Chapter 37 – I Want to Try It Myself
In the afternoon, Aaron drove to Propaganda Studios in Los Angeles and smoothly collected Nicole Kidman's final paycheck.
As he was leaving, he suddenly noticed Madonna filming a music video on the lot.
A few months earlier, while shooting the movie Dick Tracy, Madonna had gotten involved with the director and lead actor Warren Beatty. At that time, she was still married, which sparked conflicts with her husband Sean Penn. By September, the couple had officially divorced.
"Hollywood is really something else," Aaron muttered. "Men and women everywhere—everyone's messing around with everyone else."
He glanced at the set for a moment but didn't linger.
"David Fincher's looking for you!"
Aaron paused, surprised at the name. A young man emerged from behind the camera to answer the call.
"David Fincher?" Aaron blinked. Could this be the David Fincher of the future? A TV commercial and music video director, so young, not yet thirty—he'd have to check out his work later.
Propaganda was one of Hollywood's top advertising and music video studios. They didn't produce many films due to their small scale. But several major directors had started in advertising—Michael Bay, David Fincher, Zack Snyder. Even David Lynch had begun in TV commercials, so Fincher must have joined the company Lynch co-founded.
David Fincher, a master of suspense and thrillers, was skilled with effects. At this point, 20th Century Fox hadn't yet developed Alien 3, and Fincher hadn't entered feature filmmaking.
Halloween had just passed, and remnants of the celebration still lingered in the streets of Los Angeles. Next up were Thanksgiving and the Christmas season.
In Culver City, at the café of the Culver Hotel, Aaron met with David Fincher. After explaining his intentions, he handed over the script for Phone Booth.
Twenty-seven-year-old Fincher had previously worked at Industrial Light & Magic under Lucasfilm as a visual effects artist and camera assistant. Two years ago, he joined Propaganda, directing TV ads for Coca-Cola, Nike, Chanel, and music videos for The Rolling Stones, Michael Jackson, and Madonna.
After carefully reading the script, Fincher looked up. "Mr. Anderson, you really want to turn this into a film?"
"Just call me Aaron," Aaron smiled. "The story has a single lead and a simple setting, but it's original and unique. I've watched a lot of your previous work in ads and music videos, and I'd love to collaborate with you to bring this story to the big screen."
Fincher wasn't about to pass up the chance to direct a feature. "Aaron, the script—does it still allow for some adjustments?"
Aaron nodded. "Of course. Some details can be filled in. I've already spoken to Nicolas Cage about the lead role, and he's very interested. As you know, the budget isn't huge, so we need to plan carefully for pre-production."
Fincher had no objections—understanding that a smaller budget was precisely why he was being considered to direct.
"I understand. The story has a lot of tension and many engaging elements. I'd be very happy to direct this film."
Plus, Nicolas Cage was already shooting David Lynch's Wild at Heart, so Aaron trusted his acting skills.
"Just one thing, Aaron. After reading the script, I wonder if the runtime might be a bit short?"
Aaron smiled. "Even standard films are around 100 minutes, and this script is just over 80 minutes, right?"
"No choice," Fincher said. "Almost the entire story takes place in a single phone booth. Supporting 80 minutes is already quite an achievement. Stretching it further would only ruin the pacing."
"The key to Phone Booth is keeping the audience constantly on edge and fully immersed in suspense," Aaron said.
"Absolutely," David Fincher agreed.
"First, let's study the script carefully. When the time comes, I'll partner with Propaganda under my company, and you'll direct."
Propaganda was already a fully equipped production company, with no shortage of personnel or gear. Aaron also planned to register his own company, cutting ties with CAA for good.
Los Angeles had no shortage of entertainment law firms and accounting offices, making company registration easy for someone like Aaron. He decided to call it Dawnlight Films and strategically registered it in Delaware.
Delaware had no state business tax and no minimum capital requirements. A single person could serve as CEO, director, and shareholder. The company wouldn't operate within Delaware, so it wouldn't be subject to state income tax, and non-resident shareholders wouldn't owe Delaware personal income tax either.
A few days before Thanksgiving, Aaron walked into Michael Ovitz's office at CAA headquarters.
"Are you really leaving CAA? Your career is taking off—you could be a partner here very soon!"
Ovitz, naturally, didn't want Aaron to go. This had been a promising year, his first year seeing such success.
"Mr. Ovitz, I've decided. Being an agent isn't part of my career plan. My true interest lies in film production."
Ovitz furrowed his brow. "You could still be a producing client here at CAA. This company always provides a platform."
Aaron smiled. "I just want to try it on my own in Hollywood first."
"ICM and WMA have probably reached out to you. You know our compensation at CAA is among the highest."
Ovitz was aware of Aaron's past conflicts with clients like Warren Beatty, as well as Dustin Hoffman expressing dissatisfaction with him.
"They've contacted me," Aaron admitted. "This year, I've done well. The tensions on Pretty Woman and Dick Tracy mainly involved me. It's not a secret—other agencies approaching me is normal."
"Don't worry," Aaron added. "My interest in being an agent is minimal. Even if I continue in the future, it would be as a manager in a producing role."
Aaron leaving CAA wasn't a major news story—just a ripple in the pond. The public cared only about stars, not agents. After all, he was still a newcomer. His success in the first year could easily be attributed to luck in the eyes of others.
Outside CAA, Nicole Kidman was waiting.
"Did you really resign?" she asked.
"Yes. I even registered my company. It's time to start my own venture. Let's go home."
"Wait—this isn't a CAA car?"
Aaron shrugged. "I've been driving this Roaster for over half a year, so I bought it directly from CAA. Got used to it."
CAA didn't make a fuss over something like that. It wasn't a rare, collectible car after all.