The simplest explanation for why all three companies softened their numbers so quickly was that none of them saw much point in fighting over a director who hadn’t proven anything yet.
A name like Adam’s wasn’t worth risking bad blood with the others over, not at this stage.
So they’d settled into roughly the same offer without much friction, and now they were all waiting to see what he’d ask for next.
“I don’t want a salary,” Adam said.
“I want a different kind of deal.”
Dean leaned forward slightly.
“Go on.”
Adam held up two fingers, like he’d rehearsed exactly how he wanted to say this, which he had.
“If the worldwide box office comes in under twenty million, I don’t take a cent.
Past twenty million, I get one percent of the gross.
For every additional ten million after that, the percentage goes up by one.”
Dean laughed, an easy, genuine laugh, the kind that came from finding someone’s confidence almost charming rather than threatening.
There was ambition behind that offer, plain as anything, and Dean could see Adam believed every word of it.
In Dean’s experience, the odds of a first-time director clearing twenty million dollars on a $1.2 million horror film were close enough to nothing that the distinction barely mattered.
A new director, a budget that small, a box office in the tens of millions—it simply didn’t happen.
Which made the whole arrangement easy to agree to.
“Deal,” Dean said.
“But I want a ceiling.
Five percent, max.”
It was the kind of caution that cost nothing if the film flopped the way most films like it flopped, and protected the studio just enough if it somehow didn’t.
Even in the unlikely event Saw became something bigger than anyone in that room expected, a five percent ceiling meant New Line would never feel any real pain writing the check.
Adam shook his hand.
He didn’t push for more, and he had no intention of trying.
He already knew, better than anyone else at that table, what this film was actually going to make if things went the way he remembered them going.
If it achieved its original numbers and hit $150 million, a studio could find itself owing him a 13% share of the box office.
This huge profit would be enough for New Line Cinema to turn hostile and find every incentive in the world to get creative with overseas reporting, ensuring he never collected what he was technically owed.
Five percent was a number nobody would ever feel the need to fight him over later.
That made it the right number to ask for.
As for the other two companies in the room, Adam had already stopped paying them much attention.
It had been obvious from the start of the meeting that they weren’t there to actually compete for the project—they were there to stand next to Dean and make the negotiation look less one-sided than it was, the kind of quiet favor companies traded with each other so no first-time director walked away thinking he had more leverage than he did.
Once the handshake was done, Derek stepped in to handle the remaining paperwork with Dean, and the two of them worked through the details quickly.
A deal this size didn’t need a roomful of lawyers.
Dean had the authority to close it himself, and within the hour, it was signed.
Dean left the CAA building with the other two executives shortly after.
Only Derek and Adam remained in the room.
Derek picked the signed contract up off the table, smiling slightly before setting it back down.
“So—crew, and casting.
Do you already have people in mind?”
“A few key positions are locked in already,” Adam said, waving a hand casually.
“Everything else, I’ll leave to you.
For actors, run open auditions.
If someone’s clearly right for a role, you can sign them on the spot.”
“I’ll handle it,” Derek said, his face full of excitement.
A director client brought more than just one film’s worth of work; they brought a large number of high-quality clients to CAA’s agents.
If Saw did well, the chain reaction would keep paying out for years.
Once the production was registered with the Actors Guild, word moved through the usual channels quickly.
A low-budget horror film wasn’t glamorous, but for actors without an agent fighting to get them into bigger rooms, a named role in anything was worth showing up for.
Small productions often chose new actors because they couldn’t afford massive salaries, and for those trying to get their foot in the door, a named role was often more important than the money.
Three days later, outside an office building near Hollywood, hundreds of people lined up.
They came with only one goal: to get a role from the Saw crew.
Inside, the casting process split into two tracks.
Derek had brought in an assistant director to handle the background extras and minor roles.
Adam handled the rest himself—the parts that actually mattered to the film.
He worked through the stack of headshots and résumés steadily, one after another, until one made him pause.
Salma Hayek?
Looking at the small photo in the résumé, the name felt familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.
Her résumé listed the Mexican Novela TV Award for Best Actress and the Mexican Novela TV Award for Best Newcomer in 1989.
To every studio in this town, those awards didn’t carry much weight.
Studios simply didn’t recognize them, which meant she was a newcomer—and her rate would be negotiated like anyone else just starting out.
What mattered more to Adam was whether she could handle the role the way it needed to be handled.
The tension, the fear, and most importantly, whether she could let go.
The horror genre had certain expectations, and while the scale wouldn’t be overly explicit, the role did require a little nudity.
Providing some benefits for the audience was standard, and he needed someone comfortable enough to handle it naturally.
When she walked into the room a few minutes later, it all clicked.
Looking at the young director, Salma Hayek confidently straightened her posture, her chest proudly pushed forward.
She radiated a mature allure, and looking at her striking, developed figure, Adam’s memory finally settled into certainty.
He’d seen this face before in films that hadn’t been made here yet.
He finally figured out the future trajectory of the actress standing in front of him.
He asked her to read a scene, watched her work through it without flinching from the harder material, and came away convinced she had exactly what the part required.
By the time she left the room, Adam had already mentally checked her name off the list of decisions still left to make.
Whatever this industry hadn’t recognized about her yet, he had a strong feeling that wouldn’t stay true for long.