was expanding — news, talk shows, cultural programming.
A film like Boyz n the Hood, raw and unapologetically about Black America, was right up their alley. BET wouldn't — and couldn't — say no.
Aaron couldn't help but think about 20th Century Fox, though.
That studio had everything: FOX Television Network, the New York Post, and News Corp's media empire at its back. Marketing came easy to them — exposure was effortless.
If only Fox hadn't played so dirty with Phone Booth, Aaron might've considered working with them again. But after how they'd gutted the profit margins on that film, he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.
---
Back at Dawnlight Films, Aaron called in his assistant, Evelyn Beckett, and began dictating new plans.
"Start recruiting marketing and operations people. We've got more projects coming next year, and I can't keep doing every damn job myself."
Evelyn nodded with a small smile.
"Got it, boss."
Aaron added, "And focus on talent from Orion. They've been laying people off since cutting back on their release slate. Their PR and marketing teams should have a few good catches."
Evelyn's smile widened. "Funny you should say that. I used to be at Orion. So were a few of our production staff."
Aaron chuckled. "Then it's settled. Dawnlight can feast on Orion's leftovers."
She hesitated. "You really think Orion's going under?"
Aaron shrugged.
"Not immediately. Dances with Wolves has already grossed over forty million domestically, and it's still running strong. That'll buy them time. Maybe even attract new investors."
He leaned back, eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"But let's be honest — we already took The Silence of the Lambs from them. That's one hell of a lifeline they won't be getting back."
He smiled faintly.
"One man's bankruptcy is another man's opportunity."
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