"What's the final box-office number?" Matthew asked, concerned.
"$88.6 million in North America—didn't break 90."
The figure matched most earlier forecasts, so Helen Herman wasn't surprised. "Global gross is nearing $190 million. Unless the dozen small overseas markets yet to open explode, we're unlikely to top $200 million worldwide."
She looked at Matthew. "dawn of the dead is already a success. It tells Hollywood you can open a movie solo, and you fit modern action."
Matthew nodded; he knew that. After a moment he asked, "When does my back-end on dawn of the dead arrive?"
Per his contract, if North America topped $70 million but stayed below $90 million, he received three percent of the domestic gross as a bonus.
"Fastest payout is two months. Don't worry—I'll track it." She changed the subject. "I visited the mr. & mrs. smith set yesterday and picked up fresh intel."
Matthew didn't ask; he simply sipped his water.
"Besides you and Brad Pitt, the studio sent invites to Johnny Depp and Will Smith last week."
Those names made Matthew blink—A-Listers, proof the production was determined to land bankable stars.
"Depp?" Matthew frowned slightly.
"Johnny Depp passed outright," Helen said. "Might be partly because of you."
Matthew rubbed his chin. "Depp's a solid friend."
Helen moved on. "Will Smith's prepping a solo album and begged off for scheduling."
Matthew wasn't surprised; before movies, Smith had been a rapper—common knowledge around town.
"Anyone else?" he asked.
"They also considered Tom Cruise and Mark Wahlberg."
Helen sped up. "Tom's feuding with Pat Kingsley and mired in faith-scandal headlines—makes the studio nervous. Wahlberg's talking to Martin Scorsese and declined."
Matthew nodded. "So it's really just me and Brad Pitt?"
Pretty much," Helen said. "A few smaller names will read, but if you hit your marks they're no threat."
"Brad Pitt…" Matthew mused, recalling Jennifer Aniston at last week's premiere. Had Angelina Jolie snagged Pitt before cameras rolled or after?
Helen stood. "troy opens tomorrow."
Matthew lifted his glass again. "With that spend and push, even if the film's weak it can't totally tank."
troy carried a public production budget of $175 million and an $80 million P&A war-chest; you could blast a hole through armor with that much cash.
Helen sounded less sure. "Word around town isn't good."
Matthew glanced at her. He couldn't recall troy's eventual gross, but he remembered the viral screenshot of Achilles with an airplane overhead—never learned if it was fake.
"Notice? Press and online—zero early reviews," she said. "Two press screenings, yet nothing leaked. Only one explanation."
"Warner's locked it down. van helsing only had internal Universal screenings, so silence made sense. troy screened publicly—silence means Warner blacked it out."
"Bad notices?" Matthew caught her drift.
"Very likely. If reviews were strong Warner would trumpet them to pull crowds. Critics trade in credibility; if a picture's rotten, even the biggest outlets can't pretend it's fresh without shredding their reputations."
Matthew remembered reading a professional analysis on this not long ago—before a new Hollywood release, studios usually hold test screenings. Some reporters and critics get to see the finished film early and agree to post their reviews at a set time.
Normally, about a week before the official premiere, reviews and reports surface in the media and online, and sites like Rotten Tomatoes publish the first wave of critiques.
If the studio is confident, they can't wait to shout it from the rooftops. But if reviews are embargoed until opening day—or critics were never invited—odds are the film has problems.
Of course, there's the rare case like van helsing, where the studio's confidence is simply overinflated.
Most of the time, when word of mouth is poor, the studio tries to delay every review so as many unsuspecting moviegoers as possible buy tickets before the truth gets out.
Some analysts even treat constant release-date shuffles the same way: an early warning sign of a stinker.
Matthew sighed softly. "Best-case scenario—troy bombs at the box office. Saves me a lot of headaches."
Helen Herman didn't reply; she knew none of those external factors were within their control.
"By the way," Matthew changed the subject, "how are Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt doing?"
Helen gave him a curious look. "Typical celebrity couple. But they're financially intertwined; they co-founded Plan B… and I think Plan B is involved with troy as well."
"Why do you ask?" she added, puzzled.
"Last week at the van helsing premiere, Gwyneth Paltrow and Jennifer Aniston got into a catfight. I happened to give Jennifer a tiny bit of help."
"You don't imagine Jennifer Aniston will return the favor, do you?" Helen had heard about the incident.
"Helen…" Matthew tapped his nose. "Do I look that stupid?"
"Find someone to check for me—have Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston hired a nanny?"
Thanks to the media circus around Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's divorce, he vaguely remembered certain… preferences of Pitt's.
Helen frowned. "A nanny? What are you up to?"
"Relax, I'm a law-abiding citizen. I'm not gambling with my future or my paycheck."
"Isn't Red Penguin Company on retainer for you?" Helen ignored his assurances. "They're small but well-connected in Hollywood. Ask them."
"All right." Matthew weighed it quickly. "I'll talk to Red Penguin."
Helen warned, "Don't do anything reckless. You're not a nobody anymore."
Matthew rubbed his chin, lost in thought, as if he hadn't heard her.
"What exactly are you planning?" Helen asked, brow furrowed.
Matthew leaned in and whispered; Helen's expression turned graver by the second.
Half an hour later Matthew finally paused for a sip of water. "Doable?"
Helen paced the room in silence, then stopped. "We can try. If nothing's there, we drop it."
Her thoughts crystallized. "If there is, we hit from three angles: a potential troy box-office crash, your edge in action roles, and what you just told me."
She added, "The film starts shooting mid-July—overlaps with Ocean's Twelve. That's another advantage."
Matthew nodded. "I'll set a meeting with Red Penguin."
He pulled out his phone and called Lister, arranging to meet at a Hollywood Boulevard café.
"Done." Matthew stood. "I'm off."
Helen reiterated, "Ask, but that's it. If there's something, I'll handle the rest. You stay out of it."
Matthew knew Helen had grown up in this town—she was the local fixer. "Got it. I'll call you."
Soon Matthew left Angel Talent Agency, reached the café on Hollywood Boulevard, and met Lister, a Red Penguin veteran who knew every nanny and housekeeper in town.
After coffee and a request to keep an eye out for a new house, Matthew returned to Angel Agency and holed up in Helen's office until quitting time.
Set on landing the lead in mr. & mrs. smith, they intended to win—no matter what it took.