Chapter 34: Weekend Box Office Champion
On Friday afternoon, the film crew, together with Fox's distribution team, held the first official media and fan meet-up at the Santa Monica commercial plaza in Los Angeles.
When Naomi Watts and Uma Thurman walked onto the red carpet, holding hands and looking every bit like best friends, the crowd erupted in cheers. The applause was thunderous. Ethan Hawke, who followed behind them, received noticeably less attention.
But that was to be expected—his role in the movie was essentially that of a glorified prop. He simply didn't shine as brightly as the two leading ladies.
When Wayne finally stepped onto the stage, barely any fans reacted. In contrast, the media's cameras were clicking non-stop. Everyone in the industry knew the truth: while the young cast played their parts well, the driving force behind the film's success was the man now walking across the stage—the director.
The fan meet-and-greet went smoothly. The audience erupted in applause several times, especially during the actresses' anecdotes about encouraging and supporting each other during filming. Many in the crowd were genuinely moved.
But as soon as the event ended and the media and fans dispersed, the team had to immediately pack their bags—they were off to New York next for the next stop on the press tour.
And just as quickly as they'd put on their public smiles, Naomi and Uma dropped the act backstage, letting go of each other's hands without so much as a glance. Each woman disappeared into her own dressing room. Their agents exchanged a silent, resigned look—so long as their clients kept things professional in public, there was no need to interfere.
Meanwhile, under the direction of Fox's PR department, the media was working overtime.
"Naomi Watts and Uma Thurman—unlike their characters—are close friends in real life, two stunning women bonded by sisterhood."
"Naomi Watts, who reportedly lives in the same neighborhood as director Wayne Garfield, is rumored to have developed feelings for him during filming. She has openly praised Wayne's talent. Could Hollywood be welcoming a new golden couple?"
Thanks to Fox's well-oiled publicity machine, reports like these were everywhere. Whether rumor or truth, the coverage was achieving its goal—buzz.
Especially the tabloids under the Times Media Group. Their headlines were so tangled, you couldn't tell who was dating whom. But that was exactly the point: confuse the audience just enough to lure them into theaters.
And when Monday rolled around, bringing the weekend box office numbers, the results had everyone at Fox—and Wayne himself—grinning.
Across 1,000 theaters, Happy Death Day pulled in $15.84 million in just three days. Not only did it break into the box office charts, it also recorded over $15,000 per theater, earning the highest per-screen average for the month.
Fox reacted swiftly, wasting no time in scaling up the release. At that point, not even divine intervention could stop them from chasing the profits.
By April 27th—Happy Death Day's third week in North American theaters, and the last Monday of the month—Fox expanded the release to 2,328 theaters and poured serious money into marketing, launching an intense media blitz.
Wayne and the cast were also on the move, promoting the film in major cities across the U.S. Wherever they went, crowds of young fans and media swarmed the trio of main actors.
The public couldn't get enough of the two leading ladies. Their onscreen (and supposedly offscreen) sisterhood was adored by fans and praised in every article. Gradually, Wayne too began to draw some attention, with headlines starting to refer to him as "the young genius director, Wayne Garfield."
But Wayne himself remained indifferent to all the media fanfare. His disinterest stood in stark contrast to the three actors, who were constantly competing for attention and camera space. To them, Wayne's detachment seemed downright eccentric.
Naomi had brought it up more than once—especially after their private moments in hotel rooms.
"You really shouldn't keep avoiding the media, sweetheart," she told him again, this time as they stepped out of a hotel bathroom in Boston. "The newspapers and TV networks are interested in you. You need them to grow your influence."
Wayne just shook his head, brushing it off as usual.
"Naomi, I'm not like you guys. Even if the media praises me to the skies, I'll still have to prove myself through my work. If my next film flops, they'll turn on me just as fast."
He remained clear-headed. No amount of praise could cloud his judgment.
He understood one truth about Hollywood, no matter the decade: a director lives and dies by their work and box office performance. And right now, no matter how well Happy Death Day was doing, the average viewer still didn't care who the director was.
Not yet.
It would take at least another decade—until the era of open information truly arrived—before directors began to step into the spotlight and build their own fan bases.
As Wayne and his cast traveled from Boston to Miami, accompanied by the Fox promotional team, Happy Death Day earned $9.85 million across the four weekdays. By the time they reached Salt Lake City for more promotions, the weekend box office had surged again—$19.83 million in just three days.
From limited screenings to full release, the film had finally tapped its full potential. A wave of enthusiasm swept through young audiences, driving the film's cumulative gross past the $50 million milestone, landing at an impressive $52.39 million.
This was nothing short of a box office miracle. With a $2 million lead, Happy Death Day edged out Mel Gibson's Lethal Weapon 3 to claim the top spot on the weekly North American box office chart—a rare feat for a low-budget indie horror film.
It was the film's first weekly box office crown—and Wayne's first-ever No. 1 hit.
Still, both Wayne and the team at Fox were well aware that the movie's box office run was nearing its end. After all, horror-thriller films weren't considered mainstream blockbusters, and their appeal was largely confined to a younger demographic.
And in North America, horror films typically have very short theatrical lifespans—many don't last more than three weeks in cinemas. Happy Death Day was no exception. For Fox, however, this performance was already a resounding success. Next week, Alien 3 would take over the spotlight.
With a production budget of just $1 million, the film had generated several dozen times its cost in box office returns. That performance alone would guarantee sky-high prices for post-theatrical rights.
In fact, the real profits wouldn't come from box office revenue. Television rights, VHS distribution, and merchandise licensing were the true cash cows. The North American film industry had long since evolved past the point of relying solely on ticket sales. In today's market, box office revenue rarely accounted for more than 15% of a film's total earnings.
Of course, to cash in on those secondary profits, a strong box office showing was still essential. Everything hinged on that initial success.
For a horror flick like this, VHS tapes were historically top-sellers in the rental and retail markets. Just based on those alone—not to mention merchandise—Wayne was confident Fox would walk away with tens of millions in total profit, bolstered by its vertically integrated distribution chain.
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"Wayne, just heard something interesting," Jimmy said, approaching as they entered the hotel.
This was the final week of promotional events. Once it wrapped, Wayne would part ways with the team, and the film's buzz would begin to fade. Fox would continue sending the lead actors to a few smaller cities and involve other contracted performers trying to latch onto the hype—opportunists were never in short supply.
"What's up, Jimmy?" Wayne asked, opening the hotel room door and inviting him in. He assumed it was just another round of gossip.
"I heard from someone at CAA. Apparently, Mel Gibson is furious that Lethal Weapon 3 got beaten by a low-budget horror film like Happy Death Day."
Jimmy paused for effect before continuing. "You know how people in the industry call him the 'Australian wild boar'? He's infamous for his bad temper and serious alcohol issues. Once he gets drunk, he completely loses control. This time, he reportedly punched his assistant, fired his ICM agent, and is now planning to switch over to CAA."
Wayne shrugged. "Well, isn't that good news for you guys? Another big name for CAA."
Clearly, he wasn't grasping Jimmy's concern.
Jimmy sighed and explained, "I also heard he's not just mad at the numbers—he's angry at you. And given his status, that could be trouble."
Wayne looked genuinely surprised. "He's pissed just because Lethal Weapon 3 lost at the box office? That's ridiculous. No one in their right mind would hold a grudge over something like that. If he went after everyone who beat him in ticket sales, he'd never get anything else done."
Jimmy leaned in slightly, more serious now. "It's not just the box office, Wayne. It's about race. That guy's notorious for his anti-Semitism. Almost everyone who's worked with him knows it—he's made plenty of disgusting remarks while drunk. Stuff like, 'Jews should all die'. His reputation's always been tainted, and if he weren't still profitable, no one would touch him."
Wayne fell silent.
He had heard whispers of these things in his past life. In Hollywood, rumors were rarely baseless—and in this case, he remembered clearly: Mel Gibson's career had indeed crumbled under the weight of his own behavior, forcing him into years of obscurity.
But Gibson was a ruthless figure. When no one would work with him, he started directing himself—and even managed to win Oscars. The Passion of the Christ, for example, had been both controversial and wildly successful.
"Don't worry, Jimmy," Wayne finally said. "We'll keep our heads down. The gap between us is still huge, and it's not like he has any real way to come after me right now."
He reassured his agent, though he quietly filed the warning away. As far as he was concerned, he was still a small-time director, and the chances of crossing paths with someone like Gibson were slim. If trouble came one day, he'd deal with it then. And by that time, he'd have more than enough leverage.
After all, Mel Gibson had plenty of skeletons in his closet—and Wayne would know exactly how to expose them when the time came.