What's even more fascinating is that ever since this company gave up on originality, they haven't had a single loss-making project. Hard to believe, isn't it?
Take director Jack Perez, for example. He once made the 3D film Shark Chirp vs. Squid Girl for The Asylum.
After filming wrapped, Perez admitted in an interview that he was baffled by the process:
"They give you a title, a poster, a cast lineup, and a formula. Then we shoot it in 12 days."
"According to the schedule, we'd film 11 or 12 pages of the script each day."
"From concept to release, the entire process took less than two months! I have friends working on big-budget films at major studios who spend an entire day just shooting a single page."
"They'll spend all day shooting two people talking on a beach. Meanwhile, I'm filming a scene on a torpedo boat, then cutting to a submarine, and next I'm blowing up Mount Rushmore!"
Since they started making "knock-off films" back in 2004, The Asylum has stuck to one principle: the budget must stay well under $1 million.
Now, they've purchased the small gray building they once rented for just $390,000, and they've even taken over the warehouse across the street. The reason is obvious: business is booming.
In the original timeline, The Asylum produced a slew of mockbusters mimicking major releases—films like One Piece, resembling Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, or Daphne and The Da Vinci Treasure, a clear nod to The Da Vinci Code. They even released Sunday High School Musical to coincide with High School Musical: Graduation.
[GodOfReader: I can't find the movie of one piece that made by The Asylum tho]
As The New York Times once commented on their knockoff Transformers:
"Unrecognizable actors, nonexistent promotional tie-ins, a jumbled sound mix—the content bore little resemblance to Transformers. Instead, it was a mishmash of cheap special effects and overwrought plotting."
Critics accused them of blatant plagiarism.
David Michael Latt, one of the founders, pushed back:
"We're not plagiarizing—we're tying in.""Sure, we copy the original movie's posters, the special effects style, maybe even the title font—but the content? That's all original."
Their movies reused character names, imitated the costumes, and cobbled together entirely original (if nonsensical) storylines—often with a splash of gore or gratuitous content. Surprisingly, these films sold well. They even developed a cult following.
Now, their sights were set on The Dark Knight.
But what they didn't know was that Meyers Films had been watching them for quite some time.
As founders David Latt and David Rimawi were passionately discussing how to market their Batman knockoff on VHS tapes—still under the illusion that no one would notice their version of The Dark Knight—the conference room door suddenly swung open.
"Didn't you see we're in a meeting? Get out," Rimavey snapped, assuming it was a clueless staffer barging in.
To their surprise, the visitor didn't leave. Instead, she smiled and said:
"Hello, everyone. I have a few thoughts on your meeting topic. I'm quite interested—mind if I listen in?"
Six pairs of eyes turned toward the doorway. Standing there was a curvy woman with a charming smile.
"Drew Barrymore?!" Rimavey exclaimed, then rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Yes, you're not seeing things," she said, amused by his reaction. She took a seat at the conference table, flanked by two middle-aged men in suits and ties.
"Don't worry—I'm not here to sue you. I'm here to invest. These two are lawyers from Meyers Films. They're here to help finalize my investment agreement."
"Invest? In what?" Rimawi asked, utterly confused. He glanced at Latt, who was equally lost.
"I have no idea what she means by that," Latt muttered.
Then a thought struck him. His expression changed.
"Wait a minute—how did you even get in here?"
At that moment, the third founder, Shirley Strin—who had remained silent until now—spoke up:
"I invited Ms. Barrymore."
Both David turned to her in shock.
"I said, I invited Ms. Barrymore," Sherri repeated calmly.
"Sherri, why?" Latt asked, dumbfounded.
"Gentlemen," Drew interrupted with a smile, "why not hear my offer first?"
In truth, she had been eyeing The Asylum for over half a year.
Yes, she had her eye on it—not Martin.
It all started with their knockoff of Happy Death Day, which somehow ended up selling 80,000 copies in the home video market.
That's when Drew realized: there was a niche studio quietly thriving in a Hollywood corner—thriving very well.
She hired a seasoned accountant to audit their finances. The numbers came back with an annual income of no less than $8 million—a figure higher than many mid-sized production companies in Hollywood.
To put it in perspective, Weinstein Films had grossed just over $7 million that year. The Asylum, that little knockoff factory, was outperforming them.
Of course, in terms of brand influence, Weinstein still held the upper hand. But in raw revenue? The Asylum was killing it.
After months of private investigation, Drew decided to make her move. Her vision was to turn The Asylum into a subsidiary of Meyers Films—a quirky but profitable addition to their expanding empire.
Her first step? Sherri Strain.
Among the three founders, Sherri was the only one who still clung to the dream of making original films. The other two were too deep into the mockbuster money machine to care.
Three days ago, Drew quietly acquired 22% of Shirley's shares for $4 million—and promised her a producer role at Meyers Films.
Now, Drew was here to secure even more.
What followed were lengthy negotiations—no need to get into the gritty details.
All you need to know is that Drew Barrymore left the building with a satisfied smile.
By the time she walked out, Meyers Films owned 58% of The Asylum. The remaining shares were divided as follows:
David Michael Latt: 20%