Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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****

Peter’s hands were already moving, carving shapes out of the air as if he were framing shots. ”All of it. Back-to-back. Three bloody films, Richard. All at once.”

The workshop fell dead silent. Even the ambient noise of a dozen technicians working in the adjacent rooms seemed to drop away.

Richard stared at him. Shooting a trilogy concurrently was unheard of. It was logistical suicide. ”Three films. Peter, are you out of your mind? Do you know how many swords that is? How much chainmail? How many miniatures?”

”I need you to build Middle-earth,” Peter said, spinning around to face him, his eyes burning with a manic, infectious energy. ”I’ve been in purgatory for three years fighting for this. Now we have the green light. I need everything. Armor, prosthetics, weapons, environments. We’re doing the whole bloody thing right here in New Zealand.”

Peter nodded. ”We built Hobbiton once. We built Rivendell once. We make the armour once. We don’t tear everything down after each picture just to build it all over again.”

He rubbed his hands together. ”That’s where the savings are. We use the real country whenever we can.”

He pointed toward the window overlooking the hills.

”We’ve already got mountains. We’ve already got forests. We’ve already got rivers. If New Zealand has it, we’ll shoot there. We use our own backyards. We build the sets practical, we use miniatures—bigatures, whatever you want to call them—and we only use the digital effects when a man in a rubber suit absolutely won’t cut it. If it doesn’t...”

He looked at Richard. ”...then you’ll get to build it.”

Laughter rolled through the room.

Peter leaned back against the table. ””You know, if we do this right, we’re going to put this country on the map. The government should be pinning medals on our chests. We’ll probably boost the bloody tourism industry.”

Richard smirked. ”They’ll probably just send you another tax form.”

More laughter.

”Right. Tourists flocking to Wellington to look at foam swords and fake hobbit feet. Let’s just focus on surviving the costume department first, mate.”

They joked happily, but little did they know that their jokes would come true later, *The Lord of the Rings* would bring not just a little traffic to New Zealand, but nearly 10 million tourists every year.

Someone eventually asked the question everyone had been thinking. ”So... No Miramax?”

Peter’s smile faded. He shook his head. ”No. Marvin bought the film rights from Miramax. His lawyers are finishing things with the Tolkien Estate.”

”If everything stays on schedule, it should all be wrapped up before the month’s out.”

Richard nodded slowly. ”So... ...no Harvey.”

Peter let out a long breath. ”No Harvey.”

A tired smile crossed his face. ”You have no idea how good that sounds.”

Three years.

Three years of meetings.

Three years of budget cuts.

Three years of hearing that Hobbits should be merged, battles shortened, characters removed, and Middle-earth squeezed into something cheaper.

Peter snorted. ”I won’t miss seeing that fat bastard.”

Nobody rushed to defend Harvey. Not in that room.

Most of them had heard enough stories over the years to know exactly what Peter meant.

Richard simply reached over, clapped his friend on the shoulder, and smiled.

”All right.”

”Let’s go build Middle-earth.”

---

Miramax Pictures...

Harvey Weinstein’s office was louder than usual.

A bottle of champagne had already been opened.

Harvey stood beside his desk, glass in hand, looking immensely pleased with himself.

”I told you,” he said, grinning. ”Sometimes the best deal is the one you don’t make.”

Ben Affleck laughed.

”You sold it before spending a dime.”

”Exactly.” Harvey pointed his glass toward him.

”Kid wanted total control. So I gave it to him.” And got paid for it.”

Another satisfied sip.

”I’d call that good business.”

Ben raised his own glass. ”Can’t argue with that.”

Across the room, Bob Weinstein didn’t join the celebration.

He remained seated, flipping through a copy of the distribution figures.

”What if it works?”

Harvey didn’t even look at him. ”It won’t.”

”You sound awfully certain.”

”I know Peter Jackson.” Harvey snorted. ”Nice enough guy. Too nice. He makes little horror pictures in New Zealand. I know that fat man. He’s just a B-level film director and can’t handle such a large-scale production. Now everyone’s pretending he’s David Lean because a fourteen-year-old likes him.”

Ben chuckled.

Harvey wasn’t finished.

”*Lord of the Rings?*” He spread his hands.”Three movies? Back-to-back? Come on. You know how many ways something that size can go wrong?”

Matt Damon finally spoke. ”I heard New Line wanted in.”

Harvey waved him off. ”They did. They also got told no.”

Matt didn’t argue. ”So why ask?”

Harvey smiled.

”Politics. They know Marvin’s hot. Everybody wants to be seen standing next to the hottest name in town. It costs them nothing to make the call.”

Bob finally looked up. ”It wasn’t Warner. It was New Line.”

”Same family.” Harvey shrugged. ”Haven’t you noticed? This is just Warner Bros. showing goodwill to Marvin. They have no confidence in the movie. Otherwise, why didn’t they fund it themselves? Humph, it’s just a little trick!”

.

Warner Bros. had approached Jeff first.

Not directly. On paper, the proposal came from New Line Cinema.

Jeff hadn’t been surprised. New Line had been part of the Warner family for years, yet it still operated with a surprising degree of independence. Deals that looked awkward for Warner Bros. could often be explored through New Line instead.

The investment proposal had been declined almost immediately.

Marvin had made his position perfectly clear from the beginning. He wasn’t looking for another studio to buy a piece of his films. If Meyers Studios was taking on the financial risk, then it would also keep the ownership, the backend, and the creative control.

There would be no exceptions.

New Line’s executives had accepted the answer without resistance.

In reality, their primary concern was not the investment itself; they appreciated that no capital was required from them.

Distribution had always been the real prize with least risks.

That was where the discussions continued.

Jeff understood the reasoning without anyone needing to explain it.

Alan Horn wasn’t questioning Marvin’s talent.

He was questioning uncertainty. Every film was a gamble, no matter who wrote it.

A first-time production company with no theatrical track record was an even larger one.

If movie became a phenomenon, Warner Bros. could strengthen its relationship with Marvin through New Line while sharing in the success as the distributor.

If it stumbled, the financial damage would remain largely confined to New Line rather than becoming another expensive miss on Warner Bros.’ own production slate.

It was classic studio thinking.

Keep a foot in the door.

Limit the downside.

Be ready to claim the upside if lightning struck.

Jeff couldn’t even fault the logic.

If he had been sitting in Alan Horn’s chair, he might have made the same decision.

.

”No.” Bob closed the folder. ”Not the same thing.”

Harvey rolled his eyes. ”Bob... I’m not in the mood.”

Bob let it go.

There wasn’t much point. Harvey had already made up his mind.

Matt rested his elbows on his knees. ”So that’s it? We’re just... out?”

Harvey nodded. ”We took the money. He took the risk. If the picture collapses—which I think it will—he’ll be back. And next time...” Harvey smiled. ”...he’ll be negotiating from a much weaker position.”

Nobody answered immediately. Bob looked toward the window. He wasn’t nearly as confident.

The whole town had tried to tell Marvin how to spend his money.

Marvin had ignored every one of them. That took either remarkable discipline... ...or remarkable arrogance.

Bob still wasn’t sure which.

Matt was thinking about something else entirely. If the picture somehow worked...

If *The Lord of the Rings* landed... If Marvin kept owning everything instead of selling pieces of it...

He stopped following the usual Hollywood path altogether. He wasn’t becoming another successful filmmaker. He was building something much harder to compete with.

A studio. Real capital. The kind that didn’t have to ask permission. He would transcend being merely a tool for capital and embody capital itself, given his family background. ’If it were my situation...’

”So if we walk away...” Matt said, breaking the silence. ”Does that damage our relationship with Marvin?”

Harvey didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back, drumming his fingers against the armrest.

”It’ll be fine,” he said at last. ”He’s betting everything on one man. Once he stumbled, reality will catch up with him soon enough.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

”When that happens, he’ll discover how expensive and tiring independence really is. That’s when we sit down and talk.”

”About distribution?” Matt asked. ”Among other things.”

Harvey’s smile widened. ”People negotiate differently after they’ve been humbled. Maybe then I can buy the rights to his books at a lower price.”

Bob looked at his brother but said nothing.

Harvey was seeing only half the board.

Yes, plenty of people in town wanted Marvin’s independently produced films to disappoint. Not because they hated the boy, but because Hollywood had its own unwritten rules.

You didn’t reject every studio in town. You didn’t tell the Big Six you could do their jobs better.

And you certainly didn’t build your own studio before you’d proven you could survive a single theatrical release.

To many executives, Marvin’s confidence looked dangerously close to arrogance.

If the films failed, there would be no shortage of people eager to say, We warned you.

But Bob couldn’t shake another thought.

Warner Bros. hadn’t walked away. Neither had Paramount. They were still calling.

Still meeting. Still looking for a way to do business.

Not because they pitied Marvin. Because they were thinking beyond one film. Relationships in Hollywood weren’t built after success. They were built before it.

If Marvin were to fail, how many individuals, including the Big Six, would offer their condolences? Would they still maintain a relationship with him?

If Marvin weathered his first storm, he would remember exactly who had tried to help—and who had simply waited for him to stumble.

Bob doubted a bouquet of flowers and a sympathetic lunch would erase that. He considered saying as much.

Then he looked at Harvey.

Lately, his brother had stopped listening the moment someone disagreed with him.

Bob let the thought die.

Across the room, Harvey was already talking with Ben again, laughing as though the matter had settled itself.

Matt watched the exchange in silence, absently rubbing his chin. His instincts told him the room was making a dangerous assumption.

They were all debating what would happen if Marvin failed.

Very few seemed interested in asking the opposite question.

What happened if he didn’t?

Matt leaned back in his chair, keeping the thought to himself.

There would be another meeting.

And another.

Hollywood always gave you another chance to

choose a side.

Just not today.

---

Warner Bros. Headquarters...

The conference room overlooked the studio lot, where soundstages stretched across Burbank like a small city. Inside, the discussion had already gone in circles twice.

Alan Horn let them finish.

Then he folded his hands on the table. ”We’re working with Marvin.”

One of the directors frowned. ”He’s insisting on financing it himself.”

”Then let him. He wants Peter Jackson to have creative control. Then Peter Jackson gets creative control.”

Another executive leaned forward. ”And if he asks for something else?”

Alan didn’t hesitate. ”If it’s reasonable, we agree.”

The room fell quiet.

One board member finally broke the silence. ”You’re talking about giving an extraordinary amount of freedom to a thirteen-year-old.”

”Soon to be Fourteen,” Alan corrected.

”That doesn’t change my point.”

”No,” Alan said evenly. ”It changes mine.”

He looked around the table.

”You’re not dealing with an ordinary teenager.”

Another executive shook his head.

”Alan, he’s written successful books. He’s had two successful films. He’s released one successful records. That’s impressive.”

”It’s considerably more than impressive.”

Alan reached for a folder already sitting in front of him.

”Two films that have generated well over a billion dollars at the worldwide box office.”

He turned a page. ”More than forty million books sold worldwide.”

Another page. ”A music catalogue that’s already being valued at $250 Millions before the boy has even turned fourteen.”

He closed the folder. ”Those aren’t lucky numbers.”

Someone across the table spoke. ”He’s still a child.”

Alan smiled faintly. ”I’ve sat across from him. So have plenty of people. They’ve negotiated with him.”

Alan shook his head. ”I mean I’ve actually sat in a room with him.”

For a moment, he found himself remembering the meeting.

The questions Marvin asked hadn’t been the questions of a gifted teenager trying to sound older.

They were the questions of someone who already understood where every dollar flowed after a film opened.

****

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