The Maker: Hollywood

The morning sun was cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main executive conference room in Building A, warming the heavy oak table. It was just past nine, and the room smelled strongly of the dark roast coffee Marcus had brought in from a local spot in the Valley.

Daniel sat near the head of the table, dressed in a faded gray crewneck sweater and jeans. He looked a little worse for wear, the kind of tired that comes from pulling three late nights in a row to finish a final draft. He was nursing his coffee and looking out the window at the studio lot. Soundstage doors were rolled open in the distance, electric carts were zipping between buildings, and grips were moving heavy lighting rigs. It was just a normal Tuesday.

Elena, Miller Studios’ Chief Operating Officer, was sitting across from him, organizing a stack of financial summaries and logistical reports. Marcus sat to her right, scrolling through a tablet, a thoroughly amused expression stuck on his face. Tom was slumped in his chair next to Daniel, rubbing his eyes while gripping a massive Yeti thermos.

”Alright,” Marcus said, setting his tablet flat on the table. ”I’ll give you the short version of the morning carnage. The Disney board convened at 7:00 AM our time. It went about as badly as you’d expect. Lyle Prescott has officially been asked to ’step down to spend more time with his family,’ which is corporate speak for getting pushed out of a moving vehicle.”

Tom snorted into his thermos. ”Who is stepping in?”

”An interim committee for now,” Marcus said. ”Orson Croft is suspended pending an internal review of the leaked audio. The institutional shareholders are absolutely furious. Disney’s stock opened down again today. The sheer incompetence of Lyle trying to strong-arm Terry Kowalski on a recorded line has completely fractured their leadership.”

Marcus looked up at Daniel and Elena. ”Which brings me to my actual question. Their stock is cheap right now. Historically cheap. We have the liquid capital. Do we start quietly buying up distressed shares through proxy LLCs? Get a foothold?”

Elena frowned, tapping her pen against her notepad. She looked at Daniel, already knowing the answer, but she laid out the reality of it anyway.

”It’s a bad play right now,” Elena said, her tone all business. ”I’ve run the preliminary numbers on a potential Disney acquisition just as a thought experiment. It’s a logistical nightmare. If we move now, we don’t just get their film division or the theme parks. We swallow ABC, ESPN, and a mountain of legacy corporate debt. Not to mention the pension obligations for tens of thousands of park employees.”

Daniel nodded in agreement, taking a slow sip of his coffee. ”Elena is right. Aside from the debt, if we try an aggressive move right now, we immediately invite the FTC and the Department of Justice to start sniffing around for antitrust violations. Disney’s board might be fractured today, but a hostile takeover bid from an outside studio would unite them instantly. They’d trigger poison pill provisions just to spite us.”

”So we just ignore it?” Marcus asked, leaning back.

”We just focus on our own work,” Daniel said, sounding more exhausted by the idea of corporate warfare than anything else. ”They have enough problems to deal with. They’re going to spend the next two years restructuring and dealing with angry shareholders. Let them sort out their own mess. If the day comes when they actually need a buyout to survive, and the terms make sense for us operationally, we can look at it. But right now? I have zero interest in buying a DOJ investigation.”

He was lying. He had no intention to buy out Disney right now, but he knew Disney was going to dig its own grave sooner or later. He’d strike then.

”Fair enough,” Marcus shrugged. ”Saves us billions in proxy fights. I’ll tell the acquisitions team to stand down.”

”Please do,” Daniel said. He reached down to his leather messenger bag on the floor and pulled out a thick, heavy binder. He placed it onto the center of the oak table with a dull thud.

Tom instantly perked up, the sleepiness vanishing from his eyes.

Daniel slid it across the smooth wood until it stopped right in front of his producing partner.

”Finished it around three in the morning,” Daniel said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tom flipped open the blank black cover and looked at the stark white title page.

THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION.

Written by Daniel Miller.

Based on the novella by Stephen King.

Tom didn’t look shocked. He didn’t gasp at the pivot. After ten years of working with Daniel, from gritty indie thrillers to massive superhero tentpoles to space-punk animation, the only thing Tom expected was the unexpected. The industry had long ago stopped trying to put Daniel in a box.

”A 1940s Maine state penitentiary drama,” Tom read aloud, a slow smile spreading across his face. ”Sure. Why not. We just did a hyper-kinetic sci-fi pirate movie, so obviously the next logical step is a quiet Stephen King prison piece.”

Elena laughed softly. ”Are we actually building a prison, or are we shooting on location?”

”A bit of both, hopefully,” Daniel said. ”I just really missed shooting on film, to be honest. No massive rendering farms, no CGI set extensions. Just 35mm film stock, real locations, practical lighting, and a solid cast. I needed a palate cleanser after the sheer technical scale of the last couple of projects.”

Tom flipped through the first few pages, his eyes scanning the dialogue formatting. ”Andy Dufresne. A banker wrongfully convicted of a double homicide. It’s a tough role. He has to be incredibly quiet, smart, and completely unreadable, but you still need the audience to root for him.”

”I was thinking Cillian,” Daniel said.

Tom looked up, nodding slowly. ”Cillian Murphy. Yeah, that tracks. He can do the quiet, intense thing in his sleep. Plus, he doesn’t mind the cold, which is good, because Maine isn’t exactly tropical. Have you talked to him?”

”I was about to,” Daniel said. He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and pulled up his contacts. He tapped Cillian’s name, put the phone on speaker, and set it on the table.

It was mid-afternoon in Ireland. The line rang twice before clicking over.

”Daniel,” a calm, familiar, deeply resonant voice came through the speaker.

”Hey, Cillian,” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair. ”Did I catch you at a bad time?”

”No, I’m just sitting in the house having a cup of tea,” Cillian Murphy replied, his dry Irish lilt cutting through the slight static of the international call. ”I assume you’re not calling just to catch up. The internet over here is completely on fire with your animated pirate movie, by the way. I loved it.”

”Glad to hear it,” Daniel smiled. ”You still decompressing from that theater run in London?”

”I am,” Cillian sighed softly. ”It took it out of me. I told my agent I didn’t want to look at a script for at least three months. So, whatever you’re about to pitch me, I’m warning you now, I might just politely decline.”

”I’m not pitching you a massive tentpole, Cillian,” Daniel said, keeping it casual. ”No green screens, no heavy prosthetics, no franchise commitments. Just a straightforward drama. I emailed you a PDF a few minutes ago.”

There was a pause on the line. The faint sound of a laptop clicking open could be heard in the background.

”The Shawshank Redemption,” Cillian read out loud, his tone curious. ”Stephen King?”

”Yeah. Take a look at the role of Andy Dufresne. Banker sentenced to two consecutive life terms. I need someone who can play the long game. The guy survives twenty years in the worst environment imaginable just by being quietly stubborn. He’s got a poker face that nobody can read, but you still have to feel the humanity underneath it.”

There was a long silence on the line. The sound of Cillian scrolling through the PDF echoed softly in the conference room.

Daniel took a sip of his coffee and waited. He knew Cillian didn’t care about the money or the studio prestige; he cared about the words on the page.

A minute passed.

”The opening sequence,” Cillian finally murmured, his voice sounding much more engaged now. ”The courtroom cross-examination juxtaposed with him drinking in his car... it’s very tight, Daniel. Very restrained.”

”We shoot in a few months,” Daniel said. ”Just a camera, real sets, and good actors. Nothing crazy.”

Another pause.

”Well,” Cillian sighed, though there was a distinct smile in his voice now. ”So much for my three months of rest. Tell Tom to call my agent. I’ll do it.”

”Appreciate it, man,” Daniel said. ”Go enjoy your tea. We’ll talk soon.”

”Cheers, Dan.”

The line clicked dead.

Tom shook his head, jotting a note down on his legal pad. ”It’s nice when they actually want to read the script instead of just asking about the backend points.”

”Cillian’s always been about the work,” Daniel said. ”Now, we need to talk about Ellis Boyd Redding. Red.”

”The contraband guy,” Tom said, looking at the character breakdown in the script. ”The narrator. The entire emotional weight of the movie hinges on Red’s voiceover. We need a veteran. Someone the audience implicitly trusts the second they open their mouth.”

”I want Denzel,” Daniel said.

Tom paused, his pen hovering over his notepad. He looked at Daniel, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

”Denzel Washington,” Tom repeated, thinking it through. ”I like it. Actually, I really like it. It’s great counter-casting right now.”

”You think he’ll be open to it?” Elena asked, looking up from her reports. ”He’s on a massive action run right now. The Equalizer, Man on Fire type stuff. Making a killing playing the untouchable badass. Taking a supporting role as an older, beaten-down prisoner might be a hard sell to his reps.”

”His reps might push back,” Tom agreed, ”but Denzel is a theater actor at heart. If the dialogue is good, he’ll recognize it. We just have to pitch it right. We aren’t asking him to carry a gun and walk away from explosions. We’re asking him to just sit in a room and act.”

”Exactly,” Daniel said. ”Red is institutionalized. He’s terrified of the outside world. I want to strip away the slick suits and the action-star swagger and just let Denzel lean into his dramatic chops. His voice alone is worth the price of admission for the narration.”

”I’ll reach out to WME this afternoon,” Tom said, writing Denzel’s name on his pad and circling it heavily. ”I’ll try to get the script directly to him so his agents don’t try to filter it out. What about the rest of the ensemble?”

”Warden Samuel Norton,” Daniel said. ”He’s the villain, but he’s a pious hypocrite. Hides his corruption behind the Bible. We need someone with a terrifying, cold stare. Charles Dance or Ed Harris.”

”Put them both on the shortlist,” Tom nodded. ”I can see Ed Harris crushing that. What about Captain Byron Hadley? The chief of the guards. Needs to be a towering, brutal guy.”

”Michael Shannon,” Elena suggested. ”Nobody does towering and unhinged quite like him.”

”Shannon would be perfect,” Daniel agreed. ”For Brooks Hatlen—the old librarian—let’s look at guys like Donald Sutherland or Brian Cox. We need a veteran who can break your heart with just a look.”

Before they could dive deeper into the younger supporting roles, the glass doors to the conference room swung open.

Dante Ferretti walked in, moving with the chaotic, energetic swagger of a man who spent his entire life building worlds from scratch.

Right behind him was Sam, his highly capable production designer and right hand man who handled the day-to-day logistics, carrying a massive roll of architectural blueprints. Trailing them was Bob Elswit, holding a light meter and looking perpetually deep in thought.

”Daniel!” Dante boomed, his thick accent echoing through the room. ”I read the script last night. Bellissimo. It is dark. It is depressing. I love it.”

”Glad you liked it, Dante,” Daniel smiled.

Sam dumped the heavy roll of blueprints onto the center of the oak table, pushing aside a few coffee mugs. ”We’ve been up since 4:00 AM looking at logistics, Dan,” Sam said, looking exhausted but wired. ”We have a structural debate we need to sort out before we start writing checks.”

Bob Elswit stepped up to the table, adjusting his glasses. ”It’s about the location shooting versus soundstage builds,” Bob explained, his voice low and raspy. ”The script calls for Shawshank to feel like a gothic, imposing monster. Real stone, real rust.”

Dante waved his hands dramatically in the air. ”I tell them, we must shoot at the Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield! I have looked at the photos. It is perfect. The stone is weeping. It smells of misery! You cannot build that on a soundstage, Daniel. You need the history of the real prison.”

”Dante, I agree the exterior of Mansfield is incredible,” Sam argued gently, rubbing the back of his neck like they had been having this exact argument for six hours. ”But shooting the interiors there is a logistical nightmare. The cells are too small to fit Bob’s camera crew. The lighting grids will take weeks to rig in a historic building without damaging the property. If we build the main cellblock here on Stage 4, we can make the walls fly away. We can give Bob the angles he needs.”

Bob nodded in agreement. ”If we’re shooting on 35mm, I need depth. I want deep, crushing shadows. If we’re shoved into a real six-by-eight cell, the lighting is going to look completely flat. I need control over the practical fixtures.”

Daniel listened to the three of them debate. It was the best kind of friction—passionate craftsmen trying to solve a practical puzzle.

Daniel leaned over the table, looking at the reference photos Sam had unrolled. Pictures of rusted iron bars, peeling paint, towering gothic brick walls, and long, cold corridors.

”What if we split the difference?” Daniel asked, looking between Sam and Dante. ”We send a crew to Mansfield. We shoot all the exterior yard scenes there. The arrival of the bus, the roof-tarring sequence, the courtyard dialogue. Dante, you get your real stone for the wide shots. The actors get to feel the cold air of a real prison yard.”

Daniel then tapped the blueprint of the soundstage. ”But for the interior cellblocks, the library, and the warden’s office, we build them here or the valley lot. Sam, how long would it take to build a multi-tiered cellblock on Stage 4? Something where the walls are on wild-lines so Bob can pull them back and get his camera exactly where he needs it?”

Sam did some quick mental math. ”If we run double shifts on the construction crew... three weeks. Four, to get the detailing right.”

”Make it four,” Daniel said. ”Dante, I want you to age the sets so heavily that when the actors touch the bars, their hands come away smelling like rust. No shiny Hollywood sets.”

”Ah, the texture of despair,” Dante said, looking pleased. ”I will make it so dirty, you will want to take a shower.”

Bob Elswit smiled, a rare, genuine expression. ”I can work with that. I want practical lighting inside the cells. Bare bulbs, harsh overhead fluorescents in the corridors.”

”Go for it,” Daniel agreed.

Sam rolled up the blueprints, looking relieved that the argument was settled. ”I’ll get the construction crews mobilized. We’ll draft the budget for the Mansfield location shoot by the end of the day.”

”Send it to me when it’s ready,” Elena chimed in, tapping her notepad. ”And keep the overtime reasonable, Sam.”

”Will do, Elena,” Sam said, already walking toward the door with Dante and Bob. They were already arguing loudly in the hallway about the cost of importing specific types of aged brick.

The conference room settled back into a quiet calm.

Marcus packed up his tablet, taking a final sip of his coffee. ”Well. A few hours ago, we were talking about hostile corporate takeovers and billions of dollars in stock manipulation. Now we’re talking about rusted iron bars and bare lightbulbs.”

Tom smiled, closing the black binder. ”It’s a nice change of pace. Let the suits at Disney fight over their stock options. We’ll just keep making movies.”

Daniel looked out the window again. The California sun was climbing higher, beating down on the massive, sprawling studio he and Tom had built.

It was going to be a busy year.

”Call WME, Tom,” Daniel said, standing up and grabbing his coffee mug. ”Let’s see if Denzel wants to go to prison,” He chuckled.

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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: /AmaanS