Suddenly confirming a fact he'd suspected for some time, Simon felt no distress or frustration.
No matter what, *Run Lola Run* was indeed a film perfectly suited to showcase his abilities. In fact, if he hadn't misremembered the production costs back then, he might have overlooked this movie altogether.
Now, having established himself in Hollywood in under two months, Simon had enough confidence to push the project forward—it would just involve a few extra hurdles.
His decade-plus of grinding in the entertainment industry in his past life had taught him one key lesson: no big shot's path to fame in this circle was ever smooth sailing.
With two lifetimes under his belt, Simon was more than equipped to handle setbacks.
Decision made, Simon looked across at David Giler. "So, David, for a proper 35mm film production, what do you think the budget for this movie would roughly be?"
David Giler thought for a moment. "Based on the shooting concept you described, at least $500,000. A more detailed budget would depend on a concrete filming plan. But that's not really the issue. Simon, the problem now is, do you have any experience producing films? Even student films? Come to think of it, Brian and I still don't know which university you graduated from."
Even now, not many in Hollywood knew Simon was only 18 this year.
Jonathan Friedman had only casually mentioned it to WMA president Norman Brokaw, and due to later events, Brokaw disliked Simon but hadn't spread the word.
Given Simon's exceptional talent, David Giler subconsciously assumed he was in his twenties, instinctively treating him as a promising recent grad from some top school.
Hearing David Giler's question, Simon sensed what was coming but answered honestly. "David, I studied computer science at Stanford for a while, then dropped out. I don't have any experience in that area. But then, I didn't have any screenwriting experience before either."
"Directing and writing are different beasts," David Giler shook his head. "Look, if you could show some credentials to convince investors—like a student film or something—I might be able to help pull in the funding. Unfortunately, you don't. Simon, even though it's a small amount, I still have to be accountable to my network."
Brian De Palma, still engrossed in flipping through Simon's storyboard sketches, looked up. "Simon, becoming a director isn't that easy. But these sketches speak volumes about your talent. How about this: for the upcoming *Butterfly Effect*, you come on as my director's assistant. After getting that experience under your belt, even if David won't help, I can find a company willing to back *Run Lola Run*."
"I never said I wouldn't help," David Giler protested with a dissatisfied laugh, then added, "Simon, Brian's idea is solid. If you're up for it, we can lock it in right now."
David Giler was the producer on *The Butterfly Effect*, and Brian De Palma was pulling double duty as director and producer. Hiring a temporary director's assistant was well within their authority.
If Simon were truly just a green newbie in Hollywood, assisting a renowned director like Brian De Palma would be an incredibly rare learning opportunity.
But with over a decade of hands-on experience from his past life, plus the memories of another dozen people in his head, Simon had no shortage of film production know-how. Being Brian De Palma's assistant would mainly just add a credential to his resume.
After mulling it over, Simon shook his head. "David, Brian, I really appreciate the offer. But while I can't prove it, I'm certain I can direct a film myself. So, David, how about this? The funds I have on hand are enough to kick off *Run Lola Run*. You just introduce me to an investor for a letter of intent. If they're satisfied with my early footage, they inject the rest; otherwise, they can pull out anytime."
Simon was a young man with strong opinions—that much David Giler and Brian De Palma had gathered from their few interactions.
Hearing him turn down Brian De Palma's suggestion, they weren't too surprised. At Simon's proposal, David Giler couldn't help but inwardly admire the kid's confidence.
"Simon, in Hollywood, investing your own money in a film is always a lousy choice," David Giler said with a smile after a brief pause, then quickly added, "But since you've put forward such a confident plan, I'll help you out. Of course, no guarantees on success—it's all on you."
Simon said earnestly, "I just need a chance."
David Giler nodded with a touch of empathy. "Fair enough. So, Simon, besides that plan, any other requests?"
Simon calculated in his head for a moment. "My contract with Fox could probably be used as collateral for a bank loan. Adding the remaining payment from Fox, I should scrape together about $250,000. Let's peg *Run Lola Run*'s budget at $500,000 for now—me and the investor each put in $250,000, splitting profits fifty-fifty. My personal fees for writing, directing, etc., would be a symbolic one dollar. But I insist on absolute creative control."
After hearing him out, David Giler couldn't help shaking his head again. "Simon, $500,000 is just my most conservative estimate. Honestly, I'd prefer you cast some more professional actors, and if you put more care into sets, score, and such, a safer production budget would be around a million dollars."
Simon replied lightly, "David, what I described is just a general framework. If it goes over budget and the investor wants to follow, the profit share would naturally be higher. My only non-negotiable is absolute creative control—I don't want anyone interfering with my work."
"All right, I'll reach out when I have time," David Giler finally nodded, then added, "But keep your focus on revising the *Butterfly Effect* script for now."
Simon smiled. "Of course—that's my job."
"In that case," David Giler patted the *Run Lola Run* script in front of him, "I'll make a copy of this later to pitch to investors."
Though his earlier suggestion had been declined, Brian De Palma didn't take it to heart. Hearing David Giler, he handed over the storyboards he'd been holding. "Copy these too—I think they'll be more persuasive than the script."
David Giler flipped through a few pages of the storyboards Brian De Palma had been guarding, nodding in agreement. "Definitely."
After chatting about all that, the three realized the once-bustling restaurant was nearly empty, and their served lunch had gone stone cold. They reordered, ate to fill up, then returned to the morning's conference room to continue discussing *The Butterfly Effect* script revisions.
It went on until quitting time. Simon copied the *Run Lola Run* script and storyboards for David Giler, took the lengthy memo of agreed-upon revisions from the meeting, said goodbye to David Giler and Brian De Palma, and left Fox Studios. He took a cab back to his newly rented place in Santa Monica's Montana neighborhood.
Rush-hour traffic was jammed, and it took about half an hour for Simon to get back to Montana.
In front of a villa on the northern edge of Montana near San Vicente Boulevard, Simon got out, paid the cab driver, and gazed at the mansion sprawling over 8,000 square feet. For the umpteenth time since Saturday afternoon, a teeth-gritting thought bubbled up: *That spendthrift woman!*
Simon had scheduled a Thursday house viewing with a real estate agent, planning to rent an apartment.
An unexpected trip to UCLA Medical Center had made him intend to cancel, but when Janet Johnston heard, she eagerly took over and delivered the lease to him by Friday.
A three-living-room, three-bedroom, four-bath single-family villa—seeing the lease details, Simon nearly leaped out of his hospital bed.
Come on, was she joking?
A bachelor like him didn't need such a massive place.
And $2,700 monthly rent—compared to the luxury homes in his memory, it didn't seem exorbitant. But this was 1986, after all; even in L.A., most people didn't earn $2,700 a month.
Naturally, Simon didn't want to rent it, but as he started objecting, the otherwise fine woman burst into tears right in front of the rounds doctor and realtor, sobbing accusations that he was a miser ignoring her day-long efforts, that he had plenty of money but wouldn't rent a decent house, and so on.
What else could he do?
Sign it.
Beyond "meeting the wrong person," Simon couldn't think of a better phrase.
And to top it off, after discharge, when he inspected the villa he'd rented, he found the whole place empty—like it'd been stripped bare. Aside from basic decor, there was no furniture at all.
Oh, strictly speaking, there was furniture.
The master bedroom had a bed.
But no mattress—what was that about!