The meeting with Michael Eisner was like a golden key, unlocking the door to the deepest treasures of Disney's dreamlike kingdom for Leon.
But the path to the throne was never paved with roses—it was built on countless tedious contract clauses, grueling negotiations, and budgets calculated down to the last two decimal places.
With Eisner's nod of approval, Leon instantly shifted from a filmmaker seeking investment to the mastermind behind the entire project.
He didn't just bring The Princess Diaries to the table—he also came armed with Snow Dogs and Monsters, Inc., two heavy-hitting "calling cards" that gave him a stronger hand in the negotiations with Disney.
Disney's team, especially the one personally overseen by Eisner, showed remarkable efficiency and cooperation.
But business is business, and dividing the profits is always the core issue.
The negotiation table was a battlefield, thick with tension.
Leon, flanked by his agent Greg and a top-tier legal team, faced off against Walt Disney Pictures' notoriously shrewd and tough negotiators.
As expected, the biggest sticking point was the profit-sharing model.
Disney's lead negotiator, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and gold-rimmed glasses, adjusted his frames and tossed out a classic Hollywood studio "trap":
"Mr. Donaldson, we have no doubt about your talent. To show our sincerity, we're prepared to offer you a very generous share of the net profits—up to an impressive 15%. That's well above industry standards."
Greg started to respond, but Leon gently raised a hand to stop him.
Leaning forward slightly, his gaze calm yet piercing, Leon looked straight at the negotiator:
"Sir, we both know what 'Hollywood accounting' means."
"A movie that grosses hundreds of millions at the global box office somehow ends up showing a massive loss on the studio's books. That kind of 'miracle' only happens in studio ledgers."
He paused, his tone firm and unwavering:
"Net profit sharing? That's just a pie drawn on paper."
"My demand is simple and clear: gross profit sharing. We can negotiate the percentage, but it has to be based on gross profits."
The room fell silent. The Disney reps exchanged glances, their expressions shifting subtly.
They hadn't expected this young director, known for horror films, to be so well-versed in Hollywood's darkest, most intricate games—and to take such a hardline stance.
"Mr. Donaldson, gross profit sharing is almost unprecedented, especially for a first-time producer like yourself. The risks are too high…"
The negotiator tried to push back.
"I control the risks for my project," Leon cut him off, his voice resolute.
"I'll keep The Princess Diaries' budget tightly controlled at $26 million. That should prove I'm not here to burn Disney's money."
"My company, Donaldson Films, will personally invest $2.6 million, covering 10% of the budget."
"I'm deeply tied to this project, so I'll do everything in my power to ensure its success and keep costs in check."
"All I want is a fair share of the success—not some illusion that disappears under accounting tricks."
Over the next few days, both sides engaged in a fierce tug-of-war over the exact percentage of the split.
Leon's team argued relentlessly, emphasizing the project's potential, his personal investment, and the added value of the other two projects.
Disney, meanwhile, fought to keep the percentage low.
In the end, with a nudge from Michael Eisner, both sides compromised, striking a deal that was practically unheard of in Hollywood:
Investment and Share: The project's total budget was capped at $26 million. Leon's Donaldson Films would invest $2.6 million, accounting for 10%. Leon's Cut: As writer, producer, and star, Leon would receive 5% of the global box office gross profits, calculated from ticket sales, not after "costs" were deducted.
This was an extraordinary deal, meaning Leon would start seeing profits as soon as the movie began making money.
Additional terms included:
Creative Control: Leon had the final say in assembling the core team—director, lead actors, cinematographer, art director, etc. Walt Disney Pictures would provide full support but couldn't interfere without cause. Operational Oversight: Leon had full control over the production's daily operations and creative direction, though Disney could send auditors to monitor budget execution and ensure funds were well spent. Final Cut: Leon secured final cut privileges.
Eisner agreed to this last point, believing that if they were trusting Leon to lead, they should give him enough creative freedom. However, he reserved the right to suggest changes if the final film significantly deviated from Disney's brand.
When both sides' lawyers reviewed the thick stack of contracts and signed their names, Leon let out a long breath.
This wasn't just a contract—it was a declaration, marking his true foothold and influence in Hollywood.
With the contract settled, Leon dove headfirst into building the "Kingdom of Genovia."
The first and most critical step was finding the "governor" of this kingdom—the director.
Leon's target was clear: Garry Marshall.
This veteran Hollywood director and producer was known for his warm, humorous, and heartfelt storytelling, especially in crafting romantic comedies with strong female leads.
The massive success of Pretty Woman had already proven his mastery of the genre, and his recent Runaway Bride further solidified his reputation.
His style—light, witty, yet deeply emotional—was a perfect fit for the tone The Princess Diaries needed.
Leon personally brought a meticulously prepared script to Marshall's Los Angeles studio.
No middlemen, no formalities—just pure sincerity.
Marshall was initially surprised.
He'd heard of Leon Donaldson but associated him solely with the dark, gory worlds of Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation and Final Destination.
He couldn't quite connect the polished, composed young man before him with those R-rated horror films.
But when he opened the script for The Princess Diaries, he was quickly drawn in by the clumsy yet lovable Mia, the stern yet tender Queen Grandmother, and the fairy-tale-meets-reality coming-of-age story.
His expression shifted from curiosity to admiration, and finally, he couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"This is just…" Marshall set the script down, looking at Leon with delight in his eyes.
"Leon, it feels like you wrote this for me! It's light, it's fun, but it's got a warm heart."
"I never would've guessed… you could write something like this?"
Leon smiled:
"Marshall, horror films were about making money and proving myself."
"But this story? I think it deserves to be told in a warmer way."
"And I believe you're the only one who can bring its heart to life."
Marshall barely hesitated. He clapped his hands and said, "I'm in!"
The director's compensation negotiations were left entirely to Disney's professional team.
Leon only laid out one principle to Walt Disney Pictures:
He hoped the director would accept a lower backend profit share in exchange for a generous upfront fee.
In the end, Disney's team secured a solid deal with Marshall:
$3 million as a directing fee, plus a 3% share of global box office net profits.
While the net profit share was modest, the $3 million upfront was top-tier for directors at the time, and Marshall was satisfied.
With the director locked in, a major weight lifted from Leon's shoulders.
Next up was the most crucial role—Mia Thermopolis.
This time, Leon skipped auditions entirely.
He brought Anne Hathaway directly to meet Garry Marshall.
The meeting was set in a cozy, relaxed café.