Adam Greaves, known on YouTube as The Final Frame, was a film critic who grew up and gained major popularity thanks to his YouTube channel. He was invited several times by film festivals to watch movies and then post a video about them on his channel.
He wasn't easy to impress, but he also wasn't overly harsh with everything he watched.
However, Witching Hour by Blumhouse disappointed him. He had high expectations, it was, after all, a Blumhouse production. Most of their films were at least entertaining and fulfilled their horror purpose. Plus, it starred Maika Monroe, who had led It Follows, a horror movie he'd found to have a refreshingly different premise: a kind of monster that hunted you because of a curse spread through sexual encounters.
Maika's performance in It Follows had been good. He didn't think she was Oscar-level or suited for major productions, but he did like her acting, until now.
Witching Hour turned out to be predictable, overloaded with clichés, and full of jump scares you could see coming from the trailer. Worse still was Maika's character, flat, unlikable, without personality, and to make matters worse, Maika herself seemed to be phoning it in, as if she were doing the movie purely out of contractual obligation, without effort or enthusiasm.
Thinking all this as he walked through the theater, Adam took out his phone and opened Twitter. He typed quickly and without filter, as he usually did when a film genuinely irritated him:
[WITCHING HOUR (2022): Maika Monroe is on autopilot. The script is a collection of clichés and recycled scares. Blumhouse's "big gamble"? More like a summary of everything wrong with modern horror. Disappointing.]
He put his phone away and shook his head. Even though he'd been invited to the screening, his opinion wasn't biased by that. He wouldn't lie to his 160,000 subscribers.
What bothered him most was knowing that this Blumhouse movie would still make a profit thanks to all the marketing and the studio's prestige, probably grossing 15 or 20 million dollars. That would make it a commercial success, meaning they'd keep making these cliché-filled horror films with bad scripts and weak performances.
At one point, he stopped in the lobby and glanced at a poster: Paranormal Activity.
He checked the time on his watch. 'Should be ending any minute now,' he thought, deciding to wait.
He wanted to see people come out and hear their reactions, to know if it was worth watching. If what he heard intrigued him, he'd give it a chance at the next showing.
While waiting, his mind started piecing things together.
He remembered reading something about the film: a $20,000 budget, unknown actors, shot in a single location, probably one of the crew's homes. And yet, it had made it into the Palm Springs International Film Festival. That was already something.
But he couldn't help wondering:
Had it really gotten in on its own merit? Or was it one of those festival decisions to "support indie filmmaking," even if it meant sneaking in an amateur movie with overacted performances, bad sound, and endless static shots?
The last thing he wanted was to waste time on another film that confused low budget with low quality.
He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the lobby columns, waiting.
A few minutes later, people started coming out of the theater, and the comments he overheard surprised him in a good way.
"That final scene... God, I'm not sleeping tonight."
"I don't understand how they did that with twenty thousand dollars."
"The acting was on another level, especially the guy, what was his name?"
"Owen, I think."
Adam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He decided to give the movie a chance.
A few days later, Adam returned to watch the second showing of Paranormal Activity.
The seats were filled, not with press or influencers flashing their badges, but with regular viewers. Adam sat in row six, center seat. Arms crossed at the start, eyes wide open by the end.
The film had completely absorbed him. The tension and atmosphere were brilliantly constructed. It didn't rely on cheap scares to unsettle; it played with psychology, suggestion, and the power of what it didn't show.
But none of this could have worked so well without the two lead actors.
The main couple, two complete unknowns to him, carried the story with a naturalness that seemed unheard of for a film with such a small budget.
Especially the male lead: Owen Ashford. The way it was filmed, combined with the performances, made it feel like something that had actually happened in real life.
"I don't know who he is, but his acting is better than that of many established actors," Adam murmured as he left the theater, pleasantly surprised by what he had just seen.
Sophie had also impressed him. But there was one scene in particular, the final one, that stuck in his mind like a frozen image.
When Katie is possessed and crawls toward the camera, smiling demonically, her face beginning to distort into something inhuman. Only a few seconds long, but the effect was done perfectly.
Enough to send chills down Adam's spine.
That same night, he recorded and uploaded a video to his YouTube channel titled:
[The Hidden Gem of the Palm Springs Film Festival: Paranormal Activity – A Film Made with Just $20,000]
"Paranormal Activity is living proof that horror cinema doesn't need millions of dollars or big stars. It just needs vision… and a pair of incredible actors who, mark my words, if they don't land more roles after this, I'll lose faith in the industry."
That's what Adam said in one part of his video, which went viral on YouTube.
...
July 1st, 2022
The Palm Springs International Film Festival had come to an end.
Over the course of eight days, hundreds of films screened across different venues: major studio titles, independent promises, and experimental gambles.
And in that sea of premieres, a small film made for $20,000, with no recognizable names, managed to stand out through sheer tension, atmosphere, and word of mouth.
The second screening of Paranormal Activity was another resounding success.
In a 250-seat theater, every seat was filled, this time, not by friends or family of the cast, but by festivalgoers, critics, curious onlookers, and horror fans.
As Nadine had told Owen and Matt, the third screening managed to secure the festival's main hall, which had a capacity of 500 people.
Blumhouse had used that same hall for its first two screenings, but after a steady drop in attendance (60% at the first, 45% at the second) and lukewarm reviews, the organizers decided to make the switch.
The third screening of Paranormal Activity was held in the main hall,
and achieved an 80% attendance rate.
The reactions were once again positive. Comments on Twitter and Reddit multiplied, and YouTube reviewers with sizable followings began posting glowing reactions.
Thanks to all this, the film's trailer on YouTube received a major boost: in just eight days, views skyrocketed from 170,000 to 400,000.
The buzz was real.
So, as if it were the natural consequence of all that momentum, A24 made its move.
As soon as the festival ended, Martha, seeing the overwhelmingly positive reception across all three screenings and online, proposed to Owen a formal meeting to discuss the acquisition and distribution of Paranormal Activity.
That was the best news, but not the only one, surprisingly. The first had actually arrived right after the film's second screening at the festival.
While checking messages on his phone, Owen received an email from A24 about The Spectacular Now.
It was no longer a purchase option. It was final. The studio had decided to fully acquire the script.
They paid $65,000 for the rights, of which Owen had already received $15,000 as an advance when the option was signed.
Now, another $50,000 had just landed in his bank account.
With that, he had already recouped the entire investment for Paranormal Activity, which hadn't even hit theaters yet. He could even start thinking about producing more short films or perhaps another low-budget feature.
There was still no guarantee that he would star in The Spectacular Now, but the producer in charge mentioned that he wanted to see him audition for the lead role.
They would let him know once casting opened.
That alone was a major achievement: without an agent, he had landed an audition for an A24 film.
Normally, lead roles at studios like A24 aren't something you find on Backstage or open casting sites, you need connections and, most of the time, an agent to get you in. But Owen had done it entirely on his own.
Then came the third piece of news, the most ironic and somewhat unexpected one.
Blumhouse.
A representative from the studio contacted Owen the day after the festival ended. He had attended the third screening.
At first, it was out of professional curiosity, and perhaps a touch of bruised pride. Paranormal Activity had taken over the main theater slot from one of their own films.
But what he witnessed left him genuinely impressed. The room was 80% full, and the audience's final reactions were enthusiastic, not lukewarm like with their movie.
He actually enjoyed the film. What struck him most was the acting. Usually, in a movie with such a tiny budget, the performances are awful, but here, it felt like two seasoned, highly skilled actors were on screen.
They stood in stark contrast to the two minor supporting characters, who appeared only briefly but clearly lacked that same level of talent.
There were no hard feelings. Business was business, and the Blumhouse rep saw a real opportunity for profit.
His tone in the email was cordial, expressing interest in exploring the possibility of acquiring the film. He knew there was no studio backing it yet, which meant the field was wide open.
For Owen, this was an unexpected advantage.
Not just because of the weight the Blumhouse name carried, but because it gave him more leverage in negotiations with A24, potentially leading to a better deal.
Still, Owen wasn't a lawyer, and given the importance of the meeting, he decided to seek help from his older brother.
James had graduated with honors from the University of Southern California (USC), one of the most prestigious universities in the country.
He worked at Latham & Watkins, a heavyweight law firm headquartered in Los Angeles, specializing in litigation, intellectual property, and contracts.
It was perfect.
Owen called him and explained the situation. James agreed immediately, no fees, no conditions.
"The meeting's in two days with Blumhouse?" James asked.
"Yeah. And the day after that with A24," Owen confirmed, phone pressed against his ear.
"Alright, I'll come by your apartment tomorrow so we can talk," said James.
"Perfect, thanks," replied Owen.
He exchanged a few more words with his brother before hanging up.
"So?" Sophie asked, gently running her fingers through Owen's hair.
Owen was lying with his head on Sophie's lap, she had arrived just a few minutes earlier while he was on the phone with James.
"Yeah, he agreed, and he won't charge me a single dollar. Pretty great, huh?" Owen said with a faint smile.
Sophie smiled softly. "Perks of being your older brother, and maybe a bit of accumulated guilt, I suppose," she teased, and Owen nodded.
James worked at Latham & Watkins, one of the largest and most respected law firms in the world. Corporate clients, tech companies, pharmaceuticals, entertainment, investment funds, you name it.
James wasn't an expert in the film industry or Hollywood studios, but he specialized in intellectual property, licensing contracts, and multimillion-dollar corporate agreements.
His world revolved around clauses, terms, margins, and conditions. He might not be able to tell you who won Best Original Screenplay last year, but he could look at a poorly worded page and immediately spot where you'd be selling your soul, legally speaking.
And that was exactly what Owen needed right now.
Because Blumhouse might seem enthusiastic, and A24 might look all artsy and genuine, but if he didn't read the contract carefully, if he didn't defend his IP, if he overlooked the fine print, three signatures could cost him dearly.
At a firm like James's, just sitting down to review a contract could cost between $1,000 and $1,500 an hour. A full negotiation could range from $20,000 to $30,000, depending on how many parties were involved.
"Yeah, I guess this is his way of making amends," Owen said.
When he decided to reconcile with his family, he hadn't imagined this unexpected benefit, having his brother, a top-tier lawyer, help him for free.
"He's proud of you. He just doesn't show it with words," Sophie said, recalling how serious James had seemed when she met him.
"Oh, right. You told me you had some news to share. I'm all ears," Owen said suddenly, sitting up a little, as if he had just remembered.
"Well, it turns out that..." Sophie began, pausing dramatically to build suspense.
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