After leaving Paramount headquarters, Jonathan Friedman gave up on the idea of visiting the other studios and decided to head back to WMA to discuss countermeasures with the higher-ups.
To curb CAA's continued dominance, WMA had no choice but to follow suit and push forward with project packaging.
Since Hollywood's major studios had clearly colluded to block WMA from doing so, the agency needed to respond even more forcefully to make it happen. But achieving that required the management to first reach a unified consensus and work together.
Though deep down he knew it wouldn't be easy in a WMA riddled with internal factions, Jonathan Friedman carefully rehearsed his pitch on the way back.
However, as soon as he returned to the Camino Street headquarters, he was intercepted by Norman Brokaw's assistant and led straight to the WMA president's office.
Entering Norman Brokaw's office, before the elderly man behind the desk—flipping through a file—could speak, JonathanFriedman blurted out eagerly, "Norman, there's been a complication."
Norman Brokaw raised a hand in a calming gesture, signaling Jonathan to sit first, then said, "I've heard. The studios have been coordinating to resist The Butterfly Effect. But the matter's resolved."
Jonathan Friedman looked puzzled. "Resolved?"
Norman Brokaw nodded, selected a file from nearby, and handed it to Jonathan across from him. "I had lunch with Ronald Goldberg today—he filled me in. And Fox is very interested in the film; they don't mind the packaging deal. So we roughed out a cooperation plan over lunch. Take a look."
[TL/N: Ronald = Leonard Goldberg, i'll corect this name later chapters.]
The Butterfly Effect was his project from the ground up. Hearing that Norman Brokaw had cut a deal with Fox without consulting him, Jonathan Friedman felt a surge of displeasure but took the file and opened it anyway.
As he flipped through the cooperation plan page by page, Jonathan Friedman's frown deepened.
WMA's original blueprint was a comprehensive production lineup, from producers, director, and leads down to cinematographers and gaffers. This was the result of Jonathan Friedman's exhaustive coordination over several weeks.
The planned packaged project carried a $15 million budget, with WMA taking a flat 10% commission from it.
Now, this obviously trimmed-down plan was reduced to a $12 million budget. WMA's packaging was limited to just a few core creatives, and most clients' pay had been slashed.
His own two clients: Brian De Palma's directing fee dropped to $1.5 million, Simon's script payment still $100,000 for an outright buy of two scripts. Moreover, WMA was no longer taking a uniform commission from the project but settling individually with each client as per usual.
What galled Jonathan Friedman most was that Norman Brokaw's star client, Matthew Broderick, still commanded $5 million.
He casually tossed the unfinished plan back onto Norman Brokaw's desk, suppressing his dissatisfaction. "Norman, does this even qualify as a packaging contract?"
Norman Brokaw set down his pen. "Of course. You know, CAA's early packaging deals with studios were far worse than this one."
Jonathan Friedman silently drew a deep breath, unsure whether to cry or laugh.
Even now, WMA's scale far outstripped CAA's.
Yet here was the president of the world's largest talent agency, comparing his company to CAA back when it was still a tiny operation years ago.
Watching Jonathan's shifting expression, Norman Brokaw's tone took on a note of earnest gravity. "Joe, I know what you're thinking, but these things take time. And you understand the company's in rough shape right now, so I hope you'll consider the bigger picture."
Jonathan Friedman's right hand, resting on his knee, clenched into a fist.
Consider the bigger picture?
Heh.
If not for the bigger picture, the whole project would have been his alone.
It was precisely for the bigger picture that he'd only held onto the director and writer slots, yielding everything else.
Now.
How else was he supposed to consider the bigger picture?
Bitter thoughts swirling, Jonathan Friedman said coolly, "Norman, even so, why cut everyone else's pay while Matthew's stays sky-high? No matter what, I can't explain this to my clients."
Facing Jonathan's blunt challenge, Norman Brokaw's expression remained unchanged; he replied patiently, "Joe, you know Brian's situation better than anyone, so $1.5 million for him isn't unreasonable. As for that, um, that writer—you said he's only eighteen, right? For an eighteen-year-old kid, $100,000 is plenty generous. Tell him now, and I bet the little guy jumps for joy."
Jonathan Friedman recalled his recent interactions with Simon and was certain the young man wouldn't jump—and if he did, it sure as hell wouldn't be out of joy.
Seeing Jonathan silent, Norman Brokaw thought for a moment and added, "How about this, Joe—this is a solid start, after all. If the project succeeds, I'll approve an extra bonus for you at year-end. Sound good?"
Jonathan Friedman remained quiet, then after a pause, stood up. "Norman, I need to think it over."
Norman Brokaw rose as well, came around the desk, and patted Jonathan's shoulder. "Fox wants to sign ASAP, so give me your answer tomorrow."
Jonathan Friedman nodded mechanically and left Norman Brokaw's office.
Once the door clicked shut, Norman Brokaw's affable facade vanished. He actually looked down on Jonathan, who'd been promoted to VP thanks to his ties with WMA chairman Lou Wasserman.
Among WMA's eight VPs, Jonathan Friedman ranked dead last.
As for Jonathan's packaging proposal, it wasn't just the studios that were wary—Norman Brokaw didn't want it to succeed too much either. If Jonathan became the trailblazer for internal reform through The Butterfly Effect, his clout and position at WMA would skyrocket, potentially threatening his own.
Jonathan hadn't agreed on the spot, and Norman Brokaw had a good idea of what he'd do next.
Sitting back at his desk, Norman Brokaw picked up the phone and hit the intercom to his secretary outside: "Get me Stevens."
Jonathan Friedman returned to his office, slumping wearily into his leather chair.
After an unknown stretch of time, just as he was mustering the resolve to call WMA chairman Lou Wasserman on the East Coast in New York—hoping for support from the boss who'd promoted him—his desk phone rang first.
Answering, it was unexpectedly Lou Wasserman on the line.
They talked for over ten minutes; Jonathan Friedman set down the receiver, his face etched with fresh defeat.
As WMA's first foray into packaging, Jonathan had discussed the concept with Lou Wasserman over the phone shortly after it took shape. Though based on the East Coast, Lou Wasserman had kept a close eye on the project.
But in this call, Lou Wasserman offered no backing; instead, he urged Jonathan to wrap up The Butterfly Effect quickly without any side issues. In the end, he noted that WMA couldn't handle more upheaval right now, implying once again that Jonathan should consider the bigger picture.
Faced with this, Jonathan got the message.
Norman Brokaw must have already looped in other execs or even the board. And after all his years at WMA, Jonathan vaguely sensed Norman's underlying motive: he didn't want the The Butterfly Effect package to succeed too spectacularly.
Now, perhaps chairman Lou Wasserman, CEO Lee Stevens, and even the WMA board members had all aligned on the matter.
Against a pack of complacent conservatives with little ambition left, forcing the issue might only backfire—possibly costing him his freshly minted VP role.
He suddenly envied CAA, where Michael Ovitz's was the only voice that mattered.
If that's how it was.
Then fine—consider the bigger picture.
With a self-mocking chuckle, Jonathan Friedman hit the intercom again, instructing his assistant to call Simon and leave a message for him to come to WMA tomorrow. Then he personally dialed Brian De Palma.
Griffin Supermarket was open 24/7, and lately Simon had been rotating shifts.
Tuesday happened to be the night shift.
From 11 PM straight through to 7 AM the next morning.
After handing over in the morning, he grabbed breakfast, biked back to the motel. Upon hearing WMA's voicemail, he rested for just a brief hour before rushing off to Beverly Hills.
Making his way familiarly to Jonathan's office, a few minutes shy of 10, he was about to chat with Owen Wright outside when the office door swung open.
Simon paused his conversation with Owen Wright, turned, and locked eyes with the young man stepping out first—Matthew Broderick.
Jonathan followed, spotting Simon and breaking into a warm smile. "Simon, perfect timing. This is Matthew Broderick; he's set to be the lead in The Butterfly Effect. You're both young—you'll have plenty in common."
Before Simon could respond, Matthew Broderick—his expression shifting from puzzled to certain—showed no regard for Jonathan Friedman's face, saying coldly, "Joe, I won't have a damn thing in common with this guy."
With that, Matthew Broderick shot Simon another glance and turned, striding down the hallway.