lovenovelstory Chapter 147 US Dollars Are the Best Connections
Chapter 147 US Dollars Are the Best Connections
Chapter 147 US Dollars Are the Best Connections
In the dimly lit screening room, the projector's cooling fan was still humming softly.
"Qin—are you kidding me?" Coppola looked at the agent in front of him with some surprise.
Having spent many years in this world of fame and fortune, he knew very well what the essence of a talent agency was. Even if Qin Han had integrated a completely new model, the underlying logic would not have changed.
They are brokers who move between creators and production companies, and their profits come from "commissions." It is a low-risk business model that doesn't generate huge profits.
To take out $800,000 of your own money to invest in a movie?
This is equivalent to the brokerage firm taking all the risks and pressure upon itself!
Michael Ovitz sighed slightly; Qin Han had indeed chosen to go all in.
He thought that the boss would at least bring in a few independent investment institutions to share the risk, but he never expected that he would take the whole business for himself!
Qin Han calmly met the two men's shocked gazes: "Mr. Coppola, do I look like I'm joking?"
'
"Han's Film Studio just announced its official opening last night. I wouldn't risk the company's reputation and its first large investment for amusement."
"But—this doesn't make sense!" Coppola tried to clarify Qin Han's logic: "As brokers, your income comes from commissions. Why not just take a 10% cut and pocket the money without any risk? Why become a shareholder yourself?"
Lucas also stared intently at Qin Han, awaiting his reply.
In Hollywood, nobody's a philanthropist, especially when it comes to a "box office poison" who has just botched a million-dollar investment.
"The reason is simple." Qin Han began to list the explanations he had prepared in his mind: "First, Universal Pictures' current financial situation is not as good as it seems from the outside. 'Jaws' involves a lot of expensive underwater location shooting and mechanical special effects, so the budget report is definitely showing a lot of red."
"If I presented Sidney with the opportunity to write 'American Graffiti,' given his limited funding, what do you think he would do?"
Coppola paused for a moment. He knew, of course, the nature of studio executives: "They'd either reject the project outright due to budget constraints, or they'd take advantage of our lack of resources and relentlessly drive down the price."
"That's right!" Qin Han picked up where he left off: "The 800,000 you need might be reduced to 700,000, or even 500,000, and then we'll just give it to a few of your 'connected' actors and force George to rush through the filming in two weeks."
Lucas nodded unconsciously: he had already experienced the frustration of surviving in the cracks deeply enough when filming "500 Years Later".
"Secondly," Qin Han continued, looking at the uncertain expression on Lucas's face, "George, you just set a bottom line for me—you absolutely cannot let major studios interfere with your creative process."
"If the funding comes from Global, no matter how strong my power is, I cannot completely stop their involvement."
"However, if the money comes from Hans Films' account, the situation is completely different."
Qin Han stood up, walked to Lucas, and looked at the future film master: "That means I'll have the final say in everything. I promise you absolute creative freedom, from casting and location scouting to final editing rights. The Han family won't send anyone to interfere with your work."
"I'll provide the money, you make the film. It's that simple."
These six short words were more beautiful than the gospel from heaven for a young director who had just been fired from a big company!
Lucas felt that even if the Chinese man in front of him handed him a devil's contract to sell his soul, he would sign his name without hesitation.
"As for the core reason—" Qin Han turned around and looked at Michael Ovitz, giving his executive a lecture: "For works that I like, I'd rather sit in the main seat and eat the biggest slice of the pie than take that pitiful cut."
"Now that I've taken a liking to this work, I want to have absolute say in the final profit distribution!"
"Qin, I knew I hadn't misjudged you." Coppola stroked his stubble and burst into laughter. "When the opportunity arises, you'll come with me to Malone's island! You two will definitely become inseparable friends!"
"Definitely! I'd also love to pay a visit to this Best Actor who sent a little Native American girl to accept the award!" Qin Han smiled and nodded in thanks.
Coppola asked curiously, "Since you're so optimistic about this film, even willing to fund it yourself, what's your prediction for its final box office gross? I've heard you're an Eastern prophet!"
With a budget of 800,000, at least 2.5 million in box office revenue is needed to recoup the investment.
He expected the final box office to be around five million, which would be a remarkable achievement for a youth film without any big stars.
Upon hearing this question, Qin Han chuckled and said, "The reaction of the film market is a mystery; no one can make absolutely accurate predictions."
"However—if I had to guess a number, I think it would be no less than ten million US dollars."
"Cough cough—!" Coppola suddenly burst into violent coughing, nearly choking on his own saliva.
Ten million US dollars?!
In Hollywood, if ten films a year gross over ten million, it's enough for all the major studios to celebrate for three days and three nights. Seeing the two men's stunned expressions, a sly glint flashed in Qin Han's eyes, and he slowly added, "Who knows? Maybe—it'll end up neck and neck with 'The Godfather' at the box office?"
After a brief silence, Coppola burst into thunderous laughter, slapping his thighs repeatedly.
"My God, Qin! You are absolutely the most morale-boosting producer I've ever met!" He laughed until tears almost streamed down his face.
The Godfather has grossed over $100 million at the North American box office, which is already a box office miracle.
Comparing a youth film with a budget of 800,000 to "The Godfather"? That's absolutely the funniest joke of the day.
Lucas's tense nerves relaxed amidst the exaggerated laughter, assuming it was Qin Han trying to ease the tension.
A rhetorical device used to encourage oneself.
Ten million? Even if he only gets two million, he'll be grateful if he can pay back the money he owes Coppola.
Qin Han smiled politely at the two men: "This film's box office performance is far more than 1000 million."
If you told them at this point that *American Graffiti* grossed an astonishing $1.15 million at the box office, second only to *The Godfather*...
If they lost more than ten million, these two would probably think they were crazy.
Let's save this surprise for when the box office results are in, and let them savor it slowly.
"Alright, jokes over, let's get down to business." Qin Han's smile faded, and he gestured to Michael, "Michael, take the two directors to the office on the third floor and show them the contracts."
Twenty minutes later, George Lucas signed his name in the signature column and then stamped it with the official seal of Hans Film Company.
This contract, which changed the course of Hollywood history, has officially come into effect.
After signing the papers, Coppola and Lucas excitedly left the Sunset Tower with the metal box containing the sample photos.
Lucas carefully placed the metal box on the back seat of the car, as if it were a rare treasure.
He sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his heart still pounding in his chest, a feeling of unprecedented power filling his entire body.
"Francis—" Looking at his older brother in the passenger seat, his voice was filled with undisguised excitement.
"I don't know how to thank you. If you hadn't dragged me to see him, my film might have really been moldy in this metal box."
Not only did they secure a substantial budget, but they also gained the absolute editing rights they had always dreamed of.
More importantly, he found a top-notch agent who truly understood him and could see through the soul of his work.
This act of kindness filled him with gratitude towards Coppola.
Coppola rolled down the car window, letting the warm breeze caress his face, and casually waved his hand: "What are you thanking me for, buddy? I told you, you're a genius, you deserve all of this."
"But to be honest, you're really lucky to have met Qin Han when Han's Film Company was just starting out."
"In a few years, I think he might not even care about such small productions anymore."
He said to Lucas with unusual seriousness, "George, don't let him down. Give 200% effort to filming *American Graffiti*!"
"I will! I promise!" Lucas nodded emphatically.
He slammed on the gas, and the Ford sedan sped into the traffic on Sunset Boulevard.
The carriage was unusually quiet throughout the journey.
Lucas's mind kept replaying the dystopian society Qin Han had proposed in the screening room—a galaxy of the universe—an evil galactic empire—an army of clones clad in white armor—
The originally vague and fragmented concepts were as if they had been strung together with a golden thread, colliding violently in his mind and taking root and sprouting.
"Francis," Lucas broke the silence while waiting at a red light, "that idea Qin Han mentioned in the screening room—a space knight using supernatural powers, what do you think of it?"
"That idea is absolutely brilliant!" Coppola praised without reservation, "Taking the core spirit of medieval knights and dressing it in the most cutting-edge science fiction cloak."
"This contrast will definitely drive young people who are tired of traditional sci-fi movies crazy in the theater!"
"Yes, Space Knight—"
Lucas muttered to himself, "Since I'm a knight, I should have my own longsword."
But in the age of interstellar civilization, would they really fight each other with longswords forged from steel? What weapons should they use?
His gaze was fixed on the traffic lights at the intersection ahead, the glaring red light distorting slightly in the summer heat.
A sudden inspiration struck his brain!
Yes! Laser! A laser longsword with only a hilt that emits a blinding light when activated!
When swung, it emits a chilling hum of electricity, capable of cutting through iron like mud and stopping bullets!
In the vast, boundless depths of the universe, the Dark Lord and the Knight of Light met on a narrow path. Laser blades flashed in the darkness, clashing violently and erupting in dazzling sparks—
"My God—"
Lucas's breathing became incredibly heavy; the scene was perfect!
As soon as the green light came on, the Ford sedan shot off like an arrow.
Sunset Tower, third floor, CEO's office.
After seeing the two directors off, Michael Ovitz immediately threw himself into his busy work.
He neatly organized the signed contract, locked it in the safe behind him, and then picked up the promissory note with a face value of $800,000 and carefully checked all the terms and conditions.
Qin Han breathed a sigh of relief, locking the copyright of "American Graffiti" in Han's Film Company's safe, which was the first victory of the day.
There are still many more tasks to be done.
"Michael." He grabbed a suit jacket from the sofa and put it on quickly.
"The bridge loan funds must be transferred to the film production account by tomorrow morning. I have to go out right away, and you have a new assignment."
Michael immediately put down the documents in his hand: "Boss, what are your instructions?"
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"Use every connection and channel you have to contact director Martin Scorsese. Find him and arrange a time for him to come to the company. I need to see him."
Martin Scorsese? Michael recalled that the boss seemed to have promised Disney that he would help them deal with the troubles surrounding the director.
Information related to Martin flashed through his mind.
A young Italian director who has directed several low-budget underground films filled with street violence and profanity.
He has some reputation in the independent film circle, but he is definitely not a hot commodity.
But compared to myself, they at least have some achievements to show for themselves.
Michael gave a bitter smile: "Boss—you know him."
"A week ago, I was just a delivery boy in William Morris's basement, responsible for distributing mail. The highest-ranking people I knew were production assistants and tea servers on film sets. Where would I get the connections to contact a director?"
Seeing the future Hollywood mogul who would strike fear into the hearts of everyone now complaining like a little apprentice, Qin Han couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He walked around the desk, patted his protégé on the shoulder, and then pointed to the breast pocket of his suit: "Michael, that used to be."
"Things are different now. You're the CEO of Hans Films, and your pockets are full of US dollars."
"US dollars are the best connections and the strongest relationships, understand? As for the rest, figure it out yourself."
""
After saying that, Qin Han straightened his collar, turned around, and walked out of the office.
Michael Ovitz was left standing alone in the huge office, motionless for a long time.
"US dollars—the best connections." He grabbed the phone on his desk and started dialing every number he could think of.