1421-1425

Chapter 1421: Quality Assurance

Clearly, Forest Pictures has no interest in becoming the "second DreamWorks."

If this conversation were overheard in Hollywood, it would likely be met with ridicule.

After all, in 2004, DreamWorks truly stood at the pinnacle of Hollywood, setting the standard for independent film studios.

After a decade of growth and accumulation, the company underwent a transformation following the massive box office success of Shrek. DreamWorks officially joined the ranks of top-tier studios alongside Warner Bros. and Disney. Now, when people discuss Hollywood’s elite, they often refer to the "Big Seven," with DreamWorks firmly holding a place among them.

For any film company or newcomer to Hollywood, DreamWorks represents the ultimate goal. It did not rely on Wall Street capital or go public; from start to finish, it remained a private company fueled entirely by the passion of its three founding members. They defied financial barriers and climbed to the top of the industry pyramid.

Undoubtedly, this is the embodiment of a dream.

And yet, Forest Pictures refuses to become the "second DreamWorks"?

Heh.

Of course, true industry visionaries can see the reality: despite DreamWorks’ rapid rise over the past decade, it ultimately faces cash flow problems. In the face of financial pressures, its dream repeatedly clashes with reality, and in the end, it inevitably crumbles and falls apart.

It may not be happening right now, but the eventual dismantling of DreamWorks by Wall Street is not far off.

Anson understands this due to his memories from his past life. Lucas, on the other hand, sees it because of his professional expertise.

That’s why Lucas refuses to become the second DreamWorks.

Later, when analysts examined the successes and failures of DreamWorks, opinions varied. The issue was far from simple—there were many complex reasons behind it. However, one undeniable factor was capital.

On one hand, DreamWorks lacked sufficient distribution capabilities. While they had their own channels in North America, they still often relied on partnerships, with Paramount being their most frequent collaborator over the past decade. This meant DreamWorks had to share a portion of its profits.

On the other hand, DreamWorks' philosophy was to allow directors to bring their visions to life with minimal interference, breaking free from the overbearing control of Hollywood’s big studios. "Bravely chasing dreams"—this very principle is what gave DreamWorks its name.

The upside? DreamWorks became a paradise for directors, encouraging creativity and breaking conventions. This is how groundbreaking works like Shrek came to be.

The downside? Believing too much in dreams while neglecting reality. Despite producing numerous classics, DreamWorks also had a high number of commercial failures. In the end, its revenues couldn’t cover its losses, leading to cash flow issues.

Refusing to surrender to Wall Street’s control meant that DreamWorks’ financial gaps only widened until it lost control entirely.

At its core, whether it’s DreamWorks or any other top-tier Hollywood studio, the fundamental challenge remains the same: finding the balance between art and commerce while ensuring continuous profitability.

In other words, if DreamWorks had produced more successful films, it wouldn’t have reached the point of collapse. Similarly, if it had created more high-quality projects, directors would have had greater freedom to experiment with independent, artistic, and even commercially risky films, fostering the emergence of more talented filmmakers.

Everyone understands this in theory.

But the real question is: who can guarantee success every time?

No one.

This is precisely why major studios tirelessly search for visionary leaders capable of making wise decisions. It’s also why talented producers, directors, and A-list stars are in such high demand—studios count on their influence to maximize their chances of success.

It’s that simple.

The same applies to Forest Pictures.

If Forest Pictures wants to reach the top of Hollywood’s pyramid—or better yet, surpass DreamWorks and become a true industry giant—then ensuring the success of its films is the key.

Saying it is easy. Executing it is another matter entirely.

This is where Anson's role becomes crucial—he is to Forest Pictures what Steven Spielberg was to DreamWorks’ film division:

The guiding force.

At DreamWorks, Spielberg’s vision and judgment shaped the studio’s direction. Likewise, at Forest Pictures, Anson serves as the quality assurance for every project the company produces.

And Anson has his own perspective on this.

"We can’t build the company entirely around me—just like DreamWorks couldn’t depend solely on Spielberg."

"Beyond my projects, Forest Pictures needs to develop other films as well. I can serve as a producer without acting in them. This way, I won’t be stretched too thin, and the company's success won’t be solely tied to me."

"As you said before, the more influence I gain and the bigger Forest Pictures becomes, the stronger our voice in Hollywood. Only then can we become major players instead of just pawns."

"Of course, the key is to be selective. A single hit can be offset by three flops. We need to ensure that every project Forest Pictures undertakes is a success—whether a major success or a minor one."

"If we produce three or five consecutive hits, our tolerance for risk will increase. The industry will also see us differently."

"In that sense, choosing projects for the company is just as important as choosing my own."

His words were simple, but they made Lucas take a second look at him.

So… Anson hadn’t just been speaking offhand?

Anson spread his arms with a smug expression.

Lucas’ lips curved into a brief smile, though it quickly disappeared. "Producer? As you said, that’s still work. And Mom says you need rest."

Anson’s grin froze and immediately fell apart.

Lucas smirked but didn’t push the joke further. Instead, he slid a thick stack of project proposals toward Anson.

Even if Anson hadn’t spoken up, he would have had to review them eventually.

Lucas understood nearly everything about filmmaking—except the most important part: picking the right projects. Without Anson’s approval, things wouldn’t move forward.

"Some of these are from Edgar—Noah compiled them for review."

"Others are projects I’ve scouted under Forest Pictures' name, looking for more potential partnerships."

Chapter 1422: Action First

Lucas pushed the project proposals and scripts in front of him toward Anson.

“We’re just getting started in Hollywood. We don’t have many channels to gather scripts and projects, and our connections are limited. Producers don’t trust our capabilities. Even if they have projects, their limited choices will always favor the top studios, not us.”

“So, we’re still facing some difficulties.”

Difficulties?

Anson casually flipped through the towering stack of projects in front of him. A quick glance showed at least thirty, if not fifty, proposals. He looked at Lucas in confusion. “Not our turn? Are you sure?”

Lucas responded, “But Forest Pictures has Anson Wood.”

During the filming of Walk the Song, Anson was fully immersed in his role, paying no attention to outside matters. But just looking at the buzz and excitement within the crew, it was clear that the success of Eternal Sunshine had made waves. The entire Hollywood industry had inevitably turned its attention toward Anson.

Where can you most accurately observe Hollywood’s shifting winds? Some say it’s within the elite ranks of top producers. Others argue it’s in the makeup rooms, where stylists and artists gossip. Some believe the real action happens on set, during breaks, as crew members exchange information.

In reality, none of those are the true frontlines.

The real answer? Wall Street.

As the saying goes, follow the money, and you’ll find the truth.

When solving a crime, money often provides the most direct and effective clues. The same applies to predicting Hollywood trends.

Before Eternal Sunshine was released, discussions about the film and Anson were endless. Once the movie received critical acclaim and became a box office hit, the noise only grew louder.

In terms of media presence, Anson was undeniably Hollywood’s number one—no one could surpass him.

Box office appeal, the “$20 million club,” the “pretty face” label—Hollywood’s endless debates and power struggles were in full swing. Johnny Depp’s sudden rise and Anson Wood’s dominance seemed destined for a showdown.

Especially among those stubborn, arrogant, old-school academics clinging to Hollywood’s past glory. They refused to embrace modern trends, judging the industry from their high towers with outdated biases. Their disdain for “pretty boys” and idols would likely persist for some time.

However, Wall Street had already sensed the shift—

They might not admit it out loud, but their actions spoke louder than words.

Unlike Hollywood, Wall Street doesn’t care about artistry, acting skills, or labels. Whether it’s commercial blockbusters or indie films, idol actors or character performers—none of it matters. The only thing that does? The numbers.

And not just any numbers—profit numbers.

It’s not some unsolvable mathematical equation. Looking at the profits from just three films—The Butterfly Effect, Elephant, and Eternal Sunshine—was enough to send investors into a frenzy.

Discussions like these began circulating:

“What about getting Anson Wood for this project?”

“Anson Wood—why isn’t he on the casting list?”

“Oh, Anson? Yeah, let’s go with him. He’s a great fit.”

When a film project is in the investment stage, the script isn’t even the most important factor. Sometimes, a script isn’t even necessary. Producers and investors rarely have the patience to hear an entire storyline. What they need is a concept—a hook—and a leading actor attached to the project.

The actor alone can define the project’s positioning and market potential.

This is why the “dream cast” on investment pitches is so crucial.

It doesn’t matter if they can actually secure these actors. What matters is whether these names attract investors. That’s why you always see names like Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Cruise, and Brad Pitt on pitch decks. The same applies to female leads—Nicole Kidman, Halle Berry, Charlize Theron—the sky’s the limit.

In 99% of cases, the names on these lists never become the final cast. But the list itself is the key to securing funding.

One of the most famous examples in history? Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs.

It was his first film as a director. Though he had experience as a screenwriter, directing was a whole new challenge. To attract investors, he put together a star-studded “wish list” of actors—completely unrealistic on paper.

But incredibly, after securing funding, Tarantino actually convinced many of those actors to join the film. His pitch was so persuasive that more than half of the final cast were his original top choices, with the rest being his second choices.

The result? Reservoir Dogs became a breakout hit and marked Tarantino’s explosive entrance into Hollywood.

Now, a similar storm was brewing on Wall Street—

Anson had officially become the most bankable and influential name in Hollywood, replacing Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Cruise, reshaping the industry’s power structure.

Even Wall Street elites—who had no interest in movies and only cared about financial returns—were now familiar with Anson Wood’s name. His influence was spreading across Hollywood, starting from the financial sector.

Johnny Depp?

Sure, he was popular too. But he wasn’t on Anson’s level.

Because of this, even though Forest Pictures was a newcomer in Hollywood, scripts and projects were flooding in.

One after another, producers claimed, “This project was made for Anson.”

Some wanted to secure Forest Pictures as an investor. Others simply wanted to get Anson’s attention. Even if they didn’t land him, they could still leverage his name to attract other producers and investors. No matter what, it was a win-win.

However, compared to Edgar, the frenzy around Forest Pictures was nothing.

The reason? Simple.

The projects sent to Forest Pictures carried a hint of speculation.

No one had fully figured out the company’s direction or artistic style yet. Riding on the coattails of Walk the Song, some people saw Lucas—Anson’s brother—as a wealthy outsider just “playing around” in Hollywood.

But Edgar was different.

As Anson’s agent, Edgar’s entire career revolved around Anson. Whether Anson was working or on vacation, Edgar was still out in Hollywood, scouting projects for him.

If a project truly wanted to land Anson, Edgar was the key contact.

Naturally, in recent months, Edgar had become one of the hottest figures in Hollywood, completely swamped with work.

As Lucas put it: “At least half of Hollywood’s scripts have probably passed through Edgar’s hands—at least once.”

---

Chapter 1423: Blindly Following the Trend  

Everyone desires Anson Wood.  

This is the reality of Hollywood. The towering stack of project proposals and scripts piled high before him serves as the best proof—more vivid than any fanfare or applause, more direct than any debate or prejudice. It presents itself with a powerful visual impact.  

Yet, Anson remains calm—  

Having weathered storms in his past life, Anson understands one fundamental truth: everything is just a bubble.  

In the internet age, praise and attacks come with equal intensity. Hype rises and fades just as quickly. In the end, traffic is nothing more than an intangible illusion.  

Ultimately, only the work itself can stand the test of time.  

A subtle smile lifted the corners of Anson’s lips. “These so-called Hollywood elites are nothing more than lost lambs, desperately seeking guidance from trends.”  

Seeing Anson’s unwavering composure, Lucas was not surprised in the slightest.  

However, Anson was only twenty-one—an age meant for reckless ambition and unrestrained youth. Beneath this calm, collected restraint were likely countless scars. And so, every once in a while, Lucas wished Anson would let himself revel in his success, just like any other young newcomer to the industry.  

“But not everyone can become the trend,” Lucas remarked casually, offering a veiled compliment.  

Anson didn’t pick up on the deeper meaning behind Lucas’ words. He was simply pleased by the praise. “Then we should seize the moment and enjoy ourselves.”  

“No time should be wasted.”  

Lucas, too, found himself smiling at Anson’s words.  

Not far away, Charles was about to head out when he noticed Nora had stopped in her tracks. Following her gaze, he saw the scene before them.  

Not only was Anson smiling, but even Lucas—who was usually expressionless and deep in thought—wore a rare smile. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the entire hall, a stark contrast to the perpetually overcast skies of New York. Everything seemed bright and open, even the mind felt lighter.  

Perhaps Anson was right. Not just Anson, but all of them had yet to fully escape the nightmare of that year.  

But now—it was time.  

Charles gently patted Nora’s shoulder, and the two turned to leave.  

“Charles, how about spending Christmas in Los Angeles with Anson this year?”  

“I think that sounds great. Thanksgiving in New York, Christmas here.”  

Back in the living room, Anson didn’t notice his parents leaving. His attention was entirely absorbed by the stack of projects in his hands—  

Unlike Lucas, however, he had no intention of reading through every single one in detail. Otherwise, it would take an eternity to get through them all. Instead, he skimmed through the covers, outlines, and key personnel like producers or screenwriters. With just a quick glance, he formed a rough impression.  

“Ha!”  

Anson let out a chuckle, catching Lucas’ attention.  

He held up a project cover for Lucas to see. “This is from Forest Pictures, isn’t it?”  

Lucas nodded. “Why are you so sure this isn’t one of Edgar’s projects?”  

Lucas clearly didn’t see the issue, which made Anson smile knowingly. He decided not to keep him in suspense.  

“Right now, there are two major comic book factions—DC and Marvel. The superheroes we’re familiar with, like Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, all belong to DC. Meanwhile, the character I’m currently portraying—Spider-Man—belongs to Marvel.”  

Lucas, who had no interest in comics and was largely unfamiliar with anime culture, only had a vague impression of Superman.  

“So, they’re arch-rivals?” Lucas asked.  

Anson nodded. “Sworn enemies.”  

Lucas frowned. “I had no idea this was a superhero movie adaptation. So which faction does this one belong to?”  

Anson replied, “For now, it doesn’t belong to either. It’s from another comic publisher—Vertigo. So it’s understandable that you wouldn’t know. But there’s no way producer Lauren Shuler Donner doesn’t know.”  

The project in Anson’s hands—Constantine. Later released under the title Constantine, this film, along with Hellboy, Blade, Underworld, and Van Helsing, was part of the diverse landscape of B-tier superhero movies before Marvel’s dominance. Among them, Constantine had the strongest box office performance.  

Constantine originated from Vertigo Comics. After the original comic series ended, DC acquired Vertigo in 2013, bringing Constantine into the DC Universe. Since then, the character has appeared in various DC TV shows and films.  

At this point in time, however, Constantine was still considered a niche comic. That uniqueness was precisely what gave the film its distinctive atmosphere.  

After Spider-Man exploded in the market, interest in comic book superheroes surged. New projects began surfacing one after another.  

However, major studios remained cautious. First, because other genres of films were still thriving with strong competition; second, because comic book culture had yet to break into mainstream audiences; and third, aside from Spider-Man, no other superhero films had seen exceptional box office success.  

Right now, superhero-based projects were increasing, but the trend had not yet fully formed. Every project was still being evaluated on an individual basis, with different producers and studios yielding different results.  

So it wasn’t surprising that a project like this had found its way to Forest Pictures.  

After all, Anson was the current Spider-Man.  

Producer Lauren Shuler Donner was no stranger to comic book adaptations—she was the driving force behind X-Men, Wolverine, and Deadpool.  

Her résumé was filled with successful commercial films, including Splash, Pretty in Pink, St. Elmo’s Fire, and You’ve Got Mail. She remained close with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.  

Out of countless comic book properties and characters, Lauren had chosen Constantine—an undeniably unique choice.  

In Anson’s past life, Constantine had received mixed reviews from critics. However, Keanu Reeves’ portrayal of the titular character became an iconic screen presence. The film ultimately grossed $230 million worldwide—a respectable sum.  

Unfortunately, due to poor budget management, the film cost a staggering $100 million to produce. The box office returns weren’t enough to generate a significant profit, leading to the sequel’s cancellation.  

Ironically, the movie later became a cult favorite in the home video rental market, with constant calls for a sequel.  

And now, Constantine had found its way to Forest Pictures. Did that mean Lauren had set her sights on… Anson?  

Lucas furrowed his brow. “If that’s the case, why did the producer still come to you? Wouldn’t Sony Columbia hunt her down if they found out?”  

“Haha, very funny,” Anson laughed. “But Sony Columbia never explicitly forbade me from playing other superhero roles.”  

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way Sony Columbia would make such a rookie mistake.” 

Chapter 1424: Going with the Flow

"Would Sony Columbia really make such a rookie mistake?" Lucas raised an eyebrow slightly, his eyes showing a hint of surprise, not quite believing it.

Anson, however, remained calm. "It's not exactly a rookie mistake."

"To be precise, movie studios today don’t yet have that concept—of tying an actor to a specific superhero. First, they didn’t anticipate that superhero movies could become a major trend. Second, they haven't realized that superheroes should be personified by actors to break the fourth wall and enhance marketing."

Because of this, it didn't seem to matter if an actor played multiple superheroes.

Halle Berry played Storm in X-Men and also starred as Catwoman.

Chris Evans was both the Human Torch in Fantastic Four and Captain America. Ryan Reynolds played both Green Lantern and Deadpool. Ben Affleck was Daredevil before becoming Batman.

And so on.

It wasn’t until Disney recognized Marvel’s marketing strategy of associating actors with specific superheroes that studios implemented clauses preventing actors from portraying multiple superheroes—avoiding confusion for audiences. However, even then, actors still frequently played different supervillains, since villains didn’t rely on breaking the fourth wall for marketing.

For now, the entire industry remained unaware of this potential issue, including Sony Columbia. Naturally, there were no such contractual restrictions in place.

Just imagine: Spider-Man suddenly transforming into the chain-smoking Constantine—going from an innocent high schooler to a world-weary chain-smoker overnight. That would be jarring for moviegoers.

That said, "But this producer probably doesn't know that Sony Columbia doesn’t have such a restriction, right?" Lucas agreed with Anson’s earlier point—

Lauren wouldn’t have pitched the project to Forest Pictures without knowing anything.

Anson shrugged. "I'm not her, so I can’t say for sure what she was thinking. But in my view, there are two possibilities."

"One possibility is that Lauren never considered Constantine a superhero in the first place—which, to be fair, he really isn’t. He’s more of a rebellious figure challenging taboos and principles. Plus, the original comic book has a niche audience, so the movie could completely discard the traditional superhero marketing approach."

"The other possibility is that Lauren did it on purpose—deliberately leveraging Spider-Man’s influence as a gimmick to attract more investors."

Lucas tilted his chin slightly, pondering for a moment.

"She can use us, but we can use her as well."

Anson was momentarily surprised before chuckling. "I suppose different fields really do lead to different ways of thinking."

Lucas caught the teasing but didn't mind. "With Spider-Man 2 about to release, our negotiations with Sony Columbia are also set to begin."

"From Sony Columbia’s perspective, we have no reason to walk away from the franchise. Now, we’re going to give them one—we don’t need Spider-Man 3. In fact, it’s the opposite: Sony Columbia needs us."

Anson blinked. "Wow. So you’re saying we use Constantine as leverage against Sony Columbia? That project doesn’t carry enough weight. If it were Batman, that’d be a different story."

Lucas shook his head. "Not necessarily."

"As you said, Batman is a big name. Switching from one superhero to another would just be jumping from one franchise to another. Unless the studio holding Batman’s rights is willing to compete with Sony Columbia—"

Anson interjected, "Warner Bros. Batman belongs to Warner Bros."

Lucas continued, "Unless Warner Bros. is willing to go head-to-head with Sony Columbia and risk the backlash of Spider-Man turning into Batman, we don’t have the upper hand."

"More importantly, in that scenario, we have no say in the matter. At best, we’re just a bargaining chip. Whether it’s Sony Columbia or Warner Bros., they would pay a price to secure your involvement, and they’d expect an equivalent return."

"But this project is different."

"Its lower profile means fewer restrictions. Forest Pictures would have more creative freedom, and you’d have more room to perform as you see fit. That, in contrast to Spider-Man 3, makes it an even stronger bargaining chip in Sony Columbia’s eyes."

Anson lifted his chin slightly—

When it came to business negotiations, this was definitely Lucas’s forte.

Lucas turned to Anson. "So, are you interested in taking this role?"

Anson mused, "I think it’s a very interesting character—great for looking cool. But he’s a heavy smoker…"

Before Anson could finish, Lucas cut him off decisively. "No." With that, he swiftly snatched the project proposal from Anson’s hands. "I’ll hold onto this."

Anson stared in disbelief. He didn’t even need an explanation to understand what was happening. "Lucas, wait… So, does this mean no smoking or drinking roles from now on?"

Lucas replied, "Just this time."

"You just finished a project like that. Wouldn’t it be better for the next one to be something lighter?" Seeing Anson’s look, Lucas suddenly felt a bit guilty. "Not just this one—The Butterfly Effect, Elephant, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, even Catch Me If You Can. They’re all intense. Next time, why not do a comedy?"

Anson looked at Lucas as if he had just had an epiphany. "So you were picking a comedy earlier?"

Lucas: …

Anson flipped through the stack of project proposals, then pulled one out and skimmed it carefully. "This one. Perfect fit. One hundred percent. After all, it’s a fairy tale."

He turned the cover toward Lucas—

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

This wasn’t just a project pitch; it was a full screenplay, adapted from the 1964 novel by British author Roald Dahl—one of the most famous children's books worldwide.

The story follows the mysterious Willy Wonka, whose chocolate factory has been closed to visitors for fifteen years. One day, he announces that he will open its doors to five lucky children—who must find golden tickets hidden in chocolate bars. Not only will they get a tour, but they’ll also have the chance to win a lifetime supply of chocolate and candy. And so, the five children embark on a magical adventure.

Undoubtedly, a fairy tale film was not only a comedy but also an adventure fantasy—perfectly matching Lucas’s request.

What Lucas didn’t know was that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory would go on to become a massive success, grossing over $430 million worldwide.

And eighteen years later, it would even spawn a successful prequel, Wonka.

At this moment, Lucas could clearly sense Anson’s teasing and sarcasm.

Lucas forced a stiff smile. "I’m really curious—are they inviting you to play Willy Wonka or Charlie?"

Charlie? The eleven-year-old boy who serves as the film’s true protagonist?

Anson didn’t mind Lucas’s counterattack. He simply flashed a big grin. "What I’m really curious about is how this project ended up in Edgar’s hands. I wonder what image of me the producer had in mind when they pitched this to me?"

A fairy tale? A fantasy? An adventure?

Certainly a far cry from The Princess Diaries. This was a genre Anson had yet to explore.

---

Chapter 1425: Unlocking Possibilities

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?"

Anson was genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected this project to land in his lap—he didn’t seem like the ideal choice for the role.

There were two main reasons for that.

*First, his age.*

The 2023 film Wonka told the story of Willy Wonka’s early years, before he owned his famous chocolate factory. The young Willy Wonka was played by Timothée Chalamet, who was 28 at the time.

In other words, in Wonka, the character was supposed to be in his mid-20s. But by the time Charlie and the Chocolate Factory takes place, Wonka should be at least in his 40s.

Sure, it was a fantasy story, but Wonka’s character didn’t come with a built-in excuse for eternal youth or aging backward.

Anson, on the other hand, was still 21. He could probably pull off a younger Wonka, but playing the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory version? That would be a much bigger challenge.

That was exactly why Lucas had just joked about whether Anson was being asked to play Willy Wonka or Charlie himself.

*Second, the style.*

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was based on a children’s book—a fairy tale filled with whimsical imagination, much like Alice in Wonderland or The Chronicles of Narnia. When stories like these are adapted for the big screen, they often require an open-minded, boundary-pushing creative approach.

In a way, they exist outside of reality.

Naturally, this also affects an actor’s appearance and performance style.

In Wonka, Hugh Grant’s portrayal of an Oompa Loompa was, without a doubt, one of the movie’s biggest highlights. But Grant himself had a miserable time filming it. He later called it the most difficult, awkward, and humiliating role of his career—one he completely regretted taking on.

His reason?

“Well, I had no choice... child support bills,” he admitted.

In his younger days, Grant had built up a bit of a reputation for his romantic entanglements, fathering five children—possibly more, according to rumors. The financial strain of supporting them all meant he had to keep taking roles, much like Nicolas Cage, who became a workaholic just to pay off his debts.

For fantasy films and fairy tales, defining the movie’s style and casting actors who fit that vision was already half the battle in ensuring success.

But Anson?

Sure, he had starred in The Princess Diaries, which had a fairy-tale-like charm. But for the most part, his roles had been rooted in realism.

Honestly, Anson couldn’t picture himself in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at all.

A big part of that was due to his memories from his past life.

Back then, both Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Alice in Wonderland had been led by Johnny Depp.

And let’s be real—Johnny Depp was made for gothic-style roles. His performances gave these films an offbeat yet playful energy that was entirely his own.

That strong, preexisting impression of Depp’s Wonka made it hard for Anson to imagine himself in the role.

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

Lucas’s voice pulled Anson out of his thoughts.

Anson looked over at him.

Lucas wasn’t a movie expert, which gave him an outsider’s perspective. “I mean, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. In that film, people saw not only your comedic timing but also your ability to play quirky, offbeat characters.”

Anson considered that for a moment.

His role in Eternal Sunshine had been a unique experience—a little strange, a little awkward, a little neurotic. It wasn’t the deep psychological dive of Walk the Line, but it had allowed him to explore a different, more experimental side of acting.

And undeniably, that performance had proven his versatility.

In some ways, it was even more valuable than Walk the Line.

Here’s why:

Walk the Line was a traditional biopic. With biopics, actors usually have a blueprint to follow—there’s a real-life person they’re portraying, so no matter how brilliant the performance is, it still falls within a certain expected range. That’s why, when Anson took on the role, Hollywood’s reaction was basically, “Yeah, we figured.”

But Eternal Sunshine was different.

Like all Charlie Kaufman scripts, that movie was unpredictable and unconventional. There was no standard template for playing a character like that. It was a role that gave Anson room to experiment and take creative risks. The fact that his performance ended up both convincing and compelling was no small feat.

So, in a way, Eternal Sunshine had been a crucial stepping stone for him.

If that film had led to an opportunity like Willy Wonka, it actually made sense.

Still, after some thought, Anson lifted his gaze to Lucas. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

A small smile flickered across Lucas’s face. “Now I know you’re back to your usual self.”

That response confirmed Anson’s suspicions.

Lucas didn’t dance around the subject any longer. “Edgar has been busy lately.”

“On one hand, he’s building leverage for negotiations with Sony-Columbia over the next Spider-Man sequel. On the other, he’s working on breaking you into Hollywood at a new level.”

Anson raised an eyebrow.

“Edgar says he’s not aiming to get you into the ‘$20 million club.’ Instead, he’s pushing for profit-sharing deals that would give you a bigger financial stake in the movies you work on. He also wants to secure you more influence as a producer. Even outside of Spider-Man, he’s looking for projects that will give you more control.”

It seemed that while Anson had been busy filming, Edgar had been working just as hard behind the scenes.

“This,” Lucas said, gesturing at the script in Anson’s hands, “is one of the projects Edgar has set his sights on.”

Anson was a little surprised. He held up the script. “Are you sure?”

Objectively speaking, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory didn’t quite fit the usual blockbuster mold. More importantly, while Willy Wonka was the heart of the story, the actual protagonist was Charlie. Wonka wasn’t the main point-of-view character.

Edgar trying to use this film to shake up Hollywood’s status quo was definitely an interesting strategy.

Would major studios really be willing to offer 10%, 15%, or even more in box office profits to convince Anson to play a supporting role?

On one hand, it was a risky move—investing heavily in what was technically a secondary character.

On the other hand, it was a strategic opportunity—cutting a $20 million salary from the budget without sacrificing star power.

Clearly, Edgar had thought this through.

And this was just one of his options.

Lucas nodded slightly. “Warner Bros. has a lot of confidence in this project. They’ve already set a $150 million budget.”

“Whoa.”

Of course, it was Warner Bros.

After Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, they had seen massive success with fantasy films. Now, they were doubling down on that strategy with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory—another example of their bold, deep-pocketed approach.

While studios like Sony-Columbia and 20th Century Fox were betting on superhero movies, Warner Bros., despite owning the DC Comics library, still believed more in the fantasy genre. That’s where they were putting their focus.