Over the next few days, the restlessness and dissatisfaction that had started to brew among the Lola Run crew suddenly vanished without a trace. Everyone became full of energy, and no one had any more complaints about Simon's unconventional directing style.
As for the reason.
Have you seen Brian De Palma? Carrie, Scarface.
In the flesh.
Have you seen David Giler? Alien, The Money Pit.
In the flesh.
Have you seen Robert Redford? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Out of Africa.
In the flesh.
For staff who'd previously only scraped by on low-budget indie sets, these were all lofty Hollywood big shots. But one after another, they'd visited the unassuming little Lola Run production.
Moreover, besides Brian De Palma, David Giler and Robert Redford also offered to serve as executive producers for Lola Run.
That was even more remarkable.
You know, if they'd known Brian De Palma was attaching his name as exec producer, no one would have griped at all—that idiot Josh Wickman never would have bailed so rashly.
Now, two more heavyweights had joined.
Who is Simon Westeros?
Who cares.
But working on a project with Brian De Palma, David Giler, and Robert Redford as exec producers—that was solid credentials.
Adding that to a resume might land you in mainstream commercial film circles soon.
Simon heard from Ron and Katherine about what went down in the Fox screening room that day, and he personally went to view the dailies the next day.
He was just as surprised by his own results; he hadn't anticipated doing this well. For his first directing effort in Hollywood, Simon had simply wrung every drop of potential from the dozen-plus memories in his mind.
Watching the Lola Run dailies, Simon even vaguely felt he'd shown off a bit too much.
But he didn't dial it back afterward.
Since he'd already stood out, might as well shine even brighter.
Plus, with the three big shots backing him, commanding the small crew soon felt like an extension of his own arm.
In busy times, days fly by.
In a flash, it was the last day of October, the fourth week of Lola Run shooting.
Tonight was Halloween, a major holiday for Americans, and it was Friday, leading into the weekend.
So the festive atmosphere was especially thick.
The Lola Run crew had been shooting Lola's casino entry scenes these past two days.
Los Angeles has casinos; Simon had even scoped one out downtown.
But Santa Monica doesn't.
Of course.
That wasn't an issue.
The director says, let there be a casino—and there was a casino.
The crew rented a banquet hall in a midtown Santa Monica hotel and quickly set up a 'casino'.
Compared to other Lola Run scenes, the casino was definitely a big production—these two days, they'd brought in over fifty extras.
Even so, with help from Ron, Katherine, and others, Simon kept a firm grip on the shooting pace.
But with more people, some hiccups were inevitable.
Shooting had just started that afternoon when Sandra realized her prop ring was missing.
In the original Lola Run, Lola sported all sorts of quirky jewelry on both hands. But in the new version, Simon designed just one wide ring for the lead—a silver band a full centimeter thick, engraved with a striking butterfly pattern. This was Simon's third 'butterfly effect' hint.
For such a small prop, Simon hadn't made just one, of course.
When they got the three finished rings, Sandra adored them, so Simon handed all three over for her to keep; he didn't plan to reclaim them after wrap. They were pure silver, but the trio together wasn't worth much.
Now that the little thing was lost, it turned into a hassle.
Never imagining the ring she always wore would disappear, Sandra hadn't brought backups.
All afternoon's shots involved Sandra; Simon didn't want slip-ups on minor details, so he quickly dispatched a director's assistant to her West Hollywood apartment to fetch the props.
Sandra herself stayed for makeup.
Then.
Things took another twist.
Sandra kept the spares in a small safe she'd bought; not wanting to share the code with outsiders, she told the assistant to just haul the whole safe to set.
Picture it.
A burly guy bursts into a girl's apartment, then lugs out a safe.
What a sight.
Then a neighbor called the cops.
After the ordeal, by the time Ron and Sandra went to the Hollywood station to spring the unlucky assistant, nearly an hour had passed.
Maybe thrown off by the incident, the rest of the shoot didn't go smoothly.
Helplessly, the crew called for two hours of overtime.
Just a few simple shots left; overtime pay was hefty, but definitely cheaper than re-renting and resetting the location next week.
Any other time, overtime would've been no big deal.
But tonight was the eagerly awaited Halloween; the crew was fine, but many extras weren't thrilled. After some negotiations and promises of bonus pay, they grudgingly agreed.
Fortunately, by nearly seven in the evening, the casino scenes were all wrapped up smoothly.
After wrap, as Simon supervised the staff packing the rented casino props, Ron approached with a white guy in his thirties.
The man was about six feet tall, in casual shirt and pants, short brown hair, some stubble—looking a bit disheveled.
As they got close, before Ron could introduce him, the guy extended his hand to Simon, smiling. "Simon Westeros, hi, I'm Peter Butler, reporter for the Los Angeles Times."
Simon shook his hand, a bit surprised. "I know—I happened to read your piece on The Butterfly Effect. And Joe called me two days ago, but I think I said no?"
With Brian De Palma and the others as exec producers, plus the film's location shoots these days, Sandra's standout look inevitably drew eyes; more and more in Hollywood were noticing Lola Run.
Then, agent Jonathan Friedman had called Simon two days back, saying LA Times reporter Peter Butler wanted to interview him and the Lola Run crew.
Simon had been swamped, feet barely touching the ground, and didn't want to deal with it. Plus, it wasn't time for Lola Run to hit the press yet, so he'd declined.
Didn't expect the guy to pop up on set today.
Peter Butler heard Simon out, smile unchanged, even shifting to first name. "Simon, Mr. McMillan invited me. Actually, I've been on set all afternoon—you just didn't notice. Anyway, wonder if you could spare some time? Maybe we could chat casually?"
Simon glanced at his producer.
He got Ron's angle—wanting some publicity for the film—but was still annoyed at the presumption.
Sensing Simon's displeasure, Ron offered, "Simon, this is actually a good chance, right? Our film's gonna need distribution eventually."
But Simon shook his head firmly, turning to Peter Butler. "Mr. Butler, really sorry—I've been swamped lately, so let's drop it."
Peter Butler didn't get discouraged; instead, he lifted the camera hanging from his neck, eyes twinkling slyly. "Actually, Simon, I've already got enough for a story. But I know now isn't the ideal time for Lola Run exposure. So if you agree to sit for an interview, I can hold the piece until next year's Sundance Film Festival."
Simon's eyes flickered at Peter Butler's offer.
November was almost here; just over two months to January's Sundance.
Sundance was precisely when Simon planned to launch Lola Run into the spotlight.
Didn't expect this reporter to nail his thinking so spot-on.
After a moment's pause, Simon said, "Tomorrow noon, twelve to one, Fox lot. You've got one hour."
Peter Butler extended his right hand again, smiling. "Then, I'm looking forward to tomorrow's chat."