After finishing the meeting with Curry, Owen walked calmly through the house.
It was about half an hour before four in the afternoon.
They had spent almost five hours talking about Curve, far longer than he had planned to devote to a Sunday meeting. However, once they started reviewing the project, time had slipped away without him noticing.
The good thing was that they had made considerable progress, and it could be released before long.
With his share of work already done, Owen had no intention of spending the entire afternoon locked inside the office, especially after finishing the filming of San Junipero only the day before.
'Where is she?' Owen thought, finding the living room empty.
He glanced into the equally empty kitchen and changed direction.
If Jenna was not here, she had to be in her own space. It was not exactly an office.
Although Jenna had begun getting increasingly involved in some projects and taking on certain responsibilities as an executive producer, she still did not need a room filled with documents, monitors, and production calendars.
The house had several spare rooms, so Jenna had chosen one to turn into a space of her own. A mixture between a reading room and a small library where she could review scripts and read for hours in a space that felt more personal, like a bedroom, rather than Owen's own office.
Owen reached the door and opened it without announcing himself.
There were several bookshelves against the walls, already partially filled with books, novels, and a few scripts. Near the window, two large beanbags rested on a light-colored rug, accompanied by a small table where a mug, a pencil, and several folded sheets of paper had accumulated.
The afternoon light streamed through the window, filling the room with a warm glow. A song played at a low volume from a speaker placed on one of the bookshelves.
Jenna was reclining on one of the beanbags, her legs bent and an open book held between her hands.
Her hair was tied up carelessly, and she was wearing comfortable clothes.
Jenna looked up from the book, "Don't you know how to knock?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her tone carried no genuine annoyance.
Owen closed the door behind him and walked toward her, "You come into my office without knocking, but I have to ask permission to come in here," he replied, "What an interesting difference in privileges."
Jenna gave him a faint smile, unable to contradict him.
Satisfied with that small victory, Owen dropped onto Jenna's beanbag, practically on top of her.
"Hey, careful," Jenna protested through her laughter.
She shifted as best she could to make room for him, although the beanbag was barely large enough for both of them. Owen eventually settled beside her, their bodies pressed together and part of his weight still resting on her.
"How did the meeting go?" Jenna asked after a few seconds.
"Very well. Curry had already done quite a bit of work: the shooting script, a filming plan, the type of lead actress we should look for…" Owen replied in a good mood, "It's going to save me a lot of time."
Jenna closed the book, keeping one finger between the pages so she would not lose her place, "That's great. Very professional."
"He is. Much better prepared than I imagined," Owen admitted, the surprise still evident in his voice.
He had seen The Chair, of course, but that was Curry's first serious short film.
Until then, his YouTube channel had mainly focused on comedy sketches. Curry acted, wrote much of the content, and handled almost everything alongside his friend Cooper.
Because of that, Owen had not known to what extent he could truly consider him a director.
The fact that his first horror short had gone viral and received an award at LA Shorts proved that he had talent, but it could also have been the result of an especially good idea and a fortunate production.
After reviewing his work that morning, Owen no longer believed that.
Curry understood cinematic language, knew how to translate a literary script into images, and had developed an almost complete shooting script without anyone having to guide him step by step.
"Matt has a good eye," Jenna commented, nodding as she listened.
"Yes," Owen agreed, "He's a good talent scout."
Jenna looked at him with amusement, "A talent scout?"
"For YouTube directors," Owen explained, "I'm going to tell him to keep looking through small channels and send me reports. With any luck, he'll find another one before someone else hires them."
Jenna laughed.
For a moment, she imagined Matt wearing a cap and dark sunglasses, sitting in front of several monitors like a sports scout, except that instead of watching future players on a football field, he spent hours browsing YouTube in search of promising filmmakers hidden among thousands of channels.
After that, the room fell silent again.
Owen remained wrapped around her, his head resting near her shoulder, while the music continued playing softly in the background.
Jenna was about to open the book again to the page where she had left off when Owen spoke.
"I'm sorry."
Jenna stopped her hand over the book, "Why?" she asked.
Although, in truth, she did not need many clues to imagine what he meant.
"About the other day…" Owen replied, "When you asked what I thought about the offer they made you, and I criticized it rather directly by saying it was a terrible idea."
Jenna watched him for a moment, "Yes. You did."
Owen had been too blunt.
She had asked what he thought after telling him about the project and reading him the script. She had been looking for an opinion she valued.
Owen had ignored the script itself and started listing all the reasons why the project was too risky, why Abel did not have enough experience as an actor, why the warning signs were too obvious, and why accepting it could end up hurting her.
It had not been a measured criticism.
He had reacted as though Jenna had just asked whether she should jump off a building without looking down.
And although some of his concerns made sense, the way he expressed them had been what triggered the argument.
"That's why I'm sorry," Owen continued, "I was thinking about the entire context of the project and how it could affect you if it went badly. When I saw that you didn't seem as worried about those things, I reacted worse than I should have."
He paused briefly and added, "You asked me about the script, and I ended up talking as though you were about to make the worst decision of your life."
Jenna set the book aside and began stroking his hair, "Mm. I see," she murmured, "Apology accepted."
Owen lifted his head and pulled away just enough to look at her, "That quickly?"
Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Why would I play hard to get?"
Owen did not answer.
"You realized you said it badly and apologized," she continued, "I don't need to turn it into a three-day argument just to prove that it bothered me."
Her tone was calm.
She was not pretending that it had not affected her. At the time, hearing his reaction had hurt, precisely because she valued his opinion so highly.
But she also understood where it had come from.
Owen took filmmaking too seriously. He thought about filmographies, reputations, and the consequences of every project as though every decision were a move capable of changing an entire career.
Besides, in this case, he had also been worried about her.
Owen could be stubborn when it came to matters of film. The fact that he admitted he had been wrong already said a great deal.
"I know you didn't say it to hurt me," Jenna added, "You were just worried and chose the worst possible way to express it."
Owen remained looking at her for several seconds.
That was one of the things he liked most about them.
They did not turn every disagreement into endless drama. From the beginning, they had both treated their relationship that way.
Sometimes they argued, but they did not punish each other with silence or allow an uncomfortable conversation to grow into something much bigger.
"Well, now that we've settled this, I'll tell you what I think about the script and the project in general in a civilized way," Owen said with a faint smile.
"I'm all ears," Jenna replied, "I'll take it into account."
Owen began his explanation. The script Jenna had read to him felt incomplete.
That was the first problem.
If they truly intended to begin filming within one or two months, they would have to move forward with a story that was still not fully defined.
Besides, the text relied on too many metaphors.
It did not feel like a traditional thriller, nor did it seem interested in building clear tension. From what Jenna had told him, the project would also function as an extension of Abel's musical universe, almost as a way to accompany or promote his next album.
That was not necessarily a bad thing. But it did make it more difficult to understand what kind of film they were actually trying to make.
Then he continued with the rest.
Abel had not had enough time between The Idol and that new project to improve considerably as an actor. Going directly from such a heavily criticized series to starring in a multimillion-dollar film was risky, to say the least.
There was also the matter of creative control.
If HBO and A24 had already ended up giving in to him during The Idol, changing the original vision and replacing the director, Owen saw no reason to believe things would be any different this time.
Especially when all the money would be coming from Abel himself.
Under those conditions, he would probably do whatever he wanted.
Trey might be credited as the director, but Owen doubted how much real power he would have to defend a vision of his own if major disagreements arose.
Working on a set like that, with an unfinished script and a central figure controlling both the production and the story, could turn into a chaotic and exhausting experience.
Jenna listened to everything without interrupting him.
This time, there was no contempt in Owen's words or any impulsive reaction. Only a cold assessment of the project.
When he finished, she nodded slowly, "So, you don't think there's anything worthwhile about it?" she asked.
Owen remained silent for a few seconds.
"The money," he finally replied.
Jenna could not deny that it was true.
More than a million dollars, along with executive producer credits, in exchange for approximately one month of filming, was an enormous offer.
Her contract for the second season of Wednesday was around two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per episode. Two million in total, but that job required months of preparation, involvement in the development of the character, and more than five months of filming once production began.
In this case, she could earn around half of that while working for only a fraction of the time.
Owen understood perfectly why that was appealing.
Actors had to take advantage of their best moments.
Fame did not guarantee longevity.
An actor could star in the biggest success of their career and still spend years without finding another major project. Others ended up trapped in a single character, unable to convince audiences or studios that they could do something different.
That was why accepting a very well-paid job, even one with several warning signs, was not necessarily a stupid decision.
Michael Caine was a good example.
The legendary British actor had been paid one million dollars for barely two weeks of filming on Jaws: The Revenge, released in 1987.
The film ended up being a disaster.
The reviews were terrible, the audience reception was not much better, and commercially, it fell far below the previous installments. It was the least successful film in the entire franchise and ended up being remembered as one of the worst productions Caine had ever taken part in.
However, he never seemed particularly concerned about it.
In different interviews, he had admitted that he did not even need to defend the quality of the film. The check he received allowed him to buy his mother a house, and from his perspective, that was something wonderful.
In the end, not every actor aspired to build a perfect filmography.
Some accepted projects for the money. Others because they needed to remain visible, fulfill contracts, or take advantage of a period of popularity that could disappear at any moment.
Owen was different.
He did not want a truly bad film in his career. That was why he carefully studied every offer he received, reviewed complete scripts, and tried to understand who would have creative control before accepting.
Actors like that were probably a minority.
DiCaprio could afford to be that selective, but not everyone had the prestige, opportunities, or stability necessary to turn down work for years until the right project came along.
That did not mean Owen avoided every kind of risk.
He had made it to the final stages of the casting process to play Superman in James Gunn's film. He had liked the script, but he had no way of knowing whether the production would ultimately become a critical or commercial success.
That kind of uncertainty was unavoidable.
The difference was that, even if the film failed, Owen felt the material had a solid foundation. At the very least, it did not seem destined to become an embarrassing production or an obvious stain on his filmography.
For him, taking risks was acceptable.
Accepting something that seemed poorly constructed from the beginning was not.
"So the money is the only good thing this project can offer?" Jenna asked.
"No..." Owen replied, "Your character could give you some protection from Abel and allow you to stand out."
From there, he began explaining what he meant.
The executive producer credits could give her a certain degree of power over the script.
Abel probably would not allow her to change the broad strokes of the story or alter the overall direction of the film. Jenna would not have the freedom to rewrite it completely or turn the project into something different.
But she could demand control over her own character.
She could make sure her motivations were coherent, improve the dialogue, remove scenes that hurt her, and protect her arc so that it had enough depth.
With that, the role could offer her something valuable.
Even if the film ended up being bad, a character with enough dramatic range and several strong scenes could become a vehicle for showcasing her talent.
It could force her to take risks, work with different emotions, and show a more mature side of herself as an actress.
That, by itself, had some value.
As long as she was willing to accept that the overall result might not work.
It was a particular way of approaching the project: stop thinking only about the film as a whole and focus on what she could achieve with her character.
In that sense, Jenna had far more opportunities to protect herself than an actress hired solely to follow instructions.
Owen also acknowledged that building a professional relationship with Trey could be positive, just as Jenna had pointed out during their previous conversation.
For an actor, working with new directors and leaving a good impression always had value.
Many directors tended to return to the same performers again and again once they found someone they worked well with. Christopher Nolan was one of the clearest examples.
Trey did not yet have a comparable career, but he maintained a close relationship with A24 and seemed to have potential.
If Jenna managed to get along with him and show that she was professional, prepared, and easy to direct, that connection could open doors for her later, even if that particular film did not end up working.
Taking all those factors into account, Owen understood why someone might accept the offer.
If Owen were in her position and did not care so much about maintaining an almost flawless filmography, he would probably consider accepting as well.
Even if the project ended up receiving a response similar to The Idol, the consequences would not be as catastrophic as he had implied during their first argument.
When it was released, there might be criticism, controversy, and comments wondering why she had agreed to participate after reading the script.
But that would eventually pass.
One bad film did not ruin an actress's career forever, especially if her performance was one of its redeeming qualities. Most of the responsibility would fall on the people who had written, produced, and creatively controlled the project.
She would not stop being hired for the rest of her life or become permanently marked by a single failed film.
Owen simply had a much lower tolerance for that kind of risk. He was too much of a perfectionist when it came to his career.
With that, he finished laying out his analysis. This time, he had not limited himself to listing everything that could go wrong. He had also acknowledged the project's advantages.
"Thank you. I appreciate it, and I'll keep it in mind," Jenna said, nodding.
That was precisely what she had been looking for when she first asked for his opinion.
Owen nodded. From that point on, the decision was hers.
After that, they remained settled on the same beanbag, still pressed together, while the conversation moved on to less delicate subjects.
They ended up talking about what awaited them during the final weeks of August and throughout September.
Owen would try to have Curve ready between late September and early October. He would also have to attend the festival where Lights Out would premiere.
In addition, he remembered that the next trailer for The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes would be released in September.
Lionsgate had informed him that it would come out on September 20.
"I still forget that you're going to appear in a Hunger Games movie this year," Jenna commented, sounding somewhat surprised.
"Me too," Owen admitted, "It feels like a thousand years have passed since I filmed it."
"Do they edit at a snail's pace?" Jenna asked with an amused smile, "When you filmed that movie, we hadn't even met yet. Since then, you've released Paranormal Activity, The Spectacular Now, and Good Will Hunting. And that's without counting everything you've posted on YouTube."
Owen laughed, "Yes, they're pretty slow. Maybe they did reshoots or something I don't know about."
When he took part in the filming of The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes, Paranormal Activity had not even been released yet. The film was already finished, and Owen was negotiating its distribution with A24.
At the time, the Lionsgate role had been an opportunity secured by Larry, his manager. An important supporting role in a well-known franchise, but one he had accepted when Owen was only beginning to make his way into the industry.
By the time the film reached theaters, his position would be completely different.
He would no longer be a young, unknown actor playing a supporting role.
He would have starred in several hits, won major awards, and built an enormous community around Second Take Films. It was even possible that part of the audience would pay more attention to his presence than to that of the actual leads.
"I'm sure they'll ask me to share the trailer," Owen said, "And when the release gets closer, they'll ask me to do all the usual promotion."
Interviews, red carpets, photo shoots, social media content, and probably some kind of press tour alongside the rest of the cast.
Lionsgate had already released a first trailer on April 27, 2023.
At the time, the studio had asked Owen to share it on his social media accounts. Even then, he had a considerable audience, so promoting it through his accounts could give the campaign an additional boost.
Owen agreed without raising too many objections.
Since then, the trailer had surpassed twenty million views on the Lionsgate Movies channel.
However, his fame in April was still not comparable to what it was now.
Cannes had not happened yet.
Good Will Hunting had not been released to worldwide audiences either.
In only a few months, his position had changed at a speed that was difficult to imagine.
His personal Instagram account had already surpassed twenty million followers, far more than Rachel Zegler and Tom Blyth combined. On Twitter, he was approaching ten million, while the Second Take Films channel had exceeded twelve million subscribers.
The ironic part was that, when Owen signed the contract, Lionsgate had not considered it necessary to require extensive participation from him in the promotional campaign.
His presence on press tours, interviews, and major events was listed as practically optional.
The character was important, yes, but still a supporting one. At the time, the studio saw little reason to take on the expense of flying him to different cities, including him on every red carpet, or turning him into one of the central figures of the promotion.
Now the situation was completely different.
Lionsgate could not force him to participate in every activity, but the studio had already begun sending him tentative dates, press plans, and proposals for him to attend as many events as possible.
What had not seemed worth the expense when he signed the contract had become one of the campaign's most valuable tools.
Owen was already planning to accept.
After all, it was a film he had worked on, and he wanted it to succeed. He had no intention of distancing himself from it simply because his position within the industry had changed since filming.
As for Jenna, she would also have to deal with the premiere of Finestkind, a film she had shot several months earlier.
It was a crime drama thriller directed by Brian Helgeland, winner of the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay in 1998.
The film would have its world premiere on September 8 at the Toronto International Film Festival.
TIFF was considered one of the most important film festivals in the world, placed in the same category as Cannes, Venice, Berlin, and Sundance.
However, it had a rather different identity.
While Cannes was more elitist and closely associated with auteur cinema, Toronto combined artistic prestige with Hollywood's commercial market. Major studios, distributors, producers, and buyers attended every year in search of films that could become hits or enter the awards season.
Owen would accompany Jenna to Canada for the premiere.
They would only spend the weekend in Toronto, so the trip would not interfere too much with the rest of their commitments.
Besides, he had no intention of refusing.
Jenna had accompanied him during his stay in Cannes, which had lasted much longer than a weekend. She also planned to attend the festival where Lights Out would premiere with him, in addition to having accompanied him to other important events over the previous few months.
It was only fair that Owen do the same for her, and he did not consider it an obligation either.
He was looking forward to seeing the film, experiencing the atmosphere of the Toronto Film Festival, and doing a little sightseeing.
The only disadvantage he saw with Finestkind, although he had not watched it yet and therefore could not judge its quality, was the strategy Paramount had chosen.
After its presentation in Toronto, the film would not receive a wide commercial theatrical release. It would be released directly on Paramount+, the studio's streaming platform.
It was not a particularly unusual decision.
Many companies did the same with films they did not believe had enough box office potential. Instead of investing tens of millions in distribution, prints, and advertising for a theatrical release, they preferred to use them as exclusive content to strengthen their platforms.
From a business perspective, it made sense.
A new film could attract subscribers, expand the catalog, and keep the platform active without taking on the risk of an expensive theatrical campaign.
However, many directors, actors, and screenwriters were not particularly happy with that model.
But at least Finestkind would have the opportunity to be presented to audiences at one of the most prestigious festivals in the world before reaching streaming.
The rest of Sunday passed quietly.
Owen and Jenna spent much of the afternoon in that room, sunk into the beanbag and talking without any particular hurry. At some point, Jenna opened the book again, although she barely managed to read a few pages before they started talking once more.
It was not until their hunger became impossible to ignore that they finally bothered to get up.
They left the room and went to the kitchen to prepare something together.
On Monday morning, Owen posted the casting call on Backstage to find the lead actress for Curve.
He expected to receive a considerable number of applications.
What he did not expect was such an overwhelming response.
Within the first three hours, the casting call surpassed four hundred applications.
A typical independent project posted on Backstage might receive between one hundred and three hundred applications over several days, depending on the pay, location, and character requirements.
Curve had exceeded that range in a single morning.
But that was not all.
By mid-afternoon, Larry called him.
Several agents had contacted him to ask about the short film.
By the end of the day, Owen and Curry had accumulated more than eight hundred applications through Backstage alone.
In addition, fourteen professional actresses had expressed interest through their agents. Some had legitimate television and independent film credits and were represented by agencies such as Gersh, Paradigm, and even UTA and CAA.
Owen remained in front of his computer screen, watching the list of profiles continue to grow.
'What the hell?' he thought.
They were only looking for a lead actress for a ten-minute horror short.
And yet actresses represented by well-known agencies wanted the role.
…
Inde Navarrette woke up on Monday close to noon.
Yes, quite late.
But as an actress in Hollywood, she did not have a fixed routine. When she was not filming, auditioning, or attending a meeting, her schedule could become fairly irregular.
She got out of bed, made a quick coffee, and went straight to her computer.
While the machine booted up, she took a sip from the mug and mentally went over what she had to do that day.
That afternoon, she had to walk some dogs.
It was one of the sources of income that allowed her to keep paying the rent on her Los Angeles apartment without dipping into her savings.
It was a little funny and a little sad.
She was represented by CAA, one of the most important talent agencies in the world, and yet she still did not have any real financial stability.
She had landed important credits.
Her first high-profile project had been the fourth season of 13 Reasons Why on Netflix. Then came Superman & Lois, the most important and consistent job of her career.
For three seasons, she had played Sarah Cortez as part of the main cast of The CW series.
However, that did not mean she had become a millionaire.
Her pay was in a much more modest range within the industry, although it was still considerable for someone her age.
The real problem was that Superman & Lois had come to an end.
Inde had already filmed her scenes for the fourth season, received the corresponding check, and, as far as she knew, the episodes would be released sometime in 2024.
After that, there would be no more work.
The cancellation was connected to DC's restructuring and the new cinematic universe James Gunn and the rest of the studio were preparing. With a new Superman film set to launch that era, they did not want to keep another television version of the character around for too long.
'Damn James Gunn…' Inde thought, resting one hand on the mouse.
She knew the decision had absolutely nothing to do with her, but that did not make it any less annoying.
Her most stable job had disappeared.
Even so, her financial situation was not dangerous.
At least, not yet.
Thanks to Superman & Lois and the other projects she had taken part in, she had managed to save a considerable amount of money. Her per-episode salary was not among the highest in the cast, ranging from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars before taxes, commissions, and other expenses.
Over the years, she had managed to save more than one hundred thousand dollars.
It was an important cushion.
If she controlled her expenses, she could continue paying rent and maintain a relatively comfortable life for almost two years, even if she did not earn a single dollar during that period.
But that was not an especially comforting thought.
Her savings were there to give her security, not so she could sit back and watch them shrink month after month.
CAA was still getting her auditions.
The problem was that she was not landing the roles.
Sometimes she advanced to the final stages of casting and lost out to another actress. Other times, she received the rejection much earlier.
Several months had already passed without her securing a new project.
That was why she had started walking dogs.
Not because she was on the verge of poverty, but because she hated the idea of spending entire weeks without earning a single dollar. Besides, she liked animals, and the job gave her a reason to leave the apartment.
She had also started livestreaming after building her own gaming computer.
Unlike someone starting completely from scratch, Inde already had more than two hundred thousand followers on Instagram and a small community of fans who knew her from Superman & Lois and 13 Reasons Why.
Her first streams had attracted a decent audience.
She was not a major content creator, but enough people were interested in watching her play, chat, and answer questions for it to begin generating some money.
And, above all, it was fun.
Being out of work could become desperately boring.
Auditions only took up a few hours. After that, entire days remained with no filming, rehearsals, or anything particularly important to do.
Walking dogs, playing video games, and interacting with her followers allowed her to fill that time without feeling completely unproductive.
Inde left a YouTube video playing while she finished breakfast.
If drinking coffee could be considered breakfast.
Then she picked up her phone and began scrolling through the screen without much interest. She watched a few short videos, replied to a message, and moved on to the stories posted by the accounts she followed: friends, former castmates, news pages, celebrities, meme pages...
She watched some stories for a few seconds. Others she skipped almost immediately.
Until a name she quickly recognized appeared: Owen Ashford.
The story had been posted a few hours earlier.
Inde stopped scrolling.
The image showed a computer screen open on what appeared to be Backstage. Over it was a short line of text.
[Applications are now open for the new Second Take Films short film]
Inde blinked, 'Second Take Films is producing a new short?'
That woke her up far more quickly than the coffee.
She sat up straighter in her chair and checked that the story really belonged to Owen. Then she looked up the official Second Take Films account, which she also followed.
The same post was there.
Inde left Instagram, opened Backstage, and began searching for the listing.
It did not take her long to find it.
Curve.
A horror short film produced by Second Take Films.
They were looking for a single female lead.
Inde opened the casting call and began reading carefully. She had barely reached the end before thinking, 'I need that role.'
The pay was not going to change her life.
They would probably offer between two and five thousand dollars for the entire job. A small amount compared to what she had earned in television and almost irrelevant next to her savings.
Although, if filming lasted only a few days, it was still good pay for a limited amount of time.
Far better than walking dogs or streaming.
However, the money was the least important part.
Second Take Films was not simply an entertainment channel on YouTube.
It was a production company with prestige and enormous reach.
Inde had watched every video. Each one had accumulated millions of views, and several had surpassed numbers that many television series never reached.
Besides, it was not only about internet popularity.
Their projects had received excellent reviews, appeared at major festivals, and won awards that any independent filmmaker would dream of earning.
Lights Out had even ended up becoming a feature film.
If Inde managed to star in the channel's next horror short, probably released around Halloween, millions of people would see her.
Not as a supporting character in a series.
As the undisputed lead.
The main face of the project.
That alone could grow her social media following far beyond what she had achieved with Superman & Lois. It could also attract the attention of producers, directors, and casting executives who might still see her only as a young actress from The CW.
Even within CAA, landing the role would have value.
It would not be just another failed audition.
It would prove that she could compete for an Owen Ashford project and win the part.
It would also mean working with whichever director they chose for the short, building a relationship with Second Take Films, and meeting Owen himself.
And, if the project followed the path of the previous short films, it could end up at festivals, receive nominations, or even become something bigger.
Yes.
Without a doubt, she had to get that role