Chapter 111: Trying to Buy Me Out?
By mid-June, Ghost finally hit theaters across 1,650 screens in North America.
Its opening weekend brought in $17 million — an extraordinary start for a romantic drama.
The word of mouth was even stronger than last year's Pretty Woman, spreading like wildfire. The story's haunting blend of love and loss moved audiences to tears.
---
Hollywood Boulevard — El Capitan Theatre.
Outside the newly renovated Disney-owned theater, a red carpet stretched beneath the glow of spotlights for the premiere of The Rocketeer.
Aaron Anderson stood beside Jennifer Connelly, straightening her shawl as cameras flashed all around them.
"Alright," he said with a small smile, "go do your interviews. I'll head backstage."
Jennifer leaned in and kissed him before turning toward the reporters.
Aaron watched her for a moment, still not entirely sure why Jeffrey Katzenberg had personally invited him tonight.
---
Inside a private lounge backstage, Katzenberg was waiting — beaming that trademark, calculating smile.
"Aaron, congratulations. Dawnlight's performance this year has been nothing short of phenomenal — and quite… ambitious."
Aaron returned the handshake, modestly shrugging.
"Dawnlight's just a small studio, really. A little noise in a big town."
Katzenberg chuckled.
"This theater — the El Capitan — was just purchased and restored by Disney. The Rocketeer is its grand reopening. It's got about eleven hundred seats. Not quite as famous as Grauman's Chinese or the Egyptian, but it'll do for premieres."
Aaron nodded.
"Hollywood's full of theaters like this. Faded palaces, echoes of the Golden Age. Beautiful, but half-forgotten."
He knew Katzenberg wasn't here to reminisce about architecture. The man was circling something — and Aaron, amused, let him talk.
---
Finally, Katzenberg got to the point.
"I'll be direct," he said. "Disney wants to acquire Dawnlight Studios."
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
Katzenberg continued, smooth and practiced:
"You don't need to worry about the price — we'll make it worth your while. And of course, you'd stay on as head of Dawnlight. You'd still hold equity. We wouldn't interfere creatively. Dawnlight would retain full autonomy in both production and distribution."
Aaron leaned back slightly, smiling with the calm of a man who'd already guessed where this was going.
"Interesting. I heard Disney was in talks with Pixar about co-developing animated features. That true?"
"It is," Katzenberg admitted. "Pixar's short films have been impressive — good ideas, solid tech."
Aaron's smile widened.
"So now that Dawnlight owns Pixar, you suddenly want to acquire me instead?"
For a moment, Katzenberg said nothing — just studied him carefully.
Finally, he replied with a diplomatic grin.
"Disney animation is unmatched, Aaron. But our strength has always been family entertainment. We're lacking something in artistry — and that's where you come in. Your instincts, your taste… they're exceptional."
Aaron chuckled quietly.
"Ah. So this is what it feels like to be courted by a giant — you're trying to buy me out and keep me in the same box."
He leaned forward slightly, voice calm but sharp.
"Tell me something, Jeffrey. Disney's CEO, Michael Eisner — his total compensation last year was what? Around forty million? Salary, bonuses, stock options?"
Katzenberg nodded warily.
Aaron continued, his tone matter-of-fact:
"I made Boyz n the Hood for five and a half million. The Silence of the Lambs — I bought it from Orion for less than fifteen million. Those two films alone brought in over eighty million in revenue for me."
He paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air.
"Disney wants an art-house label, sure. But even if you gave me one, it'd come with budget caps, approval chains, endless meetings. With Dawnlight, if I want to greenlight a hundred-million-dollar film, I can do it tomorrow. No committees. No bureaucracy."
He looked Katzenberg in the eye, smiling faintly.
"So tell me — why would I join a giant studio just to play the role of a well-paid subordinate?"
---
For once, Katzenberg was at a loss for words. Then he exhaled and gave a resigned, almost admiring smile.
"It seems," he said quietly, "you've already made up your mind."
Aaron didn't reply — he didn't have to.
By now, Dawnlight Studios had its own production power, its own distribution network after the Heritage Entertainment acquisition — and now Pixar as its animation arm.
Disney, Warner, Paramount… they were all watching.
Aaron Anderson wasn't just another producer anymore. He was a storm on the horizon.
Disney's desire to acquire the rapidly growing Dawnlight Studios was understandable — but pulling it off would be another story entirely.
Katzenberg leaned forward, trying once more.
"Aaron, animation and live-action are completely different worlds. When you bought Pixar… you actually intend to enter animation?"
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Let's just say — I'd like to give it a try."
---
That same weekend, Disney's The Rocketeer opened in 1,500 theaters, pulling in just $9.6 million and ranking fifth at the box office.
It trailed far behind Ghost, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, City Slickers, and Dying Young.
The lukewarm reviews only deepened Disney's anxiety.
Meanwhile, Ghost rose to $17.8 million in its second weekend.
Disney's golden streak — which began with Pretty Woman — had clearly faded. From Dick Tracy to The Rocketeer, the studio's expensive gambles were underperforming one after another.
Even with $20 million spent on marketing, The Rocketeer was struggling. And their next prestige picture, Billy Bathgate, was already surrounded by bad buzz.
By its third weekend, Ghost brought in another $16 million, while The Rocketeer collapsed to $7.2 million.
After just three weeks, Ghost had grossed $65 million domestically — and Columbia–TriStar was already preparing for its international rollout.
---
That night — Sunset Marquis Hotel, West Hollywood.
A grand celebration was underway for The Silence of the Lambs.
Director Jonathan Demme, stars Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins, and nearly the entire cast and crew were present.
With a North American box office of $130 million, Silence had become the highest-grossing horror film in history.
Samsung Pictures had just wired the final payment of $11.7 million to Dawnlight's accounts.
After distributing bonuses to the creative team, Aaron's studio still cleared $8 million in profit.
---
"Unbelievable," said Michael Ovitz, shaking his head in amazement as he clinked glasses with Aaron.
Paula Wagner, another top CAA agent, could hardly hide her shock either.
"Phone Booth, Boyz n the Hood, Silence of the Lambs, and now Ghost… Dawnlight's track record in just two years is unbelievable."
Ghost, a fantasy romance with a modest $20 million budget, had already grossed $66 million, with critical acclaim spreading fast — its momentum outpacing even Pretty Woman.
---
Ovitz sipped his champagne, a flicker of envy crossing his sharp eyes.
A year ago, he'd led CAA in brokering Panasonic's acquisition of MCA/Universal, earning more than $60 million in fees.
Now, watching his former protégé making that much off a single film, he couldn't help feeling the tug — a quiet, burning urge to move from representation into production himself.
The agent was realizing what the artist already knew:
Power in Hollywood didn't belong to the people who sold dreams — but to the ones who made them.
---
Elsewhere in the ballroom, Aaron was speaking with Nancy Josephson of ICM, one of the few people in the room who could still surprise him.
"The success of Silence," he said, raising his glass slightly, "honestly, I should be thanking you for that."
Nancy smiled modestly.
"Please — when that film was in production, no one believed in it. Orion was falling apart, and no one had faith in a cerebral psychological thriller. You were the only one who saw its potential. ICM just did our job."
Aaron smiled knowingly.
"Well, your clients — Jonathan Demme and Anthony Hopkins — certainly helped make it what it is. Don't worry. Dawnlight will keep working with them."
Nancy nodded appreciatively.
"I'll hold you to that."
Aaron excused himself with a polite nod, moving on to greet the next wave of producers, executives, and stars who all wanted a few words with Hollywood's most unpredictable new kingmaker.
For most of them, it was the same conversation in different words:
flattery, offers, envy.
But as Aaron stepped away, glass in hand, there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes — ambition, and maybe even something close to prophecy.
Disney was losing its magic.
And Dawnlight? It was just getting started.