766-770

*Chapter 766: The World Spins*

“Good morning, Mr. Cook.”

The person who opened the door was none other than Noah, Anson’s assistant, who was slowly settling into his role.

Edgar was about to inquire about Anson’s situation when his eyes fell upon something odd in Noah’s hair... a piece of lettuce.

No joke—this was a real, fresh, vibrant green piece of lettuce. Even if it were a prank, it wouldn't be this over-the-top. So, how exactly did such a large lettuce leaf end up in Noah’s hair?

Edgar hesitated, his mind swirling with countless thoughts. In the end, he simply shook his head, giving up on asking the obvious and instead offering a reminder: “There’s a leaf in your hair.”

Noah blinked. “A leaf?”

He glanced upward and raised his hand to feel around.

“Oh! There it is! I’ve been looking for that.”

Edgar: ...

He had many questions but swallowed them, especially seeing Noah’s genuinely happy expression. His joy seemed so heartfelt that Edgar just let it go.

“Where’s Anson?” Edgar returned to the main topic.

Noah, holding the lettuce, smiled. “Mr. Wood is swimming.”

Edgar glanced outside at the pool, which was empty.

Noah clarified, “In the ocean. There are no waves today, so Mr. Wood said it was perfect for swimming.”

Edgar was briefly taken aback, then chuckled softly. Anson always had a way of surprising him. “I thought he was learning to surf.”

Noah nodded. “That’s the goal, but for now, he said he wants to get used to ocean swimming before he starts. He’s made plans with Mr. Evans.”

“Chris Evans?”

“Yes, Mr. Evans stayed over two nights ago.”

After the brief exchange, Edgar started walking toward the backyard, but something by the large floor-to-ceiling window caught his eye: an easel displaying an unfinished painting. The vivid, intense colors formed an abstract structure. Even though it was just lines, the shading conveyed a deep sense of emotion, prompting Edgar to take a second look.

With some hesitation, Edgar asked, “Is this Anson’s work?”

Noah glanced at it and nodded affirmatively. “Mr. Wood started painting it the night of the Golden Globes when he couldn’t sleep. He said it’s not finished yet; it’ll take some time.”

Edgar understood, but as he was about to move forward, his feet remained planted. He found himself absorbed by the interplay of lines and colors, his thoughts slowly settling as he stood by the large window, almost able to hear the ocean waves and sunlight moving through the air.

Until—

“Captain?”

Edgar snapped out of his reverie at the sound of his name, feeling grounded again as he quickly looked up. There was Anson, drying his hair with a towel, radiating the energy of sunshine.

“That’s just a quick sketch, not Van Gogh,” Anson quipped.

Edgar chuckled softly but couldn’t help casting another glance at the painting. “You didn’t enjoy the Golden Globe ceremony?”

Anson looked puzzled. “Why would you think that?”

Edgar gestured toward the painting. “The emotions in the lines and colors are intense but not joyful or happy. There’s more anxiety and agitation. It feels like something is about to break through.”

Anson paused, giving Edgar an appraising look.

Edgar shrugged lightly. “I dabble in art occasionally.”

Anson laughed, his smile brightening completely. “Thanks for calling my work art. My ego just swelled a bit.”

Seeing that Anson still had the energy to joke, Edgar felt somewhat reassured, though the concern in his eyes remained: he was serious.

Anson exhaled softly. “No, it’s just that everything happened so fast.”

“You know, ‘Catch Me If You Can,’ the flash mob, the award ceremony, and all the reactions that followed—it felt like being thrown into an arena. I thought I was ready to face the tiger one-on-one, but it turned out to be a battle against a hundred, and it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed.”

“I just need some time to adjust and find my voice again.”

The Golden Globes had taken place four days ago.

Since then, the buzz and chatter had only intensified. That night, Anson had stolen the spotlight twice—first on the red carpet and then as a presenter—making him the talk of the event, aside from the awards themselves.

Even before the ceremony, people had been eagerly anticipating and discussing Anson, thanks to the momentum built up since the premiere of Catch Me If You Can. The reality surpassed expectations, cementing Anson as the hottest topic of the moment.

Major outlets like Vogue, Entertainment Weekly, The New Yorker, The Hollywood Reporter, and People all rushed to cover the story, generating a whirlwind of media attention.

Not just Anson—Edgar and Eve had been swamped as well.

It was undoubtedly a breakthrough.

Although Spider-Man had sparked some buzz, this was the true explosion, catapulting Anson to an unprecedented height.

Cheers, applause, and recognition—it was all good news. But having two life-changing moments in just six months, upending his world entirely, was a different matter.

Too much too soon.

Anyone would need time and space to adjust.

Four days had passed, and the hype showed no signs of slowing down.

Edgar took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Anson laughed lightly. “No, Captain, you don’t. But I appreciate that you’re trying. At least you’re making an effort.”

“And this is what we’ve been aiming for, right? After all our hard work, the plan is finally coming to fruition. So, it’s something to celebrate. I just need a little time to adjust.”

“I didn’t realize until now that being a superstar requires professionalism too. Right now, I’m still a rookie, but I’m eager to learn.”

With that, Anson spread his arms wide, adopting a posture of bravely embracing the unknown.

Edgar’s tension eased slightly, and he smiled again, glancing once more at the painting.

At least Anson was seeking an outlet for his feelings—through painting rather than alcohol or drugs. It was a positive sign.

Otherwise, Hollywood was filled with countless stars who lost their way after overnight fame.

Exhaling softly, Edgar regained his composure. “Anson, if you ever need a break or want to cut off all the noise completely, just let me know, and I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.”

Anson burst out laughing. “Deal! Captain, you said it. Noah, make a note of that.”

From behind, Noah’s earnest voice responded, “Got it, Mr. Wood.”

Edgar was stunned to see Noah obediently pull out a pen and paper, seriously jotting down the promise, even confirming the date and time.

Edgar: ...

Anson chuckled. “For now, though, I’m fine. They haven’t driven me crazy yet. I’m just curious if the paparazzi are spreading rumors about me. Every time I approach, they seem to scatter. I’m not some sort of demon king... Or is that just in my head?”

Edgar hesitated, unsure where to start. How exactly does one explain the whole “demon king” thing?

Chapter 767: The Three-Horse Chariot

Ahem.

Edgar suddenly felt a tickle in his throat. He quickly took a big sip of water. Rather than discussing the paparazzi, it was better to—

“So, what exactly did you say to Charlie Kaufman at the award ceremony?”

Sure enough, this change in topic successfully diverted Anson’s attention, and he didn’t continue asking about the paparazzi. “We didn’t talk about much. Just dreams, dieting, desires—some trivial topics.”

Edgar: ...

“Excuse me, sir, are you sure? These topics are just casual, small talk?”

Anson shrugged lightly. “Hey, they’re only deep if you think they are.”

Edgar raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But that’s not the point. Whatever you said to Charlie, you convinced him.”

Anson didn’t hide his surprise. “That simple?”

Edgar nodded. “I was surprised too. There was no audition, and everything just fell into place.”

“I heard that Charlie Kaufman is very satisfied with you. He changed his mind and no longer insists on having Nicolas Cage as the lead. Instead, he’s sided with Focus Features.”

“He thinks you’re perfect for the role. In fact, you bring a fresh take to the character. You can make people believe that even someone as handsome as you could suffer from heartbreak, breakups, or even become a mess.”

Anson: ???

He almost choked on his drink.

Edgar reaffirmed, “You heard me right. That’s exactly what he said. You really didn’t discuss anything related at the award ceremony?”

Anson thought about it. An answer flashed in his mind, but he didn’t say much because it involved Charlie Kaufman’s dreams and personal privacy, which he didn’t think should be casually shared. “I guess Cameron Diaz must have put in a good word for me.”

Edgar thought about it seriously and quickly understood—

At the awards, Anson and Cameron sat next to each other. It seemed likely that Cameron had praised Anson in front of Charlie.

After all, Cameron starred in “Being John Malkovich,” which Charlie wrote.

Not only did she act in it, but for the sake of the movie, Cameron was even asked to be locked in a cage with a gorilla.

This clearly crossed the line. Cameron is now a top Hollywood star, and if she had refused, that scene would have never happened. But after deep conversations with Charlie and director Spike Jonze, Cameron agreed to the idea.

Both Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman owe her a favor for that.

Cameron, being the straightforward person she is, never saw it as a favor. She agreed, so in her mind, it was just part of the job. She never planned to cash in on that favor.

Because of this, Cameron became close friends with Spike and Charlie.

No matter what Cameron said to Charlie, as long as it was positive, it could have made an impact.

Thinking about it this way, the current situation makes sense.

Anson had already left a good impression on Charlie, and with Cameron’s influence, things naturally fell into place.

Besides, this is only the negotiation phase. There are still variables, and Charlie hasn’t explicitly insisted that “Anson is the only choice.” He’s merely expressed his interest to Focus Features.

After a brief pause, Edgar continued, “But director Michel Gondry hasn’t made up his mind yet.”

This time, there was no hesitation.

“Focus Features is asking about your availability and your rate. If everything works out, there shouldn’t be an issue with moving forward.”

“I’ve done some research.”

“Nicolas Cage, like for ‘Adaptation,’ is asking for $5 million. Also, his schedule is pretty tight.”

“The success of ‘Adaptation’ proves that Nicolas still has clout in the indie film scene. It’s not about the box office, but about catching the attention of the Academy. So many indie projects hoping to enter awards season are vying for his involvement, but his schedule is full for the near future.”

“If Charlie insists on using Nicolas, the production won’t be able to start right away.”

Edgar took a deep breath, glanced at Anson to see if he had anything to say, and then continued.

“On the other hand, Jim Carrey’s schedule is wide open.”

“He’s very eager and willing to clear his calendar for this project. As soon as the shooting dates are confirmed, he can join the crew immediately.”

“This kind of dedication is why Michel Gondry finds it so hard to pass on Jim Carrey. In his eyes, having a star of Jim’s caliber so willing to cooperate with the production is an opportunity they can’t miss. Plus, Gondry already thinks Jim is a perfect fit for the role.”

Edgar glanced at Anson again but noticed he remained calm and composed, just as always. It seemed like Anson had been telling the truth—recent events were having an impact, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Anson noticed Edgar’s pause. “But?”

Edgar snapped back to attention and continued without explaining further. “But when it comes to salary, Jim Carrey’s side is very firm.”

This time, it was Anson who looked surprised—

How much could an actor demand for an indie, art-house film? No matter what, the budget limits are clear.

Edgar: “Twenty million dollars.”

Anson: “What?”

Even Anson couldn’t hide his shock.

Edgar was pleased with Anson’s reaction and smiled. “You heard me. Twenty million dollars.”

Anson made a strange face. “What’s the production budget from Focus Features?”

Edgar: “It’s still under negotiation. But Focus Features agreed to put up the money, which is one of the reasons they convinced Charlie Kaufman. Still, for a project like this, the production cost can’t be too outrageous. Focus thinks $20 million is a reasonable number.”

Anson wasn’t surprised because that’s typical for indie films.

To be fair, for a movie like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a $20 million budget is generous, especially since the film requires special effects.

For comparison, “Being John Malkovich” cost $13 million to make, while “Adaptation” cost $17 million.

In major productions, $3 or $4 million might not seem like much, but in small-budget indie films, it’s significant.

For “Adaptation,” Nicolas Cage alone took $5 million, while Meryl Streep, because she loved the script, accepted a pay cut. That’s how they managed to get two A-list stars.

From “Adaptation” to “Eternal Sunshine,” the budget increased to $20 million, showing that Focus Features was serious.

And let’s not forget that Focus is backed by Universal Pictures, the “cost-control experts,” making that number even more impressive.

However, Jim Carrey was asking for the entire production budget?

And the craziest part—

Anson looked at Edgar. “Even so, the director still thinks Jim Carrey is the best choice?”

*Chapter 768: Paycheck Negotiations*

"Even so, does the director still insist that Jim Carrey is the best choice?"

Anson didn’t say much, but his seemingly plain statement carried enough sarcasm on its own.

Clearly, this French director had a deep-rooted romantic idealism, believing that the cast and crew would band together out of sheer passion and complete the project without compensation.

Edgar sensed it. “I know how you feel, Anson, but do you believe it? Honestly, I admire Jim Carrey and his agent.”

The perspective immediately shifted.

“I understand that actors get excited when they come across a good script and role—I’m the same, don’t get me wrong. But as an agent, I have to focus on the actor’s standing and value. That’s what my job is about.”

“Can you believe it? Since Ace Ventura first got him into the $20 million club, Jim Carrey has demanded the same fee for all his movies.”

“Twenty million dollars.”

“No negotiations. No wiggle room.”

“Even when Ace Ventura bombed at the box office, and Sony-Columbia took a massive loss, Jim Carrey didn’t budge. His rate stayed the same.”

“Anson, do you know what that means? That’s the dream of every agent. No matter which studio, producer, or director, if you want to work with me, it’s simple: $20 million, flat. No discussions.”

“In Hollywood, only a few actors are that tough and still manage not to get blacklisted. Jim Carrey is one of them.”

Anson really didn’t know this.

He tilted his head slightly, curiosity showing in his expression. “The Truman Show?”

That movie earned Jim Carrey a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Drama, and it’s probably his most famous serious role.

Edgar nodded. “Twenty million dollars.”

Anson continued, “Man on the Moon?”

This biographical film, aimed squarely at the Oscars, was seen as Carrey’s best shot at winning an Academy Award. It earned him a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy and his first SAG nomination.

Edgar confirmed again. “Twenty million dollars.”

Anson exclaimed, “Wow.”

His admiration and amazement were genuine.

Whether it was The Truman Show or Man on the Moon, both films had relatively small budgets. If Jim Carrey demanded $20 million, his fee alone could take up 50% of the production costs. From a producer's or studio’s point of view, that was like trying to climb a mountain bare-handed.

Anson couldn't help but be intrigued. “And yet the studios are still willing to pay?”

Edgar spread his hands. “Of course. In Hollywood, people either love him or hate him, and trust me, more people hate him.”

“He’s disrupting the market.”

“But audiences love him. Over the past five or six years, even though some of his films flopped, as long as his name is on the poster, people still show up at the theater. So, even if producers don’t like him, there are always projects willing to hire him.”

“After all, he only needs to do one project a year.”

No wonder! It made sense why the Frat Pack could rise to prominence!

Clearly, countless producers in Hollywood weren’t fans of Jim Carrey. That opened the door for the more budget-friendly and cooperative Frat Pack to stand out.

But Anson had a different thought. “So, he’s still wondering why he hasn’t won an Oscar?”

The Academy Awards are voted on by members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which includes actors, writers, directors, producers, and other industry insiders.

Imagine—if half of Hollywood dislikes Jim Carrey, how could he possibly land an Oscar nomination?

For years, fans have felt that Jim Carrey was unfairly snubbed by the Academy, claiming that they look down on comedic actors and refuse to give them the recognition they deserve.

That’s true.

But beyond that, Jim Carrey’s own attitude must also play a significant role. It’s hard to win both high paychecks and prestigious awards.

Edgar wasn’t surprised. “Anson, sometimes these Hollywood stars live in their own fantasy bubble. He gets $20 million per film, keeps churning out projects, and the box office numbers are still strong. He can’t hear any criticism, so naturally, he’s puzzled about the Oscars.”

Anson still found it hard to believe, but when he thought about it, it wasn’t impossible. “The agent must play a key role in this.”

If the agent shields the actor from hearing negative feedback—and considering that social media wasn’t prevalent and the internet was still in its early days at the time—it’s plausible.

Edgar didn’t disagree. “And we should also add managers and PR teams into that mix.”

Thus, top-tier stars end up living inside their own bubbles.

Edgar continued, “But this time, Jim Carrey told the director that he’s willing to make an exception for this script—he’ll take $8 million.”

That was the answer—

Imagine, after six years of refusing to compromise, negotiate, or lower his rate, this top-tier star suddenly agreed to slash his fee for one project.

And not just a small cut—from $20 million down to $8 million, which is a 60% reduction.

How could Michel Gondry resist? How could he let go of Jim Carrey?

You could picture Michel doing everything he could to convince Focus Features that they couldn’t miss this opportunity.

Sure enough, Edgar’s next words confirmed Anson’s guess.

“Michel threatened Focus Features, saying that if they refused to use Jim Carrey, he would leave the project.”

So extreme?

Anson was intrigued. “Does Michel have the leverage to threaten Focus Features?”

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was only Michel Gondry’s second feature film. Even if the director were replaced, it wouldn’t affect the project too much.

Edgar smiled. “Charlie Kaufman does.”

“After all, the concept and framework for the movie came from Michel, and Charlie can’t just dump Michel and pick another director.”

“Charlie hasn’t made a public statement yet, but he hopes Focus Features can convince Michel.”

So, the ball was now in Focus Features’ court.

After a brief pause, Anson understood—

Focus Features had passed the problem over to them.

Anson couldn’t help but laugh. “So, they want me to convince the director?”

Edgar waved him off. “Not exactly. You’ve already convinced the writer and producer. There’s no way they’re expecting you to handle everything.”

“Even if they did, I would refuse. It’s not our job. If we get involved, we’ll either offend the director or upset Jim Carrey. Do they think we’re idiots?”

“All we need to do is give Focus Features a reason to shut the director up.”

“The paycheck.”

That’s where the challenge lay.

Focus Features knew Anson was at a crossroads.

“Anson, the whole of Hollywood is watching us. We’re in a delicate position.”

“We’re just shy of the $20 million club, and everyone’s waiting to see what happens.”

“Dropping down to $10 million would be easy. We might even consider $15 million, but we need to be very careful about the projects we choose. They need to prove our box office draw. When the film comes out, both the numbers and the reviews will be scrutinized under a microscope.”

“That’s why we need to be extra cautious with our choices right now.”

“And that’s why I’m here today. I want to talk with you and see—how much are you willing to sacrifice?”

*Chapter 769: A Long-Term Strategy*

Anson finally understood, eyeing Edgar with a half-smile. “No wonder you seemed envious when we were talking about Jim Carrey’s agent earlier.”

Edgar noticed the teasing look in Anson’s eyes but didn’t mind at all, responding with complete candor, “Envious? Of course. Agents live for moments like this—no negotiations, no second chances. Either you take it or leave it. Once you take the deal, a 10% cut means two million dollars for the agent.”

“God, if that’s the price of being hated by all of Hollywood, I wouldn’t mind going to hell.”

“Haha, hahahaha.”

Anson burst into laughter, genuinely feeling Edgar’s sincerity.

Edgar couldn’t help but chuckle lightly himself.

“But that’s just a joke.”

“Jim Carrey doesn’t mind living that kind of life—complaining endlessly about never being recognized by the Academy as if he’s the real victim, while comfortably sitting in the 20-million-dollar club, completely oblivious to the real issue. But I do mind.”

“That’s not the career path I’ve envisioned for you, and it’s not how I see my career as an agent, either.”

Anson raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised, looking at Edgar with interest.

Since the topic had come up, Edgar continued discussing it.

“At the moment, the 20-million-dollar club represents the top of Hollywood’s pyramid. From 1996 until now, it’s only been about six years, and there are only a handful of members.”

“But the studios have already started to become wary, and it’s not just because of Jim Carrey.”

“When Julia Roberts was filming Notting Hill, there were tensions with the production team. The root of the issue was the director and writer repeatedly trying to convince her to lower her salary, but Julia’s side refused with no room for negotiation. Fifteen million dollars was fifteen million dollars, leaving the production team in an awkward position.”

“The total budget for the entire movie was only 40 million dollars.”

“Of course, in the end, they worked it out, and Julia got her 15-million-dollar paycheck. The writer even wrote a line in the script in revenge, where someone asks how much her last movie made, and she replies ‘Fifteen million dollars.’”

“When the movie was released, that line stayed in. I heard Julia hasn’t watched the movie to this day.”

Behind the scenes, the conflicts and disagreements within film production teams are always far more dramatic than one might imagine.

Anson raised an eyebrow. “But Notting Hill was a huge box-office success.”

Edgar nodded. “So the conflict became nothing more than an amusing anecdote.”

But if the movie had bombed, that conflict could have been the spark that ignited a full-blown fallout.

Things are always that simple.

Edgar continued, “Don’t get me wrong—I’m on the actor’s side. I want my actors to get paid more, and I support them in fighting for better pay.”

“But here’s the thing: studios are starting to get cautious.”

“The involvement of a 20-million-dollar club member automatically means higher production costs. And with that comes more pressure for box-office success.”

“I don’t care about the studio’s profit margins—they don’t need me worrying about that. But the problem is that the studios pass that pressure onto the actors. They won’t just swallow those risks.”

“First, they’ll shift all the box-office pressure onto the 20-million-dollar club members. If the movie fails, it’s the actor’s fault.”

“Come on, we’re not kids. We all know a movie’s success or failure isn’t that simple.”

“Second, they become even harsher, sometimes even punishing, to those who haven’t made it into the 20-million-dollar club yet. The jump from 10 million to 15 million dollars becomes an impossible gap to bridge, let alone moving up to the next level.”

“Right now, all the studios are watching us because we’re the closest to joining the 20-million-dollar club. They’re both holding us back and keeping an eye on us.”

Anson nodded slightly, understanding. “So that’s why you brought the Day After Tomorrow project to the table.”

Edgar spread his hands. “If 20th Century Fox is willing to pay, I’m more than happy to take it. That makes things simple.”

Anson couldn’t help but ask, “But you didn’t keep pushing me to take that project.”

Edgar replied, “Jim Carrey is the example. Salary is important. It’s really, really, really important…” His repetition made both Anson and Edgar laugh. “But it’s not the only thing that matters. We need to keep the long-term in mind. If you don’t like the project, we shouldn’t force it.”

“Anson, we’re working so hard to climb to the top of the pyramid to gain more control, right?”

Anson nodded softly. “I thought it was to make a name in history, but your explanation is also correct.”

Clearly, he was joking.

Edgar smiled and continued.

“Of course, the most important reason is that even if we get into the 20-million-dollar club, I don’t see it as a sustainable long-term strategy.”

“The studios are under increasing pressure, and they won’t be merciful. They’ll find ways to shift that pressure and risk elsewhere.”

“So, I don’t think the 20-million-dollar club is the pinnacle of Hollywood, nor do I believe it’s the direction actors should be aiming for.”

His words landed like a bombshell—

In 2003, Edgar’s statement was absolutely shocking. If word got out, it would shake Hollywood to its core.

However, to Anson, it showcased Edgar’s foresight.

Because Edgar was right.

Hollywood was beginning to realize that relying solely on the “star effect” was driving production costs higher, squeezing studio profits. It could even evolve into a situation where studios were working just to make actors rich, something they absolutely couldn’t accept.

So, starting in 2008, with the rise of Iron Man as a turning point, studios began shifting towards a “franchise effect,” aiming to reduce their dependence on top-tier actors and regain control.

And they succeeded. Led by Disney, Warner Bros., and Sony-Columbia, the major franchise holders completely transformed the film industry for the next 15 years, with studios firmly in control.

But by 2023, the decline of superhero films had created another turning point. The battle between top actors and studios was reigniting, entering a new phase.

In 2003, though, Edgar had already sensed something unusual, showcasing his wisdom and foresight.

Still, that wasn’t the most impressive thing—

There were plenty of smart people in Hollywood, and surely more than a few industry bigwigs had already noticed the studios’ pushback against the 20-million-dollar club.

What really mattered was predicting the upcoming trends and preparing strategies to respond.

Anson looked up at Edgar and saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if Edgar was nervously waiting for a reaction. He hadn’t hidden his surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Edgar faltered. He’d just dropped a bombshell of an idea, and this was Anson’s reaction? Just this?

*Chapter 770: On Equal Footing*

Edgar looked at the calm and composed Anson in front of him, momentarily at a loss for words.

He had just thrown out a radical, unconventional, and shocking idea—one that in Hollywood would either be mocked or criticized. Clearly, no one would believe his perspective.

After all, who was Edgar Cook? What right did he have to give Hollywood advice?

Only in front of Anson did Edgar muster the courage to express his thoughts.

But even so, seeing Anson's nonchalant and dismissive expression still shocked him. "You don't think my judgment is too one-sided or foolish?"

Anson responded simply, "No."

His answer was crisp and direct.

"In fact, I believe in your judgment."

"But the key is, Captain, if you believe the $20 million club isn't the right answer, what do you think is the correct solution?"

Edgar didn't answer immediately, still immersed in the shock and surprise—

Anson had so easily believed him.

This kind of trust was rare in Hollywood.

Taking a deep breath, Edgar finally snapped out of his daze. "Anson, thank you for your trust. You didn’t even question my idea."

Anson hadn't expected such a reaction from Edgar, and it took him a moment to realize just how radical Edgar's thinking was for 2003.

But after thinking it over, Anson said, "Captain, you trust me, so I trust you. It's a transaction, no need to get too emotional." He added with a playful smile.

"Haha." Edgar chuckled.

Indeed, Anson was just being Anson. He could joke so casually about something like this, which helped Edgar relax a little.

Then, Edgar spoke again.

"Base salary plus box office profit sharing."

Edgar laid out his answer.

"The base salary ensures a safety net for the actor, so they don’t work for nothing."

"Profit sharing, with no upper limit, makes the actor and the studio share the risk. If the movie fails, both suffer. If it succeeds, both share the success."

"Of course, the studios won’t like it. They want to minimize losses and maximize their share of the profits."

"But that’s the key."

"If actors stick to the ‘$20 million club,’ they’re just employees—a tool, a worker serving the studio. No matter how high the salary, the actor is still just a cog in the machine."

"But profit sharing changes things. In essence, the actor and the studio are on the same level, partners in a project. That fundamentally changes the actor's position."

"Studios shouldn’t treat actors as mere chess pieces but as partners playing the same game."

"Obviously, studios will 100% resist this."

"So, this is what we should aim for—more leverage, not quibbling over small changes in salary numbers."

Wow!

Impressive.

From a practical standpoint, actors are individuals, while studios or film projects are massive machines. It seems impossible for the two to be on equal footing because their natures are different.

But looking beyond the surface, things change.

Actors are not only individuals but also pillars in a film project. Treating top-tier stars as their own studios or companies makes sense—they have the qualifications to negotiate on equal terms with the studios.

Of course, easier said than done.

Just imagining it shows how difficult it is, let alone in practice.

However, it is indeed the trend.

Actors like Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Brad Pitt, and Ben Affleck eventually realized this and set up their own production companies, negotiating on equal footing with studios. They explore new territories not just as actors but as producers and business entities.

But that’s for later.

Right now, Anson needs to take things one step at a time, steadily planning, without trying to achieve everything at once. Patience and composure are key to gradually moving toward the ultimate goal.

The critical point is—

From the start of Edgar’s negotiations, if the goal isn’t the $20 million club, the studios won’t expect it, giving them a huge advantage.

Moreover, by coincidence, Anson had already embarked on this path:

Starting with "Spider-Man," Anson had already earned profit sharing from the box office.

In hindsight, it was Anson’s attitude that allowed Edgar to slowly piece together his experiences and form this new idea.

Anson turned to Edgar. "So, how do you plan to respond to Focus Features?"

Edgar didn’t hesitate anymore. "10% of the box office profits and a symbolic $300,000 base salary."

"Wow," Anson exclaimed. Such terms would be hard for Focus Features to resist.

Edgar added, "But this actually puts us at a disadvantage."

"Charlie Kaufman’s work has never been a favorite at the box office."

"For example, with ‘Being John Malkovich,’ 10% of the box office would have only earned $1.7 million, plus the base salary would total just $2 million."

"‘Adaptation’ was even worse. 10% would only get $450,000. Even with the base salary, it wouldn’t hit $1 million."

That’s why Edgar needed Anson’s opinion.

"Anson, we have many options right now. Salary is just one factor."

"If we choose something like ‘The Day After Tomorrow’ or ‘50 First Dates,’ we could gain more leverage as box-office stars, not just in salary but in the studio's future positioning."

"But if we choose ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,’ box office and salary will both be tough, but we could gain more recognition during awards season, breaking out of the heartthrob mold and broadening your range."

"So, are you sure we should go with Charlie Kaufman’s project?"

On one side was the peak of the $20 million club.

On the other was the door to a more diverse acting world.

Was there really any need to hesitate?

Anson smiled. "I’m sure."

Edgar laughed. "I expected your answer, but not so quickly or simply."

"Hey, Captain," Anson called out, "Let’s not forget, this isn’t everything."

"‘The Butterfly Effect’ is in post-production, ‘The Princess Diaries 2’ and ‘Spider-Man 2’ are being written. We’ll still be active in the mainstream. You don’t have to worry about me suddenly turning into Sean Penn or Daniel Day-Lewis."

"But if I could become Daniel Day-Lewis, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Who doesn’t want to be Daniel Day-Lewis?"

As Anson rambled, Edgar couldn’t help but laugh.

Indeed, he had been briefly trapped in his own thinking.

Caught up in Hollywood’s current state, he was desperate to seize an opportunity for Anson, but sometimes he overthought things. Taking a small step back to see the bigger picture made him realize:

Yes, the current situation was important, but not urgent.

And, in fact, when putting aside salary and future plans, purely from an actor’s career perspective, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" was indeed the better choice. Anson truly needed a project like this.