Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

On the afternoon of August 2nd, Fang Yuan signed his name on the signature pages of the three contracts.

Ellie checked the signatures and dates one by one, and after confirming that everything was correct, she put the contract into three different colored document bags.

"Fox's lawyer will come to pick up the original documents tomorrow."

Ellie locked the document bag in the safe. "Columbia and Focus have also arranged for delivery."

"OK."

Fang Yuan sat at the conference table, his coffee long since cold.

On Venice Beach outside the window, some people are playing frisbee in the sunset, some are lying on the sand reading, and some are surfing for the last time in the Pacific Ocean.

It was an ordinary Monday afternoon, no different from yesterday or tomorrow for the people on the beach.

But for Fang Yuan, this afternoon meant three things:

First, he now has production rights contracts for three Hollywood films, with a total advance payment of $2.65 million. Second, according to his conservative estimates, the revenue generated from the back-end sales of these three films over the next few years will far exceed the advance payment.

Third, he is no longer just a screenwriter—at least in terms of the contract, from today onwards, he is a co-producer of these three films.

He tidied up the documents on the desk, put the pen back in the pen holder, stood up and walked to the window.

Boelle packed her things behind him, the sounds of pages turning, zippers zipping, and high heels clicking on the floor filling the air.

Fang Yuan didn't turn around; he just stood there quietly, looking at the Pacific Ocean.

He turned around, and Ellie had already tidied up the office.

"Ellie, you represent me in fighting for the producer rights of these three films."

"As long as the script doesn't deviate too much, and the director and actors don't go overboard, we shouldn't get too involved."

"What I need is the authority, but I don't necessarily have to interfere with the production process."

"Okay. I understand."

Fang Yuan took one last look out the window.

As dusk settled, the Pacific Ocean turned a deep blue, and on the distant horizon, the last glimmer of orange light was fading away.

The day after the three contracts were signed, Fang Yuan spread out another document on the table in his studio.

That was another script he had registered with the Writers Guild of North America—"Saw".

The registration was completed at the beginning of this year, long before he came to Los Angeles.

Unlike "Phone Booth," "Identity," and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," he never discussed the copyright of this script. It wasn't because it was poorly written, but because he had a different vision for the project.

When Ellie came downstairs, she saw Fang Yuan flipping through the printed copy of the script.

"What are your plans for this script?"

Ellie sat down and poured herself a glass of water.

"I thought you were planning to put it aside for a while since you hadn't shown it to the production company."

"It's not about putting it aside." Fang Yuan pushed the script in front of her.

"We'll film this project ourselves; we won't sell it."

Ellie took the script and flipped through a few pages.

She had already looked at the notebook on her way here—

A predicament for two people in a confined space, a villain who never shows his face, a cassette tape, and an ending with an extreme twist.

The setting is extremely simple, and the number of characters is extremely small, but the intricacy of the script structure even surpasses that of "Phone Booth".

"You filmed it yourself?" Ellie's tone held no surprise, only confirmation.

"In the name of the studio?"

"Yes," Fang Yuan said. "I've estimated the production budget for this project—it's all under two million US dollars, and can even be reduced to one and a half million."

The scene consists of only an abandoned bathroom, two main actors, and the villain never appears on screen, only receiving voice acting.

The filming period will not exceed twenty days. We will cover the cost ourselves.

Ellie quickly went through the accounts in her mind.

The advance payment for Fang Yuan's three contracts totaled US$2.65 million, which, after tax deduction, will be transferred to Fang Yuan's personal account.

After the studio distributed its profits at the end of last year, plus the subsequent copyright revenue from the three films released in the first half of the year, it still has more than $3000 million in its accounts.

"Not going to get production companies to invest?" she asked.

"No, we won't look for one. But we will look for a distributor," Fang Yuan said. "I plan to approach Lionsgate."

"Lionsgate?" Ellie thought for a moment.

"That Canadian publisher? They've only been around for a little over two years; have they established a distribution network yet?"

"Established three years ago. Founded in 1997, headquartered in California, it mainly deals with independent film distribution."

What they currently lack is a library of films with potential in various genres.

Fang Yuan made this judgment with great certainty.

"I don't need them to invest money, I just need them to handle distribution. The cooperation method is negotiable—it's based on global box office revenue sharing. I can be a little more lenient with the percentage, but the ownership and control of the project will remain entirely with our studio."

"Other companies would probably find it difficult to offer such terms."

Ellie didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

"If this model succeeds, we can continue to make sequels."

Fang Yuan said, "If the first installment of this kind of suspense thriller set in a confined space is successful, the sequel can have a larger budget, more scenes, and more characters."

Once it's developed into a series, the long-term profits of the entire IP will be in our hands.

Ellie finally spoke, "Who are you planning to have direct?"

Fang Yuan picked up another piece of paper from the table and handed it to her.

The paper had a name and a contact method written on it.

"James Wan," Fang Yuan said.

"A Malaysian Chinese, who moved to Australia with his family at the age of seven and should currently be in Melbourne."

Specifically, he studied film at RMIT University.

I probably haven't made any feature films before, but I may have shot some short films.

But this person has a natural intuition for horror films, making him suitable for directing "Saw."

Ellie frowned as she looked at the name. "You know him?"

Fang Yuan said, "You can go and get to know them."

Ellie put down her water glass. "You mean you want me to fly to Melbourne?"

"Take the script with you."

Fang Yuan pushed the printed manuscript of "Saw" in front of her.

"Find him and show him the script."

Tell him that we'll make this film ourselves. I have a studio in Los Angeles and we need a director.

If he's interested, we can sit down and talk about signing a contract.

"Sign a contract?"

"Sign a contract," Fang Yuan said. "At least for five years."

Sign him and his frequent collaborator together—

If I remember correctly, he had a classmate named Ray Whannell, who was also studying film, and the two of them often worked on projects together.

They signed both of their papers.

During the contract period, they developed projects for my studio. We provided the platform and production resources. The studio retained ownership of the projects, but they received a share of the creative profits.

Ellie tapped her fingers twice on the script cover.

Don't you think we're taking too big a step?

"I just signed contracts for three films, and now I have to produce them myself, sign new directors, and build a long-term development system for my studio."

"What's wrong, Ellie? Where did your crazy side go?" Fang Yuan said.

"Many things have to be done sooner or later. Signing James Wan is for three or five years from now."

Content assets in this industry aren't accumulated through individual efforts; they're built through people.

He didn't look at Ellie when he said this; his gaze was fixed on the paper on the table with James Wan's name on it.