After outlining the overall concept, Simon spent a few minutes detailing the several stories in Pulp Fiction and their interwoven pattern to Mike Medavoy.
However.
Mike Medavoy listened to Simon's account, his brow furrowing tightly.
Though Simon had explained in great detail, Mike Medavoy still felt the whole story came across as chaotic. Moreover, he couldn't grasp where the film's selling point lay.
Was it the nonlinear narrative?
Or, more bluntly, mental disarray.
Run Lola Run's three segments were indeed intriguing, but this so-called multi-loop plot structure—what was that? If audiences couldn't even follow the story, how could they possibly stay interested in the film?
With that in mind, Mike Medavoy said earnestly, "Simon, nonlinear storytelling is fine occasionally, but films still need to tell a story in a straightforward way. Besides, this script seems overly chaotic—I doubt audiences will have the patience to untangle all those threads."
Many films that went down in history faced all sorts of doubts during development; Mike Medavoy's rejection didn't surprise Simon much.
Simon explained seriously, "Mike, I understand what you mean, and I'm aware I'm not falling into the trap of chasing ever more complex narrative structures. Actually, this is another experiment for me—I just want to use a brand-new plot framework to tell a really fun story. As for the audience, with proper promotional guidance, I believe they'll love this film."
Mike Medavoy's expression remained unrelaxed as he continued, "Even so, Simon—from your description, this film clearly involves violence, shootings, drugs, and other R-rated elements. Is that suitable for a director not even twenty yet?"
Simon thought of Kathryn and shrugged. "Mike, I know who I am—that's enough. Actually, I don't lack other ideas; it's just that some can't be realized now, or their budgets are too high. Compared to those, this film is perfect—if handled right, production costs could be kept under $8 million."
Mike Medavoy eased a bit at the budget figure.
Hollywood film budgets had skyrocketed the past couple years.
Even last year, half the top ten North American box office films had budgets under $10 million; the champ Top Gun cost just $15 million. But this year, in the first three months alone, Lethal Weapon and Angel Heart—both $15 million productions—had released, and these pricey films were dumped in the off-season March slot.
Still, Mike Medavoy wasn't quite ready to give up. "Simon, why not do horror-thrillers? Like The Butterfly Effect and Final Destination—those scripts are outstanding. I bet you could whip up another similar one easily."
Mike Medavoy had always loved the The Butterfly Effect and Final Destination scripts.
Though The Butterfly Effect drew poor critic buzz, Mike Medavoy didn't doubt its profit potential. As for Final Destination—just look at the terms Fox offered to see how bullish they were.
Compared to the baffling Pulp Fiction, he'd much rather Simon create and direct another similar horror-thriller.
"I've explained this many times," Simon said somewhat helplessly. "Mike, I don't like making horror films—they lack challenge. Writing those scripts was purely for money."
Mike Medavoy heard Simon's tone—like discussing a "side gig"—and recalled the hefty cut this kid would get from Final Destination, feeling a sour feelings.
Purely for money.
How nice a reason.
But you want "pure"—and so do we!
Mike Medavoy nearly blurted: Simon, let's just talk projects that "purely" make money? Let that mess of a Pulp Fiction go to hell!
Of course, Mike Medavoy only thought it.
For years, no matter how they ranted behind closed doors, Hollywood studio execs outwardly pampered, flattered, and coaxed hot filmmakers—Mike Medavoy was used to it.
With Run Lola Run's buzz as foundation, Simon's next film—as long as not a total flop—would easily profit. But no matter what, Mike Medavoy preferred something more normal, like The Butterfly Effect or Final Destination.
The server arrived with dinner then, and they paused briefly.
After a few bites, reorganizing his pitch, Mike Medavoy tried again: "Simon, you said you have other concepts? Tell me— as long as the script's good enough, even a higher budget's fine."
Simon shook his head firmly. "Sorry, Mike—I can only say my next film is Pulp Fiction. If Orion can't accept that, perhaps you can wait for my third."
Mike Medavoy was momentarily speechless.
Simon's second film was a sure bet, but the third—especially after this bizarre Pulp Fiction—who knew if anyone would still care about Simon Westeros?
After a moment's tangle, Mike Medavoy conceded, "Fine, Simon—you said this film needs just $8 million, right?"
Run Lola Run after, Simon could've demanded $20 million for his second—no issue. Now, if only $8 million—even with dim box office prospects—in a pinch, it wasn't unacceptable.
"Mike, that's an ideal scenario. This film has many roles—we can't cast all unknowns; actor salaries will dominate the budget. So if we can convince the cast to take pay cuts, keeping above-the-line costs under $5 million, I can confidently cap production at $8 million."
Film budgets mainly split into above-the-line and below-the-line.
Above-the-line simply meant writer, director, actor, and key creatives' pay; below-the-line covered equipment rentals, crew salaries, travel, makeup, insurance, and other technical/production expenses.
Simon's prior Run Lola Run had minimal above-the-line costs. But for Pulp Fiction—thinking of the original's John Travolta, Bruce Willis, Samuel L. Jackson, and other big names—this was definitely a film where above-the-line exceeded 50% of budget.
The original Pulp Fiction cost $8 million—clearly with John Travolta and others taking cuts.
Now, advancing it seven years—some couldn't be used, some Simon wanted to replace, some might not take cuts anymore—amid these uncertainties, Simon's $8 million estimate was neither high nor low.
Seeing Simon's firm stance, Mike Medavoy knew further argument was futile. "Alright, Simon—get the script out soon; we'll discuss then."
"Of course," Simon nodded, sipping his red wine before setting the glass down and initiating, "Mike, one more thing—about Run Lola Run's other channel distributions. I'd like to sell them all outright at once. Is Orion interested?"
Mike Medavoy showed clear surprise.
With Run Lola Run's box office soaring, most studios would "fine-tune" the subsequent distributions themselves—for max profits and to build networks and expand channels in the process—a win-win.
Though holding priority on Run Lola Run's other channels, Orion had only hoped for domestic video proxy distribution—naturally on a revenue-share deal.
They hadn't expected Simon to want an outright sale.
This clearly wasn't the wisest choice—akin to killing the goose for the eggs: not only low returns but severing a long-term revenue stream. Per distribution cycles, just one Run Lola Run could've fed Daenerys for over three years.
Pondering, Mike Medavoy asked, "Simon, why the rush?"
Simon was blunt. "I need money."
Mike Medavoy nodded, suddenly smiling with a touch of rue. "Actually, everyone needs money."
Film was a very slow-capital-recovery investment.
Lately, with North America's booming economy, many second- and third-tier film companies had expanded aggressively. Then, looking back, found their operations overstretched, unknowingly unsustainable.
Near Dark's near-bankrupt backer De Laurentiis Entertainment, now-struggling Cannon Films, last year's Orion takeover crisis—at root, all due to cash shortages.
Simon just smiled in agreement, waiting patiently for Mike Medavoy's response.
Mike Medavoy considered seriously for a moment. "Simon, full buyout—Orion can't afford it. But we could take domestic video rights."
Domestic U.S. video sales last year had exceeded total box office—so video distribution was undoubtedly Run Lola Run's most lucrative post-theatrical slice.
Mike Medavoy's reply was fully in Simon's expectations.
But if Orion took Run Lola Run's domestic video rights, the film's subsequent TV rights would be hard to sell separately. Though TV rights profits were also substantial, their cycle was even longer.
Typically, a film left North American theaters after a three-month window for video release; TV rights sales often waited over six months.
Moreover, unlike theaters and video with dense revenue periods, TV was a classic long-tail market: income scale matched box office and video, but cycles often spanned years.
Since anticipating Mike Medavoy's response, Simon had a counter ready. "Mike, Orion can take domestic video and TV rights. But not just that. I've thought it over—Run Lola Run's follow-up will split in two: domestic post-theatrical video and TV; overseas theatrical, video, and TV. If Orion can't take it all, it's one or the other."
Though established for years, Orion had limited overseas capacity—mostly relying on the majors' international channels.
Simon saying this, Mike Medavoy understood: Orion could only choose the former—domestic video and TV—or pass entirely.
After thinking, Mike Medavoy asked, "Simon, the quote?"
Simon was direct. "$40 million."
"Too high," Mike Medavoy shook his head immediately, then smiled. "And this isn't my call—I need to discuss with Arthur and the others first."
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