STS Ch-57

Jessica bounced lightly on the balls of her feet as she stood outside the movie hall, barely able to contain her excitement. The unmistakable buttery scent of popcorn drifted in the waiting area, prompting more than one person to buy the snack.

Even Jessica couldn’t help herself and had bought a large tub along with a big glass of Coke.

“Who would’ve thought this film would draw such a crowd?” her best friend Annie said, glancing around at the sea of people waiting beside them.

Jessica scanned the room. Annie was right. Most of them looked young, college-aged at most. Despite the film being R-rated, a few didn’t even look old enough to get in without flashing an ID. It wasn’t just girls who’d shown up either. Boys and girls stood in equal numbers. Apparently, Noah Hunter wasn’t the only one who had gathered a fan following with this film, and Julianne Moore had an equal number of admirers.

There were older patrons too, scattered here and there. Unlike the teenagers who clustered in groups, these men and women stood alone, hands in pockets, faces carefully neutral, and doing everything they could to avoid anyone else’s gaze. Jessica felt a grin tug at her lips as a thought struck her.

“Hey, Annie,” Jessica whispered, leaning closer. “Do you think these older people came alone so no one would know they’re watching this film?”

Annie snorted. “Of course. It didn’t occur to me until now, but you’re right. These perverted oldies act so high and mighty about everyth…” She froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening. “Mom!?”

Jessica followed Annie’s gaze. Sure enough, Annie’s mother stood several feet away in the same line, clutching her purse and staring determinedly ahead, as if eye contact might expose her secret.

“Should we…?” Jessica began, unsure how to finish the question.

Annie didn’t let her. She grabbed Jessica’s hand and pulled her a few steps back, ducking slightly behind a tall couple in front of them. “As much as I’d love to confront her about why she isn’t at work, I definitely don’t want her knowing what kind of film I’m watching. So let’s stay back and make sure she doesn’t see us.”

Just then, the theater doors swung open. As the people began filing inside, Jessica and Annie deliberately lagged behind, keeping Annie’s mother in sight. They watched as she selected a seat toward the front of the auditorium.

The girls exchanged a look of relief and headed straight for the back row, sliding into their seats just as the lights began to dim. The screen glowed faintly, advertisements flickering across it while whispered conversations filled the hall.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever look Mom in the eye again,” Annie muttered, sinking into her seat. “I thought she was so pure and… loyal to Dad.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like she’s cheating on him. She’s just watching a movie. The same movie we’re watching, by the way. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Annie shook her head stubbornly. “You wouldn’t understand. Your parents are way too liberal. They didn’t even bat an eyelash when you hung that sexy poster of Noah in your bedroom. Mine aren’t like that. Especially Mom. She’s so uptight that if I weren’t a mini version of hers, I would have doubts that she’s still a virgin.”

Jessica smiled faintly at the memory of the poster of Noah Hunter from [The Blue Lagoon] taped proudly above her bed. “Let’s forget about it and focus on why we’re here,” she said. “We came to see Noah, remember?”

After a moment, Annie nodded. “You’re right. However, I’m a little skeptical after reading the reviews. The critics seem to hate it, especially Noah’s performance.”

Jessica waved off the concern. 

“Critics don’t know everything. They want realism and Oscar-worthy performances in every single film. Not everyone wants that. Honestly, I hate most of the movies that get nominated for those awards.”

“[Kramer vs. Kramer]?” Annie asked, raising an eyebrow. “[Rocky]? [One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest]?”

Jessica inclined her head. “Now you’re just listing the recent winners. Winners are obviously better. I’m talking about movies that get nominated just because critics rave about them, even though they’re painfully boring. Like [The Deer Hunter], or [Coming Home] last year, or even [Apocalypse Now] recently.”

“You take that back!” Annie hissed, leaning closer so she wouldn’t disturb the other patrons. “[Apocalypse Now] is a masterpiece.”

Jessica shrugged. “That’s your opinion. Mine’s different. I don’t want to watch men killing each other or spiraling through trauma for three hours. I want happy, colorful movies. Something like [The Blue Lagoon].”

Annie opened her mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, the lights dimmed further, and the chatter in the hall softened into silence. The screen flickered to life as a trailer began to play.

Normally, they would’ve ignored it. But the opening shot made both of them sit up straighter.

Noah Hunter filled the screen, kissing a girl passionately before pulling back, his expression suddenly serious. “Remember, no one can know about this.”

The girl nodded eagerly as Noah slipped off his shirt, the camera lingering just long enough to pique the curiosity of the audience.

For a brief second, it felt like a typical teen romance. Then the tone shifted sharply. The same girl appeared again, this time drenched in blood, her eyes wide with terror. A large red ‘1’ splashed across the screen.

The music grew darker. Quick cuts followed. Screams. Flashing knives. Shadowy figures. Each violent snippet ended with a number ticking upward from 1 to 13, painted in the same ominous red.

A chilling voiceover echoed through the theater.

“Friday the 13th. You may only see it once. But that would be enough.”

The final shot showed Noah again, his face twisted into a manic cackle before the screen cut abruptly to black.

Friday the 13th. Coming Soon.

Jessica and Annie turned to each other, eyes shining.

“I already know what the next movie I’m watching in theaters is,” Jessica whispered excitedly. “And it seems like Noah will play the villain in the movie.”

“And I thought you only liked happy, colorful movies?” Annie asked pointedly.

Jessica pretended not to hear her and settled back into her seat just as [The Blue Lagoon] began.

From the very first sweeping shot of the island, Jessica was transported. Turquoise water shimmered under the sun. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze. The world on screen felt untouched, almost dreamlike.

For the next hour and a half, she was completely immersed in the story of Richard and Emmeline. It was, without question, one of the most visually stunning films she’d ever seen.

When Noah first appeared on screen, bare under the golden sunlight, her breath caught. He looked almost unreal, like a sculpture brought to life. Every lingering close-up and intimate moment between the characters sent a thrill through her. Her imagination filled in what the camera only suggested, and heat crept up her neck despite the cool air of the theater.

By the time the credits began to roll, Jessica was still dazed.

She fanned herself lightly with her hand. “I didn’t love the ending,” she admitted, “but the rest of it was incredible. I’m definitely coming back next week for a rewatch.”

“Same,” Annie said, grinning. Then her expression soured. “Although I’d prefer it if Mom weren’t sneaking off from work to see it again.”

Jessica burst out laughing at the reminder as they stood and joined the slow-moving crowd heading toward the exit.

All she could think about was Noah. And the fact that she’d happily watch anything he ever did next.

“I hope he doesn’t turn shy after his first film, and continues to show off that amazing body.”

“Agreed,” Annie said immediately.

(Break)

I waited with bated breath for the phone call I knew was coming sooner or later. It wouldn’t be for me, not directly, but I happened to be staying with my mother and stepfather for the time being. And Frank, as the CEO of Columbia Studios, had the kind of access that made midnight calls about box office numbers routine.

We were in his study, a room that smelled of leather and smoke from the cigar Frank was smoking at the moment. Framed posters of past Columbia hits lined the walls, all of which were released after Frank took over the office.

“Is it always like this for you?” I asked when the silence began pressing against my ears.

Frank took a slow puff from his cigar before leaning his head back against the recliner. “Every week. I spend Fridays late into the night, which usually runs into early Saturday morning, waiting for the call. It takes them a few hours to aggregate results from across the country. But once they do, we get a very good idea of how to proceed with marketing.”

He gestured vaguely with the cigar, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward.

“If the film’s a dud, it doesn’t make sense to throw more money at promotion. But if it’s the other way around…” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Then we push harder.”

I nodded. Being a studio head wasn’t easy. I’d learned that much in the few weeks I’d been staying with him and Mom. The job was all numbers, forecasts, and risk assessments. When I pictured my own future, I knew I’d never want that chair. It was too detached. Too clinical. At that level, films stopped being stories and started becoming statistics. The passion drained out somewhere between actors’ bankability and opening weekend projections.

“So you’re back to New York tomorrow,” Frank said. It wasn’t a question. My plans had been locked in before I even flew out here.

“Yeah,” I replied. “[Risky Business] starts shooting soon. I’ve got dress fittings, table reads, all that fun stuff. They’ve cast everyone else, but Paul wants me there to finalize the female lead. They’re going to test my chemistry with the shortlisted girls before making the final call.”

Frank nodded thoughtfully. “That’s smart.”

Silence settled between us again. He smoked. I stared at the telephone on the side table as if I could will it to ring.

After a while, he spoke. “Your mother didn’t like [The Blue Lagoon].”

I let out a short laugh. “I didn’t like [The Blue Lagoon] either. I’d be shocked if she did. I just hoped she’d at least tell me that to my face.”

Frank sighed, the sound heavier than before. “You know how it is. She thinks twice before saying anything that might upset you. You may have forgiven her, but she hasn’t forgiven herself. She still feels guilty about not fighting harder for your custody when you were younger. So she vented to me instead.”

I looked over at him. “Oh? What exactly did she say?”

He gave me a sideways glance. “She said, and I quote, ‘Why the fuck did you let Noah feature in such a bad and depraved film?’”

Despite myself, I smiled faintly.

“Conveniently forgetting,” Frank continued, “that I didn’t even know you when I approved your casting.”

He tapped ash into the tray, then seemed to remember something. “That reminds me. Were you and Julie ever dating?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” I said, shaking my head. “Why?”

Frank chuckled and shook his head. “Forget it. Randal cooked up a few lies to land you both the roles. I can’t even blame him. You two have incredible chemistry. Gloria doesn’t see it that way, though. She wants me to steer you toward nice, clean roles from now on. Or better yet, completely behind the camera as a filmmaker.”

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not gonna happen. And even if you stopped giving me roles of my choice, it’s not like you’re the only producer left in town. I’ve got one more film under contract with Columbia, and then I’m free to sign whatever I want.”

Frank grinned. “You’re saying that like I’m about to chain you to the lot. As long as I’m running things here, I won’t force you into anything. Your mother would probably kill me if I tried.”

I nodded, grateful, but practical. Despite his reassurances, it was smarter to finish the contract sooner rather than later. Studio leadership changed every few years. Five, maybe six at most. One shuffle at the top and verbal assurances wouldn’t mean much. Better to wrap it up on my own terms.

The project I had in mind, with Al Pacino attached to star, would be the perfect way to close out my three-film deal with Columbia. But for that to even be a conversation, everyone needs to see that I can direct a hit film. For that, [See You Yesterday] had to perform exceptionally well. If it tanked, my next script would stay buried in a drawer.

Before I could drift too far into those calculations, the telephone shattered the quiet of the study.

Both of us straightened.

Frank picked it up on the second ring. “Marshall, it’s me,” he said evenly.

I watched his face instead of listening to the faint murmur on the other end. He nodded once. Then twice.

“Good,” he said at last. “Keep the marketing at the same level. No changes.”

He hung up gently.

For a split second, he just looked at me. Then his expression broke into a wide grin.

“It’s good news. No, it’s incredible news. The film opened at $1.25 million today. They’re projecting over $3 million by the end of the weekend.”

I didn’t react immediately. On the surface, I stayed still. But inside, my thoughts were sprinting.

In the 2020s, that number would’ve sounded modest. In 1980, it was explosive. Even [The Empire Strikes Back], the biggest film of the year, was expected to do around $2 million on opening day. For a non-franchise film led by two relatively new faces like Julie and me to pull $1.25 million was almost unheard of, especially outside the horror genre.

The math ran automatically in my head.

Budget: $4 million.
Marketing: another $3 million.
Total investment: $7 million.

With theaters keeping roughly half the gross, the film needed around $14 million in box office receipts just to break even.

If projections held, Columbia would’ve recouped close to 20 percent of its total spend in a single weekend.

“There’s more,” Frank said, leaning forward now, energized. “They ran audience tests in multiple cities. About 89 percent said they loved the film and would recommend it. That’s a massive gap from the critic score. Which means word of mouth could carry this thing. We might not see a steep drop next weekend.”

This time, I let out a slow breath.

Critics could sneer all they wanted. If audiences were behind us, the film had legs.

And if the film had legs, so did I.

“If that’s true, and the trend holds…” I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “We could be profitable by the end of the month. And if it clicks overseas too…”

“Fucking hell,” I finally muttered.

Frank burst out laughing at that. He stood, walked over, and placed both hands firmly on my shoulders.

“Do you know what this means?” he said, eyes gleaming. “My gamble on you paid off. At least partially. And if this momentum carries into [Friday the 13th] and [Risky Business], you won’t just be a rising name. You’ll be a legitimate bankable star.”

He didn’t need to spell out the rest.

Bankable meant leverage. It meant power. It meant scripts that had been collecting dust for years suddenly getting reconsidered because my name was attached. If I liked a story, I could push for it to be made.

I wouldn’t need shortcuts. I wouldn’t need to borrow ideas from the future. I could simply pick strong scripts and make them happen.

But that was getting ahead of myself. Hollywood loved you one weekend and forgot you the next. Let’s see if the numbers hold.

(Break)

After the explosive opening day, [The Blue Lagoon] surged even higher. It pulled in $1.45 million on Saturday and another $1 million on Sunday, bringing its opening weekend total to a stunning $3.7 million. It landed at number one at the box office, far exceeding Columbia’s internal projections.

What truly surprised the studio wasn’t just the opening. It was the repeat business.

Audiences were coming back. Some of the sweeping island visuals, the turquoise waters, and the sun-drenched cinematography. Others for the raw curiosity that the marketing had carefully cultivated. Every interview, every column, every outraged critic had emphasized the film’s nudity and sensuality. The controversy, especially after the Rolling Stone uproar, had only amplified public interest.

Curiosity sold tickets. Word of mouth sold even more.

During the following week, the film remained remarkably steady, adding another $2.1 million and pushing the one-week total to $5.8 million.

The second weekend brought in $3 million. The third added $2.7 million. The fourth, $2.4 million.

By the end of its first month, [The Blue Lagoon] had grossed $20.1 million domestically.

Ordinarily, that would’ve been the peak. Interest typically dipped once the initial curiosity wave passed. But this film refused to fade.

Despite heavy competition from juggernauts like [The Empire Strikes Back], [Airplane!], and [The Blues Brothers], it held its ground. Week after week, it continued earning steadily, never collapsing the way critics had predicted.

By the time its theatrical run ended, the film had amassed $56.3 million domestically. Against a combined production and marketing budget of $7 million, Columbia cleared an estimated $21 million in profit from domestic theaters alone, thrice their initial investment.

And that didn’t even account for international markets, television licensing, or the rapidly growing home video business. Those revenue streams would only inflate the final tally.

One thing was undeniable.

[The Blue Lagoon] hadn’t just made money.

It had made Noah Hunter and Julianne Moore household names.