Chapter 151: Take a Swing at the Cornerstone
"Hey, Aaron—good evening!"
As Aaron and Jennifer Connelly were about to leave the hotel, they ran into Paramount producer Robert Evans.
"Good evening, Robert," Aaron replied, shaking his hand.
Robert Evans was one of Hollywood's true old hands—Paramount's legendary chief during the 1970s. These days, he ran his own independent production company, making films primarily for Paramount.
Aaron's gaze flicked briefly to the side. Not far away stood Sharon Stone and screenwriter Joe Eszterhas.
"Ira Levin's novel Sliver," Aaron said casually. "Paramount secured the adaptation rights, didn't they?"
The erotic bestseller, published just last year, had sparked a fierce bidding war among studios. God knew what Paramount had paid for it.
Robert Evans smiled lazily.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, plus a percentage of box-office profits. Ira and I have worked together before."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "So Sharon Stone's the lead—and you brought in Joe Eszterhas to handle the script."
After all, Basic Instinct had been written by Eszterhas and made Stone a sensation. What Sliver was aiming for couldn't be more obvious.
"Is Dawnlight Pictures interested in coming in as an investor?" Evans asked.
"Sherry Lansing runs Paramount now—she's quite open to co-financing."
Aaron answered with a question of his own.
"Then tell me—would Paramount be willing to give up North American distribution rights?"
Evans laughed softly.
"Aaron, Sliver isn't an action blockbuster—and Paramount isn't Carolco. The budget won't be extravagant."
In plain terms: Paramount wasn't about to inflate salaries the way Carolco did, meaning the budget would stay manageable—and there was no reason to surrender domestic distribution.
Because Dawnlight Pictures was consistently at a disadvantage when it came to acquiring rights to hot new novels, Aaron had started considering investing directly in a publishing house.
Still, forging strong ties with major talent agencies mattered just as much. With them came insider knowledge—since most novels were optioned before publication, or at least locked into right-of-first-refusal deals.
Cable networks. Record labels. Advertising firms. Publishing houses. Home entertainment divisions. Television studios. Brand-licensing arms.
That was the modern media conglomerate: diversified IP extraction at every level.
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Fox Plaza, Century City
Aaron paid a visit to David Komansky, President of Merrill Lynch's Western operations, who oversaw the firm's investments on the West Coast.
Since 1988, Merrill Lynch had been the world's largest underwriter of stocks and bonds. But with the explosive rise of cash management accounts, the firm's business model had shifted dramatically.
"Aaron," Komansky said as he poured a glass of wine,
"since the late '80s, Merrill has been streamlining—shedding insurance, real estate, and peripheral sectors."
"Our focus now is investment banking and retail finance."
He smiled faintly.
"Hollywood is a key battlefield for us. And you—I consider you the most promising emerging film mogul in town."
"Film mogul?" Aaron laughed.
"Well," he said calmly,
"Dawnlight may be preparing for acquisitions—publishing companies, advertising firms, and perhaps some smaller distributors."
To build a true home-entertainment division, Dawn would need an enormous content library. The inherited Evergreen catalog alone wouldn't be enough.
"What about Orion?" Komansky asked.
"If no new investors step in next year, the banks will take over. That might be the moment to strike."
Aaron nodded.
"We'll see. Orion isn't completely cornered yet."
After all, Orion was still producing and distributing films—and its art-house label, Orion Classics, had competed head-on with Dawn for Raise the Red Lantern.
As Aaron left Fox Plaza, he spotted an all-too-familiar scene:
Macaulay Culkin, walking out of Twentieth Century Fox—flanked by his entire family.
This coming Christmas season, Twentieth Century Fox was set to release the flagship sequel
Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.
"Hello, Mr. Anderson."
Amy Pascal, assistant to Twentieth Century Fox film chief Joe Roth, spotted Aaron Anderson and stepped forward to greet him.
"Amy," Aaron replied with a smile. "Is Mr. Roth not around?"
Fox's situation was far from ideal. The parent company, News Corporation, had piled on massive debt through aggressive acquisitions, and Fox's own film slate was underperforming.
Aside from the Home Alone franchise, there wasn't much to boast about.
Unfortunately, once Macaulay Culkin exploded in popularity, his family life became anything but harmonious. His parents tightly controlled both his contracts and salary.
With hits like Home Alone and My Girl, Culkin's fee had soared to $5 million, making him the highest-paid child actor in Hollywood.
"Are you here to see Mr. Roth?" Amy asked.
"I can arrange it—he's currently at Universal Studios."
Aaron shook his head lightly.
"No need. I was just checking in on his well-being."
In truth, Joe Roth's position was shaky. After Barry Diller, chairman of Fox Entertainment, stepped down earlier that Valentine's Day, Rupert Murdoch had been searching for a new CEO.
Roth—formerly Diller's deputy overseeing Twentieth Century Fox's film division—clearly had not earned the full confidence of News Corp.
Amy smiled ruefully.
"Mr. Roth often says he regrets not distributing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… and not backing Dawnlight Pictures on Ghost."
"Do a lot of people have regrets like that," Aaron replied casually.
"At the time, few saw those films coming."
Then he looked at her more intently.
"Amy—have you ever thought about leaving Twentieth Century Fox?"
"…What?"
Amy Pascal's eyes widened in surprise. At thirty-four, becoming Joe Roth's right hand was no small feat—it took real ability.
"I think highly of you," Aaron continued calmly.
"If you ever decide to leave Fox, Dawnlight Pictures would be happy to bring you on as a senior production executive."
At Dawnlight, Don Steel functioned more like a chief operations officer, helping Aaron manage the company's overall direction.
What the studio truly needed now was someone embedded on the front lines—someone who could directly oversee hands-on film production.
Amy Pascal had ambitions of her own. She wanted to be a producer who could carry projects independently.
And like many women in Hollywood, she looked to Sherry Lansing as a model—hoping that one day she, too, might helm a major studio.
"Thank you," Amy said after a pause.
"I'll… think about it."
Aaron gave her shoulder a light pat.
"Take your time. I'll be here."