“I’m sorry, Mark, but our programming decisions are based on presales, historical performance, comparable releases, audience tracking, and projected occupancy. Your previous movie performed terribly, so according to the numbers, this is the allocation we can justify.”
Sitting across from Mark Anderson and Evelyn Parker was Daniel Reed, CrownStar Theatres’ vice president of film programming.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, wore thin silver-framed glasses and a perfectly fitted business suit, and had the calm professional manner of someone accustomed to telling filmmakers that their movies weren’t getting enough screens.
Mark had already been arguing with him for almost half an hour, yet the man still refused to move beyond CrownStar’s original offer.
“Daniel, I think you’re relying too much on my last movie instead of judging the one sitting in front of you now,” Mark said.
“You’ve seen the preview reports, the presale numbers, the audience reactions, and the finished film. If every decision can be made by an algorithm using historical data, why does CrownStar need an experienced head of programming?”
Daniel’s expression stiffened.
“That’s not exactly how it works.”
“I know.” Mark smiled before the man could become genuinely angry.
“That’s my point. You’ve spent years studying audiences, releases, theater traffic, and seasonal demand. Your experience is supposed to tell you when the historical model is missing something.”
The compliment softened Daniel’s expression slightly.
Mark immediately continued.
“Look at what we brought you. Every advance screening sold out, waiting lists formed in multiple cities, online horror communities are discussing Jaws without Silverline paying them to do it, and presales for the limited opening sessions are strong. Which other new horror release this Halloween weekend has that combination of audience curiosity and organic word of mouth?”
Daniel leaned back without answering.
That was exactly what made the decision difficult.
Mark’s previous movie had been a catastrophic failure.
A production costing almost twenty-five million dollars had earned less than a million before disappearing from theaters, leaving him with virtually no reliable audience base or commercial track record.
From an exhibitor’s perspective, Mark Anderson was effectively still an unknown director carrying the additional disadvantage of having already delivered one notorious flop.
Normally, no experienced film buyer would take a significant risk on him.
But Jaws complicated everything.
Daniel had watched the finished movie himself and thought it was exceptionally effective.
The preview data also looked far stronger than anything expected from a $700,000 horror production, and the unusual amount of organic discussion suggested Mark’s targeted marketing strategy was actually working.
His professional instincts told him the movie had potential, while CrownStar’s historical forecasting model kept warning him that Mark Anderson was a terrible bet.
After several moments of hesitation, Daniel finally sighed.
“All right. I can push the opening allocation to somewhere between three and five percent, but realistically, I can guarantee three percent across the participating locations. If the occupancy and per-screen averages are strong after opening, I’ll authorize increases as quickly as our scheduling allows.”
He raised one hand before Mark could negotiate again.
“That’s the furthest I can go before we have actual box-office data.”
Mark studied him for a moment, then nodded.
He knew Daniel was telling the truth.
“Three percent it is.” Mark stood and extended his hand.
“I won’t insult you by promising dinner just for doing your job. When Jaws finishes its run, I’ll invite you to the celebration party instead.”
Daniel laughed and shook his hand.
“That confident?”
“Very.”
“Then I hope you’re right. Good luck with the opening.”
“Thanks.” Mark released his hand and smiled.
“I have a feeling CrownStar and I are going to be doing a lot of business together.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Mark and Evelyn left CrownStar’s headquarters together.
Paul Stevens had been waiting outside in Mark’s old Geo Metro, and the moment Mark climbed into the passenger seat, Paul handed him a bottle of water.
“Well?”
Mark twisted off the cap and drank several mouthfuls before answering.
“I practically talked myself hoarse, and all I managed to gain was another two percentage points. We’re opening at three percent.”
Paul’s eyes brightened.
“That’s not bad at all.”
He immediately pulled out his phone and started calculating.
CrownStar operated roughly 1,250 theaters with nearly 13,900 screens in this parallel American market, and if each screen averaged around five daily showings, a three-percent allocation would represent a little over two thousand Jaws sessions across the chain.
At an average auditorium size near two hundred seats, that created theoretical capacity for more than four hundred thousand admissions in a day.
Paul whistled.
“At, say, fourteen bucks a ticket, full capacity would mean almost six million dollars in daily gross just through CrownStar.”
“If every seat sells,” Mark reminded him.
“Still. Even a fraction of that is huge compared with what we spent making the movie.”
Mark nodded but didn’t celebrate yet.
“The production only cost seven hundred thousand, but Silverline is committing up to another two-point-one million to marketing. And the box office isn’t the same thing as money coming back to us after the theaters take their share.”
Paul shrugged.
“You really know how to ruin a good mood.”
“Nobody knows anything until audiences start buying tickets.” Mark looked back toward the CrownStar headquarters.
“We’ve done everything we can. From here on, the market decides.”
His expression became thoughtful.
No matter how talented a director was, theatrical exhibition still controlled access to the audience.
A filmmaker could create an incredible movie, but if theater chains refused to give it showtimes, very few people would ever have the opportunity to discover it.
For now, Mark had to ask companies like CrownStar for screens.
Someday, he wouldn’t.
He had already thought about owning theaters while experimenting with the system’s sensory technology.
Looking at CrownStar’s enormous headquarters only strengthened that ambition.
One day, Mark Anderson would own a theater chain of his own.
Two days passed quickly.
Then came Friday, October 30.
Halloween weekend had always been one of the strongest periods for American horror releases, and Silverline had deliberately positioned Jaws to take advantage of audiences already looking for something frightening.
For Mark, however, the day meant considerably more than seasonal timing.
It was judgment day.
At a college campus in Los Angeles, Ethan Miller finished his last class of the afternoon and hurried back toward his dorm.
He had already arranged an evening outing with his roommates, Claire Bennett, and several of her friends, all of whom wanted to see the movie he had spent the past week praising online. This story is hosted at novelping . com.
One roommate immediately confronted him.
“Ethan, seriously, is Jaws actually as good as you’ve been claiming?”
Ethan grinned.
“Why? Nervous?”
“Nervous? You’re talking to the guy who spent a night in an abandoned cemetery during high school.”
“Then you’ll be fine.”
“I’m just saying, if this thing is boring after you’ve spent a week calling it the greatest horror movie in years, we’re never letting you choose movie night again.”
The room burst into laughter.
Ethan refused to reveal anything important about the plot.
He was the only person in the group who had already seen the entire movie, and spoiling the shark attacks would ruin exactly what made the experience work.
“Just trust me. It’s worth the ticket.”
They headed out together and soon reached the nearest CrownStar theater.
The lobby was noticeably busier than Ethan expected for the afternoon.
A short line had formed near the ticket kiosks, and he could hear several people asking employees whether any Jaws seats remained for later showings.
One of his roommates glanced around.
“Okay. Maybe Ethan wasn’t completely making this up.”
Another checked his phone.
“People have been talking about it all week on Reddit and Letterboxd. Today’s sessions here are basically sold out.”
“Good thing Ethan made us buy tickets early.”
“That’s right.” Ethan raised his chin proudly.
“You’re welcome.”
The guys bought popcorn and drinks before waiting in the lobby for Claire and her friends.
A few minutes later, the girls arrived, introductions were made, and the group headed toward the auditorium for their 3:20 p.m.
showing.
Midafternoon on a weekday was normally weaker than the evening moviegoing period, even on a Friday.
Yet when Ethan walked inside, he stopped in surprise.
The auditorium was already packed.
People filled almost every row, and from the conversations around him, a large percentage seemed to be horror fans who had discovered Jaws through the same online discussions Silverline had deliberately cultivated.
Some were debating shark attacks, others were discussing the advance-screening reviews, while several had apparently come because friends refused to stop talking about the movie.
Ethan found his seat beside Claire.
The lights slowly dimmed.
Conversation faded.
Then the theater became completely dark.
A deep underwater sound rolled through the auditorium.
Jaws had officially begun its opening day.
(End of Chapter 18)