"Beauty contests, which on most occasions are used for the premiere of these Pixar films, are tickets to do business in the before and after. Following the clear rules that Lux Animation follows, the reward is real money to make a film that doesn't require cash, and many directors tried to get money simply from Billy Carson, who was the man of the moment, the young man who said yes to every project that had a head and a tail, with the premiere in San Francisco.
—The idea might be insufficient, but I'm afraid it's our only chance. —Garland whispered to Boyle, who was about to become the film's director. It was hard to describe how each of them had an idea about how to approach Billy Carson, who was chatting comfortably with two men in suits who were furiously speaking unknown Italian.
—You have the book. —Boyle asked him.
Recapping the rules.
1. Attend a Pixar premiere.
2. Watch the movie.
3. Present the project to Billy, or his associates.
4. Meet the minimum standards: a neat storyboard, a fully defined script, and a backstory with the project's itemized costs.
In return, of course, for creative freedom, funding, and support for a nationwide premiere, if not a global release. So Garland and Boyle wrote a small 150-page book and a quick 50-page script that was filled with many zombie scenes, and the idea got the green light through a storyboard that was a beautifully drawn piece, using a tracing technique, in the most important parts of the United Kingdom.
—Don't drink any more alcohol. —Said Boyle, who, already dizzy, looked around. It wasn't surprising, knowing then that his head was burning, as bad news burned then.
Time dances, and each of them was totally nervous. It was so big that they didn't know how to approach, and with their scripts in hand, Raimon heard them whispering about funding and zombies.
—You want to talk to Billy. —Said Raimon. He was dressed in Spanish style; the Pixar movie he saw was Blue Beard.
—Yes, we do. —Boyle replied. —But we thought it would be easy, and I see there's a long line. Well, it doesn't matter if I have to follow Billy Carson to his office, I'll do it. —
—We will. —Garland repeated.
It wasn't surprising, it wasn't ironic, that he approached Billy aggressively. After all, it was Hollywood, where shouting voices might only be half-heard, but scheduling a meeting was a block of time they knew nothing about. It was said he was very private, and only some of the heavyweights had an ear in his career; shadows approached him to give him space.
—Well, there are five people who can receive a project of that scope, like Anne, the right-hand woman, who is now attending to someone she knows might be more important. First, convince Anne. —Raimon replied, pointing to the blonde woman who was looking over some documents. Her red glasses showed a frown as she whispered some harsh words.
—On the other hand, there's Anna, the one in the green suit. She also receives projects. You should know that she is one of those women who doesn't overlook a bad storyboard. If your film is well planned, she could be the reason. —Raimon commented.
Anna was only talking on the phone, while her assistant organized some papers, and next to her was a voice actress.
—Then there's Jim, who likes or prefers the project's economy and the project's own company, based on the image of the companies that are being created. —Raimon replied, noting his absence. That caused fear, caused the reform that insisted on fully uniting the critical image of Lux Animation, which was then the new Miramax of the '80s and '90s, the new Touchstone Pictures of the '80s, strongly demanding the face for Hollywood that was beginning to generate different behaviors that were lost, and by this time some clean forms of cinema were lost and others were generated, such as the case of detectives and serial killers.
—How do you know? —Garland questioned him, almost not knowing what to do. Now, of the five, each one was a shot in the dark. But they still wanted to talk to Billy Carson, because for them, he was openly the person who could help them—perhaps the guy standing in front.
—I work for Anne. —Raimon replied.
—So you're a contact. —Boyle asked, already thinking of meeting with Anne, but Raimon's refusal was simple and brief. When he wanted to do something, when he wanted to answer, he saw Raimon pointing to Anna. One of Raimon's typical tricks was to understand his coworkers' ways and act accordingly. For example, it's known that Anne is the strictest of them all, but the fairest with people's efforts. However, she is also the one with the least idea when it comes to breaking the fourth wall, taking something unconventional, something uncommon, and bringing it to life. And according to Raimon, zombies are a niche, so the best option might be Billy himself, or Anna, who is a decisive person; she is the best for taking charge of this kind of activity.
—So her. —He asked Boyle.
—Actually, her, but Billy might be interested if you go now and stand boldly in front. —Raimon commented with that smile.
Divide and conquer. They both thought. They totally knew how hard, how causing it was; it was a way of seeing the challenge.
...
Billy saw Raimon out of the corner of his eye, and saw a man with papers in hand. They were whispering, they had some drinks, they spoke rudimentarily, they were maybe nervous; that was, firsthand, what each of them could meddle with.
—So everything can be discussed later, more calmly. —Billy told him in that battered Italian that was beginning to take shape, barely in speech, in calmness and the image of giving.
He left without wanting to be bothered.
Then Garland appeared and offered a shy smile. He didn't want to do much, didn't want to be left behind, and as he reached that lucky moment, two people followed him, who gave him five minutes. He listened to how they presented themselves and how they both boasted about giving that wind of response, how to sell themselves.
—Then it's your turn. —Billy replied, seeing Garland's strength shrink, that liveliness fell silent, and Billy could only laugh. Garland sat down, trying to weigh what to say without seeming like a complete fool.