That night, the wide releases weren't limited to mr. & mrs. smith; Luc Besson's danny the dog also opened, and last weekend's kingdom of heaven kept its previous screen count. These three titles now formed North America's widest theatrical lineup.
With two new wide releases hitting at once, Ceasre's survey specialists had fanned out to multiplexes across the country to capture first-hand audience data, analyze it, and forecast each film's trajectory—and ultimate North American gross.
Howard Miller was one of them. After wolfing down dinner he hurried to West Hollywood's biggest, most prominent cinema chain.
While the features were still rolling, Howard Miller tracked down the house's operations manager. He haunted West Hollywood year-round and had long since befriended the key staff at every major theatre in the area.
From inside the ops office he asked, "Kohler, how are the big three playing?"
Kohler, a bald man in mid-life, took the cigarette Howard offered, glanced out the window to confirm no one was watching, lit up, and inhaled with obvious pleasure.
Howard lit one for himself, then stepped to the air-conditioner and switched it to exhaust.
Kohler dragged hard and exhaled a cloud. "kingdom of heaven was soft last week; today's attendance is even worse—its whole-day gross can't top mr. & mrs. smith's evening previews. Of course, Smith had a fan screening, so the occupancy looked insane."
"A rented auditorium?" Howard looked over. "What kind?"
"Not what you're thinking." Kohler saw the implication and shook his head. "A Matthew Horner fan club in West Hollywood booked a 200-seat house—pulled about a hundred and sixty."
Howard nodded, flipping open his notebook. "Just the one?"
"You mean just my site or the whole AG chain?" Kohler asked.
"Give me both." Howard smiled.
"Only one here," Kohler said after a beat. "But I talked to corporate yesterday—sounded like AG theatres in New York, Seattle, Phoenix, Houston, Chicago and plenty of other midsize markets all had Horner fan clubs buying out previews of mr. & mrs. smith."
Howard realized at once that Horner's followers were organizing; if true, those coordinated groups could push the picture well past expectations.
Advance sales for mr. & mrs. smith had already been solid; the company had forecast a fifty-to-fifty-five-million opening. Clearly they'd underestimated Matthew Horner's pull.
He adopted a joking tone. "So, Kohler, based on your experience—opening weekend?"
Kohler countered, "What's your outfit predicting?"
"Fifty to fifty-five."
Kohler waved the number away. "Too low, way too safe." He pointed to a lobby poster. "Tonight my theatre sold more tickets to Smith than Kingdom plus Danny multiplied by three. And look at the buzz—Matthew Horner and Charlize Theron are everywhere; the other two aren't even in the conversation. Plus, corporate told us this afternoon—starting tomorrow Kingdom drops fifteen points, every last one of which shifts to Smith."
Howard gave a small nod.
Kohler went on. "If the previews hold, I'd bet Smith grabs forty percent of all screens in North America by tomorrow."
"Look, Howard—twenty-plus years in this game—I'm telling you, with that star heat and the fan army, Smith's weekend should come in twenty, maybe thirty percent above your call."
"And don't forget," he stressed, "Horner's last three pictures were juggernauts. His commercial pull isn't something you measure against arthouse award-chasers."
That remark triggered a memory. "I read a paper," Howard said, "some market-research shop claims Horner's box-office magnetism outclasses most A-listers."
Koller snorted. "Plenty of A-listers are manufactured—chasing prestige, chasing awards, chasing fashion. How much box-office pull do they really have? I tell you, once mr. & mrs. smith explodes, Matthew Horner will be solidly A-list."
"Mmm." Howard Miller largely agreed, but added, "Pity he hasn't got a single performance award to his name."
Koller, who ran commercial circuits, was openly scornful. "Performance trophies? Ask the studios if they care. The first thing that decides Matthew Horner's standing is his quote, and that's based on the last three films' grosses..."
Howard Miller cut in. "Koller, that's box-office fundamentalism!"
I'm not the one worshipping box office!" Koller stubbed out his cigarette. "Hollywood's producers are!"
For a moment Howard Miller couldn't think of a rebuttal.
Koller checked the butt was dead, flicked it into the trash and said, "Once this mr. & mrs. smith hits, Matthew Horner will get several times more Crew invites than this year's Oscar Best Actor Winner Jamie Foxx."
The digital watch on Howard Miller's wrist beeped twice. He glanced down. "danny the dog's about to finish. I'm heading out."
Koller waved him off. "Come back when you're done—coffee's on me.
At the auditorium exit Howard Miller waited a few minutes. As patrons straggled out he approached the first, handed over a small gift, and started his exit survey.
Asked about the film, the moviegoer bristled. "danny the dog is garbage. I only came for Luc Besson and Morgan Freeman, but it's a wreck. Wish I'd seen Matthew Horner in mr. & mrs. smith instead—at least the lead's a hunk!"
After he left, Howard Miller stopped a second patron, who looked blank. "I lasted half an hour, got so bored I fell asleep. No idea what happened after, so—no comment."
Howard Miller blinked. Just how dull must a movie be to put people to sleep?
The rest of the comments were lukewarm; the best anyone offered was "It's watchable, I guess."
Before the danny the dog crowd had even finished, he abandoned post and hurried to the adjoining exits—mr. & mrs. smith was letting out.
In terms of importance and resale value of exit-poll data, how could danny the dog compete with mr. & mrs. smith?
Luc Besson is famous, but in North America his draw is nowhere near Matthew Horner's. As for Jet Li—who thinks his stateside fame or market pull rivals an oscar best actress winner?
Howard Miller repacked his bag, clutching a stack of questionnaires and giveaway pens. Unlike the Danny survey, Ceasre had printed custom cards for mr. & mrs. smith.
The card asked three things: a one-sentence review, a grade from A to F, and the reason for attending.
One auditorium door opened first; a stream of fans filed out wearing identical T-shirts printed with Matthew Horner's face. Howard Miller stayed back—no need to ask; their answers were obvious.
Soon the second exit spilled patrons, and he moved in.
Short on time, he managed to hand out just over a dozen forms. Collecting them, he sat on a nearby bench and skimmed the replies.
"This movie is a total blast!"
"Sparks were bound to fly when the two 'sexiest people alive' collide."
"I loved watching Matthew and Theron unload heavy artillery on each other—how bad-ass is that?"
For some reason the word artillery sparked an unwelcome image; he half-recalled Scarlett Johansson joking in an interview for the island that Matthew Horner was packing a super-sized cannon.
The thought vanished as he tallied the cards: top score A, lowest B-, averaging roughly A-.
If other multiplexes mirrored this, the word-of-mouth for a pure popcorn flick was more than respectable.