Early the next morning, Simon and Janet flew to Utah together.
Once the plane took off, Janet asked about the previous day: "So, how'd the talk with Fox go?"
Feeling the plane steady out, Simon unbuckled his seatbelt. His mind flashed back to the rapid shifts in Peter Sanders' expression yesterday afternoon when he saw the age on his driver's license. Shaking his head with a slight smile, he said, "You know, I want a profit-sharing deal, but Sanders is insisting on a buyout. So, we might have to wait until after Sundance. Hopefully, things will turn around then."
Yesterday, Simon had explained in detail to Peter Sanders his promotional strategy leveraging his age as a gimmick, and Sanders had clearly been tempted. But in the end, he hadn't agreed, nor had he made a new offer.
Simon realized this was likely because Peter Sanders didn't have the authority.
The power structure in Hollywood's major studios was basically top-down, with the head honcho calling the shots. Though Peter Sanders was a vice president with some oversight, when it came to films, the final say rested with president Ronald Goldberg.
Janet had obviously just asked casually. Hearing Simon's reply, she showed no discouragement. "Worst case, we handle the distribution ourselves. Might even gain some experience."
Simon smiled and nodded in agreement.
Truth be told, doing the distribution himself wasn't impossible—it would just be a huge waste of time.
He'd made Run Lola Run in only four months, but handling all the distribution channels personally could take a year or two. And the final returns might not even match selling it outright to a studio. Totally not worth it.
They chatted idly for a bit before Simon opened the copy of The Hollywood Reporter he'd brought on board. As he was about to flip through it, something suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Janet beside him: "Hey, I've been wondering—why does Katherine always look at me so strangely these days?"
Janet blinked innocently. "Hm?"
Noticing her expression, Simon grew even more suspicious. He stared at her. "Did you say something to Katherine?"
Janet's eyes fluttered again, even more innocently. "What could I say? I couldn't be bothered talking about you."
"That means you definitely said something," Simon said, eyeing her current look and feeling even more certain. He rolled up the newspaper in mock threat and waved it. "Fess up—what bad things did you say about me?"
Seeing him raise the paper, Janet shrank back into her seat but then lifted her pale neck defiantly, like she was ready to die before surrendering. In her raspy little voice, she yelled, "I didn't!"
With that shout, every passenger in the cabin turned to look.
Feeling the collective glares condemning the domestic abuser, Simon could only sit back awkwardly, unfold the newspaper again, and pretend nothing happened.
A moment later, Janet leaned over, her small hand lightly scratching at him. When he didn't react, she hesitated, then whispered in his ear: "I... I just told Kate about how you bullied me the whole night on Christmas Eve."
Simon's thoughts spun in huge loops through his mind before it clicked. He slumped back in his seat with a defeated look, suddenly tempted to jump out of the plane.
Sigh.
Ruined.
All ruined.
What a bad match.
In Katherine's eyes, he must be some oversexed beast now.
Even though he'd committed to the woman beside him, no one wanted that kind of image in other women's minds.
Why me?
Seeing Simon's dejected state, Janet snuggled closer and whispered, "Simon, don't worry—I told Kate I didn't mind."
Simon replied weakly, "Did you not tell Kate that I suddenly caught a cold that night, with a bad fever, and threw a tantrum refusing to go to the hospital? And how you stayed by my bed a whole day and night, the model girlfriend?"
Janet blinked in confusion. "Huh? Wasn't it me who caught the cold?"
Simon feebly raised a hand to a passing flight attendant. "Miss, could you switch my seat? I need to calm down."
...
Salt Lake City had just seen snowfall, and the plane landed on a runway surrounded by pure white. Simon and Janet then rented a car and drove east along the mountain roads for nearly an hour before reaching Park City, home of the Sundance Film Festival.
Sundance had started in the late '70s as a film exhibition in Salt Lake City before moving to Park City.
Its founder, Robert Redford, hadn't had the purest intentions in starting it. The Hollywood star had bought a ski resort in Park City and built a vacation village, but business was poor. To turn things around, he decided to mimic another ski town, Aspen, by hosting an arts festival—boosting local tourism while supporting indie films.
Over the next two decades, Sundance's influence grew, launching many directors who later became world-famous in Hollywood.
Of course, that was all in the future.
In 1987, Park City was still obscure, and Sundance far from its later prominence.
Utah was in the Mountain Time Zone, an hour ahead of California.
By the time Simon and Janet arrived in Park City, it was past noon.
Janet had booked a place at a resort east of town in advance—a dozen exquisite wooden cabins scattered through the woods, connected by smooth asphalt roads. Each house was beautiful, and access was convenient.
Of course, it wasn't cheap.
Simon was basically broke now, with all his credit cards maxed out. But he still had to cover the resort costs—just by adding his thumbprint to Janet's IOU.
Occasionally, he thought, if he couldn't make money soon, he might really have to pawn off Joy Westeros to pay the debt.
After settling in and having lunch, they hurried to the Sundance Institute at the base of the west ski resort to handle festival participation formalities and deliver the Run Lola Run print to the organizers.
Today was January 15th—Simon was definitely the last exhibitor to submit a copy.
Back in December, Sundance had already announced the lineup for the dramatic and documentary sections. If not for Robert Redford personally recommending it—and the fact that competition wasn't as fierce as it would become—Run Lola Run never would've qualified.
After completing registration, Simon had just stepped out of the institute's doors when he ran into Robert Redford and his group coming from the parking lot.
"Hey, Simon, you finally made it. David was just asking about you."
Warmly greeting Simon, Robert Redford introduced the people with him to both him and Janet—all jurors for the festival.
Simon had looked it up: current Sundance had only dramatic and documentary sections, each with five jurors, ten total. Redford had only four with him, clearly not the full group.
And hearing their names—David Ansen, Landa Haines, Kit Carson, Jane Benix.
They were probably all film industry folks.
But Simon didn't recognize any of them.
That wasn't surprising, though. Even a decade later, Sundance jurors tended toward the obscure, nothing like the star-studded panels at the major festivals.
As Robert Redford made introductions, Simon smiled and shook hands with each.
Hearing that the juror named David Ansen had just mentioned him, Simon gave the man an extra glance during the greetings and noticed David Ansen curiously eyeing him back.
"We're about to watch some of the entries. Since you've delivered your print, we can start with yours—everyone's really curious about your film."
With that, after the introductions, Robert Redford patted Simon on the shoulder, offered a few words of advice, and led the other four into the institute.