After finishing the interview on Jimmy Kiml Live!, Owen was at his parents' house in Studio City.
Elizabeth had organized a dinner. The idea was simple: eat together and, later, watch the show on ABC around eleven at night when the interview aired.
She had invited Jenna too, who accepted without hesitation, and of course Jas and Emily were there as well.
Owen and Jenna had stepped away for a mont. They were in what had been his bedroom for eighteen years. The place where he grew up before moving out on his own.
It was a large room, with a high ceiling and big windows overlooking the backyard.
There was sothing particular about the room. It wasn't abandoned. But it wasn't updated either.
It was as if ti had stopped inside it.
When Owen left, Elizabeth hadn't changed anything. She left the room exactly the way it was: the bed, the objects, the trophies he had won in school… everything still in its place.
And, in part, that had been possible because the Owen from back then had barely taken anything with him. He was a different person. More reckless and carefree. When he moved out, he simply bought everything new. He didn't see the point in dragging old things into a new life.
Now the room felt like a personal archive. Though with one clear difference.
That Owen had been ssy. Clothes thrown around, and things left out of place.
Elizabeth had intervened. Without changing the essence of it, she had organized the form.
The clothes were folded. The objects arranged deliberately. The photos that used to be scattered around were now frad: with friends, at plays, parties, school events, and more. Frozen monts, but now presented as if they were telling a story.
There was a large standing mirror, the one he used to rehearse with.
Old pages of monologues filled with notes and markings.
A couple decorative masks.
Leftover school props Owen had kept.
Jenna moved through the room with curiosity. She wandered from one side to the other, observing details, stopping at objects, opening drawers, as if she were trying to reconstruct a version of Owen she only knew through stories.
Among those objects, she inspected clothes clearly from another phase of his life. Different colors, flashier styles, less restrained.
The difference from Owen's current room was obvious.
The order was there in both. But this one had more visual noise.
The Owen of now was minimalist. This one wasn't.
Jenna had been to the Ashfords' house before, but she had never really had ti to properly look through Owen's room like she was doing now.
"So you really did go to parties," Jenna comnted, picking up one of the frad photos.
In the picture, Owen stood in the center, photogenic as always. Beside him were three other people: a guy with his arm resting over Owen's shoulder, grinning; a girl standing close to him, leaning slightly in his direction; and another friend completing the group.
Owen, sitting on the edge of the bed with his palms pressed against the mattress, watched her.
"Told you," he said.
Jenna placed the photo back and kept looking around. She knew the story. Not in detail, but enough. The active high school phase, the parties, and the popularity. Then college, and a darker turn. Drugs and worse decisions. To the point where everything culminated in his parents cutting him off financially.
That had been the breaking point that pushed Owen to mature, make Paranormal Activity, and everything else that followed.
Even so, it was hard for her to fit both versions together.
The Owen sitting in front of her, her boyfriend, the one she had known for more than six months, didn't feel like soone who had lived like that. Not anymore. The few tis they went to parties together were occasional, more like isolated events than a routine. It wasn't really either of their environnts.
Jenna leaned lightly against the desk, crossing her arms as her gaze drifted around the room again before settling back on him.
It was like looking at a different person.
Owen raised an eyebrow when he noticed the way she was staring at him.
"What is it, detective?" he asked with a faint smile.
"How?" Jenna replied, walking closer.
She sat naturally on his lap, resting her hands on his shoulders.
"How what?" Owen answered.
"The change…" Jenna said.
Owen imdiately understood. That chaotic, party-heavy phase compared to who he was now.
He took a second before answering.
"You know…" he began, searching for the words. "I think I went to so many parties during those years that I burned myself out on it. I overloaded that phase way too fast. And now it just doesn't call to as much anymore. I'd rather go once in a while, nothing more."
"I basically matured," he added after a second.
Jenna nodded slowly. It made sense.
At the New Year's party she had seen him completely relaxed, natural, enjoying himself. He didn't seem like soone who had never danced before or anything like that. Either it was true, or he was a very good actor.
They stayed silent for a mont until Owen spoke again, a smile returning to his face.
"But enough talking about the past."
Without giving her much room to react, he grabbed her with a quick movent and let her fall onto the bed, settling himself over her.
Jenna let out a small laugh, and Owen leaned down to kiss her.
She kissed him back, at first without any issue, but when the kiss started to linger and grow more intense, she placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him back a little.
"We can't… your whole family is here," she said quietly.
"It's a big house," Owen replied with a half-smile. "I don't think we'd make that much noise."
He leaned in for her lips again. Jenna hesitated for a second, like she was about to give in, but in the middle of the mont, without changing positions, she spoke.
"How many girls have you slept with in this bed?"
Her tone was completely flat. Cold. Almost unsettling.
Owen stopped dead.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. He noticed Jenna's dark eyes locked onto his, not a trace of emotion on her face.
"Why do fifty percent of girls always ask sothing like that?" Owen comnted.
"Owen," she replied without moving, waiting.
"A lot," Owen answered lightly.
Jenna's hands slowly slid up to his neck. They weren't squeezing, but they were there. Cold and firm. Her expression didn't change.
Owen swallowed. "I'm kidding," he added quickly.
Jenna's expression instantly broke. She returned to her usual self, and a smile appeared when she saw his reaction.
"So was I."
Owen let out a breath, shaking his head. "Wednesday Addams, huh?"
Jenna nodded, fully aware the reference wouldn't go unnoticed. "I know you like it."
There was a second of silence. Then she returned to the topic, now with her usual lighter tone.
"So, how many?"
Owen looked at her, weighing whether he really wanted to open that door. "Do you actually want to answer that?"
"Yes, I'm just curious," Jenna replied casually.
Owen hesitated for a mont, but not for long. "Nine."
Jenna's eyebrows drew together slightly. "Nine…" she repeated softly, as if testing the number out loud.
A small grimace crossed her face.
"What? I thought you were just curious," Owen said, amused. "Don't get mad."
"I'm not mad. I just feel honored to be number ten," Jenna replied sarcastically.
Owen opened his mouth to answer, but she beat him to it.
"And nine? You had that many girlfriends?"
"Of course not," Owen denied, shaking his head. "Only three were girlfriends. The rest flings."
Even for soone like the old Owen, nine serious relationships would've been a record.
"That's reassuring," Jenna said, keeping the sarcasm in her voice.
Owen looked at her, sowhere between entertained and slightly defensive. "Hey, lose the judgntal tone," he shot back. "What about you? In high school? How many guys?"
There was sothing else underneath it. Not just curiosity. A faint hint of jealousy, barely hidden under the humor.
Jenna noticed it imdiately and smiled, amused. It was comforting to see she wasn't the only one who reacted that way.
"Not many," she answered lightly.
"How many?" Owen insisted. "Co on, you have to answer. I did."
Jenna held the smile for another second, but then her expression shifted, growing more serious.
"Not many. Just two, and neither was a big deal," she said. "You know what my high school years were like."
Owen nodded. It made sense.
Jenna's teenage years hadn't been anything like Owen's. While he spent those years surrounded by parties, friends, and the usual chaos of that stage of life, she had been living in a completely different rhythm: shoots, castings, traveling, and responsibilities that had arrived far too early.
Even her prom had been different.
A lot of child actors are hoschooled and can't attend a traditional high school, so Disney organizes an exclusive prom for them instead.
But the experience had been far from special.
She herself had described it as genuinely uncomfortable. The event had felt forced from the beginning: there were no real friends there, no classmates to share the mont with. Instead, it felt more like so strange social gathering, almost disguised networking with parents present the entire ti.
It hadn't been an easy stage of her life. Owen knew that, and he also knew that behind all of it, there had been difficult monts. Depression. It wasn't a light subject for her.
The two of them shifted slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed shoulder to shoulder. The silence that settled between them wasn't uncomfortable.
Owen broke it, like he usually did, "A forr drug addict and a forr depressed girl… what a combination."
Jenna let out a soft laugh, but imdiately nudged him lightly in the side with her elbow, as if telling him that wasn't sothing to joke about.
"Changing the subject," Jenna said, turning toward him, "your sister is difficult. I can't break through her defenses."
Owen looked at her. "Seriously?"
Jenna nodded and started explaining. Ever since she had gotten to know him as his girlfriend, now for more than two months, she had shared several monts with Sarah, but she still couldn't get past that distance. It wasn't hostile, and it wasn't obviously uncomfortable either, but there was a barrier there.
With Elizabeth, things had been different. At first Jenna had felt a little intimidated by her elegant, and beautiful presence, but very quickly she had discovered soone warm and approachable. Besides, they shared a love for film and acting.
With Sarah, even though they shared those sa interests too, the relationship hadn't improved at all.
That was the strange part. In theory, it should've been easier. They were both actresses, closer in age, more accessible. But it wasn't happening.
"Is she really my fan? I don't buy it," Jenna concluded, shaking her head.
Owen had told her that Sarah admired her, especially because of Wednesday, and that she had been really excited to et her. But after all this ti it didn't seem that way.
"I don't know… she's supposed to be," Owen replied, sowhat confused. Because deep down, what Jenna was saying did make sense.
Jenna hesitated for a second before saying it, "Could she be one of those sisters who just doesn't like her older brother's girlfriend?"
Owen shook his head almost imdiately. "No. She got along with Sophie really fast."
Jenna's reaction was instant: a visibly displeased expression.
Owen noticed it and placed his hand over hers, "Don't worry," he said softly. "She'll open up. And when she does, you two are gonna get along."
Jenna didn't seem entirely convinced.
So Owen shifted the tone slightly, almost conspiratorial, "We could make them work together. That usually speeds things up."
Jenna looked at him with imdiate interest, "Go on," she said, leaning a little closer.
Owen started explaining the idea. He was developing the episodes for Black Mirror and planned to give Sarah a role in one of them. Not sothing forced, but a character that genuinely fit one of those episodes.
And if he could also give Jenna a role, it would probably help break that distance faster by having them share scenes and a set together.
It was a practical solution. Even so, while saying it out loud, Owen still didn't fully understand why Jenna pushed the issue so much. He appreciated that she wanted to get along with his sister.
But he didn't understand the need to push the relationship beyond whatever would naturally happen over ti.
With Jenna's siblings, for example, everything had been perfectly fine. Comfortable. Even fun during the dinners they had shared. But he had never tried to force a deeper connection, nor did he feel it was necessary. With ti, if it was ant to happen, it would happen.
Jenna, on the other hand, seed eager to accelerate that process. As if simply letting things flow wasn't enough for her.
"That's actually a good idea," Jenna said, already picturing it in her head.
But she didn't stop there. A few seconds later, another idea started taking shape.
At the end of June, casting would open for new characters in the second season of Wednesday. Jenna knew that because she was now involved in a different way. Her position had changed since the first season: she wasn't just the lead actress anymore, she was also an executive producer.
She had signed that contract at the end of April and, since May, had been reading drafts, outlines, and the full season bible. She had access to all eight episodes in developnt, the character arcs, and the new additions.
Owen's eyes widened slightly, "There's a role that fits Sarah?" he asked.
"Yes," Jenna said. "Don't you rember everything I told you?"
The way she narrowed her eyes imdiately put him on alert. That was not an innocent question.
Owen's brain started working fast, replaying past conversations, trying to reconstruct details before it beca too obvious he hadn't paid enough attention.
"Agnes DeMille," Owen finally said after finding the answer.
Jenna nodded. A new student at Nevermore, younger than Wednesday, with a personality that worked almost as a counterpoint: an obsessive fan who created friction with Enid Sinclair.
It was a role Sarah fit perfectly in both age and presence.
"Getting her an audition won't be difficult," Owen said thoughtfully, resting a hand against his chin.
Sarah was no longer with her old agency. She had left A3 Artists Agency and, thanks to a fairly direct move from Owen and Larry, had ended up at CAA. Not with a top agent yet, but with soone young, ambitious, and eager to position her well and find her strong roles.
"I can help her too," Jenna said, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
She had so leverage now. Not total control. She couldn't decide casting on her own.
But her influence had grown.
They stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing what they had just put together almost without realizing it. Then they looked at each other, and the laughter ca naturally.
"My sister really is lucky," Owen said, amused.
It wasn't a small thing. In a matter of minutes, they had practically outlined two major opportunities for Sarah. Not leading roles, but supporting parts with real weight behind them.
Jenna nodded, fully aware of how unusual the situation was. That kind of thing didn't normally happen, especially not without years of grinding behind it. Sarah was in a privileged position even without having done that much yet to get there.
Before they could continue, Elizabeth's voice ca from the hallway.
Dinner was ready.
They went downstairs. The night continued normally. Later, while eating dessert, they turned on the television to watch the show and Owen's interview on Jimmy Kiml Live!.
And just like that, almost without noticing it, the day ca to an end.
The next morning arrived.
The premiere of Good Will Hunting.
The premiere was held at the TCL Chinese Theatre, one of the most iconic theaters in Hollywood, right in the heart of LA. A classic venue for major premieres.
Neon went all in. The red carpet was massive, well designed, and packed with both local and international press. Caras, nonstop flashes, interviews, and photographers lined up on both sides. It was an important event, and it showed.
Owen and the cast arrived around 6:00 PM. The red carpet lasted almost two hours between photos, interviews, and conversations. It wasn't until around 7:55 that the audience finally started entering the theater.
The screening took place in the main IMAX auditorium. A giant screen, restored classic architecture, golden details everywhere, and the feeling of a more traditional cinematic event. The capacity was around 950 people.
It wasn't the 2,000-plus crowd from Cannes Film Festival, but it was still an imposing theater, and it was completely full.
The audience was a very clear mix:
-Industry people: Neon executives, representatives from other studios, producers, directors, and invited actors.
-Owen's inner circle: his family, Jenna, and friends.
-Press and critics, many of them attending for a second ti after already seeing the film at Cannes.
-Special guests, recognizable nas that elevated the profile of the event.
At 8:00 PM, the lights began to dim.
The murmur throughout the theater slowly faded away, and the film started.
A few rows behind the main guest section, an IndieWire critic settled into his seat as the lights finally went dark.
His na was Alan. He had been following Owen for a long ti.
In fact, he had been one of the first people to write about him with genuine enthusiasm. He had even been the one who, in an article that later went viral, first called him an "indie genius." The nickna that had beco so famous afterward, even if Owen himself always acted like it never fully sat right with him.
Alan recognized that, at the ti, he had maybe gotten a little carried away. The story had been too perfect: a young guy expelled from college, financing his own movie, securing the biggest backend return in film history and by keeping a percentage of the box office. It was the kind of narrative that worked incredibly well in headlines.
But over ti, that instinct had only been validated.
Two awards at Sundance Film Festival for his short films.
An Oscar.
And now, two awards at Cannes Film Festival, including Best Actor.
He wasn't a promise anymore. He was a reality.
Which was why, as the film began, Alan felt sothing he always tried to avoid as a critic: high expectations. Very high ones. He knew that could work against him. Sotis, the more you expect, the easier it is for sothing to disappoint you or, at best, land as simply "good."
But in this case, because of everything he had heard and his history following Owen, he couldn't help it.
The movie moved forward, and ti stopped feeling linear for Alan.
For two hours and two minutes, it was a roller coaster. Not just emotionally, following the story, connecting with the characters, but analytically too. Part of his mind was completely imrsed in the film; another part, inevitably, observed from the outside.
The performances.
Bryan Cranston with a presence that carried every scene he appeared in.
Emma Watson bringing chemistry and nuance that elevated every mont her character appeared onscreen.
And Owen…
Now he understood.
He understood why they had given him that award at Cannes.
Though, being honest with himself, he also thought Cranston could have won it too and nobody would've questioned it. That was the level.
When the screen finally faded to black, Alan didn't wait even half a second. He stood up instantly, the first person in the entire theater and began to clap.
The applause wasn't impulsive or chaotic. It was firm and constant.
He didn't look around at anyone else. He wasn't searching for approval or company. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, as if the movie were still there, as if he needed a few more seconds before fully leaving it behind.
He applauded with restrained intensity, almost solemnly. There was no smile. Just recognition.
At first, a few people looked at him with slight confusion. Just for a second, an instinctive reaction to soone standing before everyone else.
But it didn't last.
The applause started spreading. Within seconds, the entire theater, more than nine hundred people, was on its feet applauding.
The sound grew until it filled the room.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a minute, and the ovation still wasn't fading.
So people started turning toward the cast. Bryan, Ethan Hawke, Owen, and the others stood up, hugging each other while still processing everything, then began waving toward different sections of the audience.
Owen, after embracing everyone, did the sa. Looking around the theater, thanking people. The applause remained loud and sustained. It wasn't just noise anymore: there were whistles, and even a few "bravo!" calls breaking through above the rest.
'Again…' he thought, preparing himself for sothing long, rembering Cannes, where the duration had started bordering on uncomfortable.
But this wasn't Cannes.
At the five-minute mark, it ended.
And in a premiere like this, that was huge. It wasn't normal. With the cast present, the usual range was:
-30 seconds to 1 minute if people liked the movie.
-1 to 2 minutes if it was very good.
-2 to 4 minutes if it was excellent.
-4 to 6 minutes if it was a genuine cinema mont.
What had just happened clearly fell into that last category.
Then ca the classic cast Q&A onstage. Questions from the moderator, a few from the audience, answers mixing anecdotes, creative process, and stories from the shoot. It was brief, but enough to close the night with that feeling of a complete event.
For Owen and the team, it was a morable night.
And for Owen, the weekend itself felt different. For soone who usually moved through life calmly, almost unshaken, he felt sothing unfamiliar: anxiety. Real anticipation. Not because of the reviews, those were already out, and they were excellent, but because of the general audience.
Because industry recognition was one thing.
Connecting with mainstream audiences was sothing completely different.
There was also the financial side of it. He owned more than fifty percent of the post-theatrical revenue split. Recovering everything he had spent depended on the box office performance. He needed the film to work.
Not just to earn the investnt back, but to validate his decision not to sell the movie to Searchlight Pictures for fifty million dollars. For that choice to truly make sense, the movie had to beco a major box office success.
By Sunday night, he already had all the numbers from the first four days.
They were good.
Very good.
On Thursday, in only six theaters, the film made $700K. Even from that alone, there was already a clear sign: this wasn't a normal limited release. It was concentrated demand.
For the weekend, the expansion brought the movie to 100 theaters, and the numbers broke down like this:
-Friday: $2.4M
-Saturday: $3.0M
-Sunday: $1.8M
The four-day total reached $7.9 million.
On paper, it might not have looked like an enormous number. But what mattered wasn't the raw total, it was how the money was being generated.
Over the weekend, the movie made $7.2M in 100 theaters. That ant a $72,000 per-theater average.
PTA, Per Theater Average, asures how much each theater grosses on average. It's the tric the industry uses to understand whether there's real demand and whether a movie can successfully expand wider.
Normally:
-$10K–$20K per theater → standard
-$20K–$40K → solid
-$50K → very strong
-$70K → event-level
His movie fell into that last category, becoming one of the best per-theater averages of the year.
Now ca the next stage: the aggressive expansion Neon had prepared. Moving from that controlled launch into a much wider release.
That was where the real potential Good Will Hunting could reach at the box office in this world would finally beco clear.
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