Tuesday, December 20, 2022
š° THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER
š [wwwhollywoodreportercom]
šļø December 20, 2022
āļø By Mia Galuppo
š¬ Lionsgate Acquires the Rights to the Paranormal Activity Franchise Following Its Historic Box Office Success
LOS ANGELES ā Lionsgate has finalized a deal to acquire the rights to the horror franchise Paranormal Activity, just weeks after the film concluded its theatrical run with extraordinary results.
Conceived as an independent project and produced on a minimal budget, the film became one of the year's most unexpected phenomena, reaching a global box office total of $143 million and registering the highest return on investment in the history of cinema.
While the financial terms of the agreement were not officially disclosed, multiple sources close to the negotiations describe the deal as one of the most significant intellectual property acquisitions in the horror genre in recent years. The agreement grants Lionsgate full control over the franchise's future development, including potential sequels, spin-offs, and related projects.
"Paranormal Activity represents exactly the kind of scalable franchise we're looking for: a powerful concept, efficient execution, and an immediate connection with global audiences," said a studio executive. "The long-term potential is evident."
The acquisition reinforces Lionsgate's strategy of betting on high-performing franchises with contained budgets, a model that has historically delivered strong results for the company. The studio has not yet confirmed timelines or creative teams for the next installment.
For Owen Ashford, the creator of the film, the sale marks another turning point in an unusual career that has advanced at remarkable speed. At just 21 years old, the actor, screenwriter, and producer has already established himself as one of the most closely watched young names in the industry, following an unprecedented commercial success combined with a string of independent short films that were well received by both critics and audiences.
In the broader context, the sale once again underscores that horror remains one of the most reliable businesses in contemporary cinema, capable of generating exceptional returns with controlled risk when execution is strong.
Industry sources also note that the deal could be indirectly connected to Ashford's next creative move. During a recent television appearance, the filmmaker confirmed that the script for his next feature film is already finished, though he declined to provide details about the project.
While there is no official confirmation of a direct link between the two developments, the combination of a sale of this magnitude and the public mention of a new script has fueled growing speculation within the industry about what Ashford's next step will be, and when it will be formally announced.
ā¦
"What are you reading?" James asked, settling his wife, Emily, onto the couch.
He got no response.
Emily's gaze remained fixed on her phone screen, unmoving and focused.
They were at their home, a spacious and elegant house in Studio City, in a quiet residential area, close to James's parents' house and the apartment where Owen now lived.
The living room was decorated in a minimalist style. Light-colored walls, a straight-lined sofa in neutral tones, a dark low table, and a neatly organized bookshelf filled with books.
The place conveyed order and a certain taste for discretion.
James didn't react. He picked up the teacup resting on the table, took a calm sip, and after a few seconds spoke again, this time a little louder.
"Ignoring meā¦ that hurts."
Emily finally looked up. Her lips curved into a faint, ironic smile. "I deeply apologize for the crime of ignoring you for three seconds, darling," she replied with mock solemnity, placing a hand on her chest.
James raised an eyebrow, amused. "I must assume that whatever you're reading is more interesting than me."
Emily let out a brief laugh and locked her phone before placing it on the table. "Let's just say it's relevant," she said. "They're talking about your brother. Again."
"What happened now? Did something leak?" James asked.
"You could say that. The Hollywood Reporter just published the article about the sale of Paranormal Activity. Obviously they don't have numbers, but they're talking about insiders and a major deal."
James carefully set the cup down and leaned back into the couch. "I figured it would come out today or tomorrow," he said. "Something like that couldn't possibly go unnoticed."
He had been a central part of the entire process, not as a spectator, but as an active member of the small team that carried out the operation: Owen, their father, and himself. The three of them handled the IP valuation, prepared the documents, sent out formal offers, and negotiated directly with the two main buyers: Blumhouse and Lionsgate.
They had met with Blumhouse on Thursday, December 8. Their final offer was thirty-eight million dollars. But money wasn't the only factor. They wanted Owen, whose prestige as a creator was growing thanks to his short films and the impact of Paranormal Activity, to remain tied to the future of the franchise.
Participation in future projects, possible deferred payments, and a creative collaboration clause for the next installment.
For Blumhouse, that was an advantage: a smaller upfront outlay and the ability to capitalize on the creator's name over the long term.
For Owen, it wasn't.
He didn't want strings attached, especially not with Paranormal Activity. He wasn't the kind of creator who wanted to squeeze a franchise dry by repeating a formula just because it worked once.
Lionsgate, on the other hand, was straightforward. They offered a higher figure and showed no interest in retaining the creator. They wanted one hundred percent of the future rights, and they were willing to pay for it.
Forty-two million dollars. Four million more than Blumhouse. A logical difference, considering the studio's greater financial capacity.
On Monday, December 12, Lionsgate sent the formal offer. James, acting as the lawyer, reviewed every clause carefully. Adjustments, clarifications, and guarantees, nothing was left to chance. On Friday the 16th, the contract was signed definitively.
James already knew the payment had gone through. On Monday the 19th, the transfer was completed. A multimillion-dollar sale, closed just before Christmas.
Thinking about it still felt strange.
"And to think that less than a year ago he was expelled from college," James murmured to himself.
"Yes," Emily replied, nodding, "and now the entire industry is watching to see what his next move will be."
'Good Will Hunting,' James thought.
As part of Owen's closest inner circle, they knew far more than the press or the public could imagine. They knew the title, the genre, and some key elements of the project, enough to understand that it wasn't a minor film.
In fact, they saw far more potential in this movie than in Paranormal Activity.
"Honestly, sometimes he seems like a completely different person," James said. "And then I see him teasing Sarah, or the way he treats my mother, and he's still the same as always," he added, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and affection.
Emily let out a soft laugh. "Like he himself said in that interview with Jimmy, having your parents stop spoiling him was his real wake-up call."
James half-smiled. "Yeah."
"And the best part," Emily added, "is that he's grateful. He knew how to value the work your father and you did on the IP sale."
"'Value' is an understatement," James said in a strange tone, looking at her.
Emily looked back at him, amused. "You're right. Three million dollars wasn't something you were expecting."
Owen had paid his father and his brother $3,250,000 as a thank-you for their help throughout the IP sale process: $1.5 million for James and $1.75 million for Edward.
Neither James nor Edward had expected such a significant gesture.
In market terms, an operation of that scale would have involved high costs even if third parties had been hired. Just for the IP valuation, deal preparation, and legal fees, Owen would easily have spent around $600,000. On top of that would have come the closing commission, which in deals like this usually runs at around 4%. On a $42 million transaction, that would have meant an additional $1,680,000.
All told, the normal cost would have exceeded $2.2 million.
Owen had paid more than that, and he had done so exclusively to the two people who had been with him throughout the entire process.
That was what truly surprised Edward and James. Both had helped without asking for anything in return, without even considering formal payment.
Knowing Owen, they expected some kind of compensation at the end of the process, but never a figure of that magnitude. In their minds, the idea had been simple: help a family member save a massive expense. With a symbolic compensation, perhaps between two hundred and five hundred thousand dollars, they would have been more than satisfied.
But Owen didn't think that way. He paid them above market value.
Before James could say anything about it, Emily spoke.
"Stillā¦" she said after a brief pause, "I hope Owen knows how to manage the time he devotes to work. Sometimes it feels like he's completely consumed by all of this."
"What do you mean?" James asked.
"He reminds me of you. Back when you were just starting out as a lawyer. You lived for work. Entire days without looking up, calls at any hour, and weekends at the office. There was a point when you were so deep into it that you almost forgot about your relationships. Me included," Emily replied.
James didn't contradict her, she was right.
Emily softened her tone. "If I hadn't insisted, if we hadn't fought to find a balance, we probably wouldn't be here now."
"You're right," James nodded. "And look at me now, it's Tuesday and I left work early to be with you. I changed for the better."
"You did it thanks to me," Emily said with a playful smile.
James let out a low laugh. "Of course," he replied. "I never denied it."
"I just hope Owen doesn't have to learn it the hard way," Emily added again, more seriously.
James nodded in silence.
ā¦
@VARIETY ā 12:07 PM Ā· Dec 20, 2022
Lionsgate acquires the rights to the Paranormal Activity franchise
After a historic box office run, the studio purchased the IP created by Owen Ashford and now takes control of the development of future sequels and spin-off projects.
The figures of the deal were not disclosed, but sources describe the operation as one of the most expensive horror IP sales in history.
š variety.com/film/news/lionsgate-paranormalactivity-owen-ashford-deal
#ParanormalActivity #Lionsgate #OwenAshford
The tweet garnered over 60,000 likes, 14,000 retweets, and more than 4,000 replies in its first four hours.
Accounts such as DiscussingFilm, Deadline, Film Updates, IndieWire, and Collider amplified the news.
š¬ Replies to the tweet:
@green3012:
Owen made one movie, broke the system, and sold the IP without a second thought. Cold mindset.
@1777DMSp:
Lionsgate doing what it does best: buying profitable IPs and squeezing them dry.
@queenTF21:
I don't care about Paranormal Activity 2, I just want to know Owen's next project.
@TSLiar_09:
From getting expelled from college to selling a franchise to a major studio in less than a year.
I've never seen a narrative arc like this for any actor or actress.
@indiefilmbro:
Wait a minuteā¦ wasn't it said he already had a percentage of the box office?
If he sold the IP nowā¦ is this guy already a multimillionaire or what?
@johansRE:
No official numbers, but with $143M at the box office + backend + IP sale,
yeah, he probably doesn't need to worry about money for the rest of his life unless he's reckless.
@Kennyait:
I like that he doesn't want to stick around making sequels just for the money. Most people would've milked the franchise until it died.
@sigmadevil-pp3:
I'm studying film and this is inspiring and depressing at the same time š
@Taylor333:
I don't know if he's a genius or just in the right place, but the timing was perfect.
@nothgin_azert2:
The smartest move was selling while the IP was hot.
@Jadenshitt:
Generic actor with critical prestige: "I have major award nominations and a respected filmography. What do you have?"
Owen: "I wrote a movie, cast myself as the lead, it broke records, I sold it, became a multimillionaire, and now I have total creative freedom for my next project."
Bro šā¦
@sky_veteran:
And on top of all this, I think I read a piece saying CAA represents him now, true? The guy escaped the system in one year.
ā¦
"Yes, it's true. CAA represents him," Larry murmured with a smile as he read through the tweet's replies.
Owen's former agent was in his apartment, calmly having an afternoon snack, his phone resting on the table. As expected, social media was buzzing about his star client, the same one who had just closed a multimillion-dollar sale and set half of Hollywood speculating about his next move.
Why was Larry now Owen's former agent?
Not because he had been fired. Quite the opposite. He had secured what was, in practice, a promotion.
Owen had just signed with Creative Artists Agency, one of the largest and most powerful agencies in the industry. They represent top-tier actors, directors, screenwriters, and producers, and wield real influence in complex negotiations, from multimillion-dollar contracts to global distribution deals.
When CAA showed interest in representing Owen, the first contact wasn't direct, it went through Larry. They talked and reached the same conclusion. For Owen, it was the logical next step.
So Larry stopped being his formal agent and moved into a different, but closer role: exclusive personal manager.
Although Owen didn't need an agency to get work, after all, he wrote and financed his own projects, CAA offered something that went beyond traditional auditions.
Packaging.
In simple terms, packaging is an agency's ability to quickly assemble creative teams. If Owen needed a list of actors for a project, CAA could provide direct access, send the script to priority clients, and have their agents actively push those actors to read the material.
It accelerated casting dramatically.
For CAA, Owen was an exceptional asset. He wasn't just an actor, he was a creator. Someone who generates projects, hires talent, and moves money. From that point on, every time Owen requested actors, CAA agents earned commissions, and the agency itself grew stronger. The best kind of client to represent.
They weren't the only major agency that wanted to sign him, but they got his signature.
For Owen, the agency was also useful for something just as important: negotiating complex future contracts, distribution deals, co-productions, or agreements with platforms. For operations of that scale, having an agency the size of CAA made a real difference. He couldn't rely on James or his father for that, they had their own jobs and lives.
For all those reasons, Owen would pay the agency the standard 10% fee, the same percentage he had previously paid Larry as his agent. The difference was that now that 10% bought access, speed, and top-tier structure.
And while Owen enjoyed creating his own projects, he wasn't closed off to working on films that weren't his. If an interesting role came along, he had no problem taking it.
Larry set his phone down on the table and took a sip of his coffee.
'Life is good,' he thought, looking out the window of his apartment.
His situation had finally stabilized. Beyond the considerable commissions he had earned in the past thanks to Owen, he now had something far more valuable for someone in his position: predictability. A fixed salary as Owen's personal manager. Fifteen thousand dollars a month. He no longer depended on auditions, desperate calls, or projects that never materialized.
With Owen, the role was different.
He didn't need to get him work. Owen created it himself. His job now was something else entirely: to be a kind of right hand, filtering, organizing, anticipating problems, and lightening Owen's workload.
These days, Owen wasn't the only one focused on Good Will Hunting. Larry was too.
Owen had asked him for something very specific: an executive producer with real experience, someone who knew how to handle a mid-scale production without interfering creatively. Larry contacted CAA, and as expected, the agency sent back a shortlist of six names within hours.
From there, the work was his.
He filtered them based on what Owen had made clear from the start: proven experience, a known personality within the industry, reasonable fees, and, above all, compatibility.
The day before, they had met with one of the candidates. The conversation had flowed smoothly, without friction. The next day, they would meet another.
Larry also knew that the more involved he became, the more time he devoted to the project, and the more real value he added, the greater the chances that Owen would reward him with an additional bonus once things moved forward.
It wasn't an anxious expectation or a desperate calculation. It was simply how these professional relationships usually worked when the job was done well.
But beyond the money, there was something that motivated him even more.
The script.
Larry had been able to read Good Will Hunting in full. And being honest with himself, he thought it was a great script. Much better than Paranormal Activity. That had been a brilliant idea executed intelligently, but this was different. Deeper and more ambitious.
A project with the potential not only to perform very well at the box office, but also to achieve significant critical prestige.
In fact, the producer they had met with the day before had arrived visibly excited. He had read the script and didn't hide it, he wanted to be part of the project. He asked specific questions, talked about pacing and structure. It was clear he saw the potential and wanted in.
When an experienced producer reacted like that, there was no need to say much more.
'This won't be another success like Paranormal Activity', Larry thought. 'This is a bigger leap.'
What still impressed him was Owen's ability to write scripts.
And he also thought about the lead role: Will.
That role required a high level of acting. This wasn't horror, nor a short film. It demanded a much more complex register than Paranormal Activity. Even more demanding than The Spectacular Now.
He wanted to see it. To see whether Owen was ready for a role of that caliber.
If Owen managed to rise to the level of that character, there would be no doubt left. He wouldn't just be someone who writes well, he would be an actor with real range and the potential for serious award nominations at just 21 years old.
That was when Larry remembered something and almost choked on his own saliva.
'The Netflix audition,' he thought.
Almost thirty minutes had passed since he had read that email, thirty minutes during which his mind had been completely absorbed by Good Will Hunting.
"Greatā¦" he muttered to himself.
He reopened his inbox and confirmed the obvious. The email was still there. Netflix. Casting in an advanced stage. A young lead role.
It wasn't that he had ignored it. It had simply been buried under bigger priorities. And, being honest, he knew Owen. He didn't think he would take that kind of role, not now, not with everything he had going on.
Still, he had to tell him.
He picked up his phone and called Owen.
"Owen, sorry, I just realized something," he said as soon as the call connected. "I read an email from Netflix a little while ago and, with everything going on with Good Will Hunting, I forgot to tell you."
He paused briefly and continued, "It's not a direct offer, it's an audition. One of those family movies Netflix makes by the dozen. I didn't get around to reading the script, but honestly, I don't think it's anything special. That said, the guaranteed pay is good. They want to know if you're interested."
He stood up and paced a few steps around the apartment as he listened. "There's no immediate urgency, but we have a week to respond. I'll send you everything by email and you can take a look when you have timeā¦ Yeah, okay, great. See you tomorrow."
ā¦
Owen was in the room of his apartment that he used as an office. Sitting in front of the computer, he set his phone down on the desk. He had just ended the call with Larry.
Honestly, he had expected Larry to call about something related to the producer they were scheduled to meet the following day.
He had decided to hire an executive producer for Good Will Hunting. It wouldn't be cheap, but it was absolutely necessary.
Why?
He couldn't handle everything himself. He had to act, and while he enjoyed the producer role and had learned a great deal from his previous projects, he couldn't be the producer in every area.
On a film, there are different types of producers: the creative producer, who accompanies the script's development; the executive producer, who oversees the project at a high level; the line producer, who controls the budget and the day-to-day of the shoot; and associate producers, who handle specific aspects.
Trying to cover all of that on his own would have been a bad idea.
He wasn't fooling himself, either. Even though he had done well producing Paranormal Activity and several short films, none of those projects came close to the scale of what he now had in front of him.
This was a film with a budget of over ten million dollars. Managing permits, contracts, unions, production logistics, insurance, and schedules was far too much to take on alone without making mistakes.
The ideal move was to hire someone with experience, someone who could take care of the heaviest, most technical parts, and allow him to learn from the process along the way. After all, the two candidates they were considering came recommended by CAA and each had more than twenty years of experience.
Still, Larry's call hadn't been about that. It was about a Netflix audition.
Owen leaned back in his chair and let out a short exhale. The proposal struck him as curious more than tempting.
From the way Larry had framed it, it didn't sound like a particularly appealing project from a creative standpoint. Probably one of those many family films designed for the algorithm, well paid, competent, and forgettable.
He felt no excitement at the arrival of that email, not even a flicker of anticipation.
There were more than forty million dollars in his bank account, at least for now, before taxes. What did it matter if the paycheck was pay is good? Money was no longer an incentive. He would only accept something like that if the project genuinely interested him.
He slowly turned his chair and looked at the monitor screen. "We'll see," he murmured to himself.
As he waited for the email to come in, his gaze returned to what was already in front of him. An endless PDF, open for hours. Dozens of pages. Tables, notes, margin comments. It was the document where he had laid out the possible casting options for Good Will Hunting.
Names that fit in terms of age, profile, and energy. Career trajectories, estimated salary ranges, availability, and drama credentials. Nothing was locked in, of course.
He knew perfectly well that once the director was hired, that person's opinion would carry decisive weight. The director would bring their own ideas, preferences, and even obsessions.
And Owen was open to that.
His suggestions weren't mandates. They were starting points, reasoned proposals that would be heard and considered. If the director saw another actor for a role, they would discuss it.
The page currently open was for Skylar, a key supporting character and Will's love interest.
Skylar was a Harvard student: intelligent, self-assured, and with enough presence to genuinely draw the attention of a genius.
Owen had written down several options.
The first was Thomasin McKenzie. He liked her naturalism and the work he had seen from her.
Then there was Cailee Spaeny. More intensity, and an energy that reminded him of the original Skylar.
Next: Margaret Qualley. He was drawn to her indie profile and her experience in drama. In this world, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) didn't exist, so her profile was less high-profile.
And then there was the name that had surprised him when he realized it: Emma Watson.
In this world, Emma wasn't a global superstar or a franchise icon. Harry Potter didn't exist. Her career had taken a different path, European cinema and critically acclaimed dramas. She didn't have massive fame, since she hadn't headlined blockbusters, and as a result, her asking price wasn't exorbitant.
That, paradoxically, made her even more interesting. She projected intelligence effortlessly, along with an aura that fit Skylar perfectly.
Although she was thirty-two, her appearance worked in her favor. She could easily pass for a woman in her early twenties, twenty-two or twenty-three, which was roughly the age of the character. In the original script, Will was between twenty and twenty-two years old. Skylar didn't have an explicit age, but it was reasonable to place her in a similar range to Will.
There was another point in her favor as well: Skylar was British. And so was Emma. The accent wouldn't require extra work or affectation, it was already natural to her.
As for Sophie, Owen had considered her. In fact, honestly, he would have given her the role without hesitation. But she had chosen to audition for a project on her own and she got it. That meant that by mid-January of the following year, she would be tied up with a shoot.
Owen couldn't help feeling a bit irritated. Sophie knew perfectly well that Good Will Hunting would be going into production soon, and despite that, she accepted another role.
Still, Owen said nothing. It wasn't his place to reproach her for accepting the projects she chose. So Sophie was ruled out.
He also thought about Jenna. His unexpected friend from the set of The Spectacular Now, with whom he had formed a close relationship, and who, lived in the same building. The chemistry between them worked.
But he ruled her out.
With the Wednesday boom, her quote had skyrocketed. Maybe Jenna would like the project enough, and because of their friendship, she might agree to a salary that fit the film's budget. Even so, Owen wasn't convinced, and he didn't even list her as a candidate, not just for financial reasons.
First, the image of Wednesday Addams was too strong and too recent. Even though Jenna had more than enough acting range, the character was still very present in the public's mind. For a supporting role like Skylar, that media weight could become an unnecessary distraction.
And second, there was The Spectacular Now. That film would be released in March 2023, and he and Jenna played a romantic couple in it. If they also appeared together in Good Will Hunting later that same year, just a few months afterward, the effect could be counterproductive. Too repetitive, something that, instead of adding value, could end up working against them.
Owen scrolled the page upward, until he reached the role that, for him, was the most important in the film alongside Will: the mentor.
The character that, in his past life, had been played by the legendary Robin Williams.
Fortunately, in this world that film had never existed. There was no original version to live up to, no iconic performance to be measured against. There was no impossible historical weight attached to the role.
He had written down several names that fit the budget, actors with solid careers, respectable prestige, and proven acting range. All reasonable options.
But there was one he had become fixated on. At the very top, underlined:
Johnny Depp.
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