Chapter 6: I'm Very Curious About Your Age

More than twenty minutes later, having read through over half of the script, Jonathan Friedman forcefully stopped himself from continuing. There were other tasks for the day, and it wasn't the best time to read scripts.

Though he had only read half of it, Jonathan Friedman was already convinced that the quality of the script for "The Butterfly Effect" was as outstanding as its original concept. If it could be made into a film, it would surely be a classic.

Of course, with Jonathan Friedman's professional eye, the shortcomings of the script were also clear.

Firstly, the name 'The Butterfly Effect' seemed too niche. Most ordinary people couldn't understand this professional theory term, which was first proposed in the seventies, and this would undoubtedly hinder many people's interest in the film. However, after Simon had just explained the meaning of the butterfly effect, Jonathan Friedman couldn't find a better fitting name at the moment, and had to put this issue aside for now.

Secondly, the overall style of the story was too dark. Especially the ending where the protagonist returns to the womb to strangle himself with the umbilical cord, which on reflection, could feel quite horrifying.

However, the script did match the style of work his client usually produced.

During the reading, Jonathan Friedman was also multitasking, pondering some thoughts.

Due to the internal turmoil at WMA, a large number of clients had defected, affecting Jonathan Friedman as well.

He managed a well-known Hollywood director, Brian De Palma, who had directed films such as "Carrie" and "Scarface." Recently, he was invited and considering a move to CAA, and according to what he heard, CAA even had a project ready as a welcome gift.

The reason Brian De Palma hadn't moved as straightforwardly as Al Pacino or Barbra Streisand had, was mainly due to the sentimental ties built over the years of collaboration.

However, Brian De Palma's last two major productions, each with an investment of over ten million dollars, had ended in failure. As an agent, if Jonathan couldn't find a high-quality project with enough box office potential soon, he believed he would quickly lose this client.

Now, "The Butterfly Effect" seemed more than suitable.

A novel idea, a compelling script, and it was in the thriller genre, which Brian De Palma excelled in. Moreover, looking at the storyline, the film's budget wouldn't be too high, which would undoubtedly make it easier for production companies to greenlight.

All these favorable elements combined, Jonathan Friedman believed there wasn't much chance of "The Butterfly Effect" failing, and it might even match the success of Brian De Palma's breakout film, "Carrie."

Moreover, as a film with several rich characters, this movie could also help promote some of the younger artists under his management. Since CAA had managed to create a series of successful package deals, there was no reason WMA couldn't replicate their competitor's experience.

Now, the low-budget and low-risk "The Butterfly Effect" obviously could serve as a good package project trial.

After weighing all the details, Jonathan Friedman looked up at the young man opposite him. Perhaps, occasionally signing a screenplay writer wasn't a bad choice.

Resolved, Jonathan Friedman spoke again: "So, Simon, do you have any other scripts?"

Hearing Jonathan Friedman's tone, Simon knew his trip today hadn't been in vain.

However, since "The Butterfly Effect" had already piqued Jonathan Friedman's interest, he decided not to immediately reveal another script, as that would only distract the agent during the script promotion process.

In fact, Simon had originally planned to submit a script only once every one to two months if he could find an agent.

Nevertheless, to continue to increase his weight in Jonathan Friedman's mind, Simon still confidently answered, "Yes, but the script still needs some refinement. It's a story about death, incorporating a certain Eastern fatalistic view. In the Eastern mindset, they believe that if the Grim Reaper has marked someone's time of death, that person will inevitably be unable to escape death's entanglement."

Jonathan Friedman had initially asked just out of politeness, but Simon's words once again caught his interest.

However, Simon did not continue, and Jonathan Friedman did not ask further.

There would be many opportunities to talk in the future; for now, the matter at hand needed to be resolved.

"Since that's the case, let's talk about signing. Simon, since you've done so much preparation, you must have some understanding of signing with an agency. Start with your requirements."

Simon nodded and unpretentiously stated, "First, I only write scripts that interest me; I do not accept commissioned scripts or long-term employment, so I hope to sign a simple screenplay representation contract."

Hearing Simon's first demand, Jonathan Friedman couldn't help but want to shake his head.

In Hollywood, the number of TV and

 film programs based on original scripts only totaled a few hundred each year. If one relied solely on original scripts for a livelihood, the over ten thousand members of the screenwriters guilds on the North and South Coasts would probably starve. Therefore, the work most screenwriters depended on to make ends meet included various adaptations, script doctoring, other commissioned tasks, and long-term employment by production companies.

Simon's demand effectively limited his career to a very narrow range.

Thinking to offer some advice, but looking at the young face across from him, Jonathan Friedman decided against it.

Let him experience some setbacks if he is young and reckless.

Seeing the changes in Jonathan Friedman's expressions, Simon probably understood the agent's thoughts but didn't pause, continuing, "Second, if conditions allow, I hope to try directing films, so I want to retain some autonomy over my scripts."

Jonathan Friedman couldn't help but feel his eyebrow twitch, taking another look at Simon before finally saying, "Actually, Simon, I'm very curious about your age?"

Simon pulled out his wallet and handed over his driver's license, saying, "Mr. Friedman, while I don't intend to hide this from you, I still think that during the process of promoting my scripts, you need to avoid discussing my personal age with the executives of the movie companies."

Jonathan Friedman took the driver's license and glanced at the birthdate.

February 22, 1968.

Though he had his suspicions, Jonathan couldn't help but glance at the date displayed on his office phone; today was June 19, 1986.

Meaning this young fellow had just turned 18 at the beginning of the year.

Somewhat speechlessly shaking his head and smiling, he handed back the license to Simon, saying, "Alright, I'll try to ignore this going forward. However, Simon, you should know, most directors in Hollywood don't get their first chance to direct a film until after they're thirty, so you're still too…"

Simon didn't let Jonathan finish, interrupting with a shake of his head, "You're wrong, Joe. Steven Spielberg wasn't; Martin Scorsese wasn't; George Lucas wasn't; Francis Ford Coppola wasn't either. So why should I be part of that mediocre majority?"

Jonathan Friedman was stunned.

Years later, Jonathan Friedman would still vividly remember that summer afternoon in 1986, when the spirited young man had made such a resounding statement in his office.

Steven Spielberg wasn't;

Martin Scorsese wasn't;

George Lucas wasn't;

Francis Ford Coppola wasn't either.

He didn't know at the time that the young man had less than $100 in his pocket, and if he couldn't find a job to make ends meet soon, he might have to sleep on the streets.

After a while, coming back to his senses, Jonathan Friedman continued discussing the signing with Simon.

Simon had made too profound an impression during this meeting for Jonathan Friedman to impose too harsh conditions for a newcomer.

Ultimately, a screenwriter's potential heights in Hollywood were ultimately limited, and the benefits they brought to an agent like Jonathan Friedman were relatively trivial.

Instinctively feeling that providing some conveniences to this young man might lead to unexpected returns later, the two quickly agreed on a basic contract framework.

A simple script representation contract, a three-year term, with a 10% commission. Simon would have some autonomy over his scripts. In short, if he wanted to personally direct one of his scripts, he could prepare the project without going through an agent.

The detailed contract content naturally wouldn't be so simple, so Simon needed to come back the next day to sign.

Finally, to ease the mood a bit after he had clearly startled Jonathan, Simon voluntarily explained a bit more, indicating that his next goal was only to produce some ultra-low-budget experimental films as practice.

Something like using a 16mm camera, a few thousand dollars, and a couple of people.

Jonathan Friedman was indeed more willing to accept Simon's reasoning and even offered some help within his capacity.

The two had a very pleasant conversation, and before they knew it, it was already 5:40 PM.

After bidding farewell to Jonathan Friedman, who had personally escorted him to the office door, Simon turned around and noticed that the lounge outside still had three young people waiting—a man and two women.

As the office door opened, the three, who had been chatting, stood up respectfully and couldn't help but look towards Simon, the guy who had made them wait for over an hour. The two young men's eyes carried a mix of envy and caution, while the short-haired girl looked curiously at Simon.

Simon just nodded slightly to the three, feeling the short-haired girl seemed somewhat familiar, but didn't think much of it as he walked away.

It wasn't until he left the WMA headquarters building that Simon remembered a name Jonathan Friedman had mentioned over an hour ago, and then it clicked—the short-haired girl was probably Courteney Cox, the famous Monica Geller

 from "Friends" with her well-known obsessive-compulsive disorder.