She woke up early.
The sky was dimly lit.
Perhaps it was jet lag.
There was a time difference between the East and West Coasts, after all.
She stared blankly at the wooden cabin's ceiling, suddenly feeling like she might be losing her mind.
It was just the weekend, and she'd really flown from New Haven to this unfamiliar little town thousands of kilometers away, staying in a bedroom provided by a boy she'd only met a handful of times.
And that boy had a girlfriend now.
Hmm.
That had nothing to do with her.
Perhaps, from the day she'd heard that boy's wild guitar playing on some beach, she'd always wanted to do something crazy deep down.
If we don't go crazy now, we'll get old.
Yesterday afternoon, she'd skied for the first time.
Watching him rocket down from the mountaintop to the base like a bolt of lightning, Lisa—who loved skiing too—treated him like an idol, squealing as she explained just how amazing he was, then charging down after him.
Then, two idiots who could only snowboard were left at the top: the two Jennys.
So embarrassing.
Good thing there were two of them—someone to keep her company.
She'd tried hard to learn, inevitably falling a few times, and her body still ached a bit now.
But the thrill in her heart lingered even now.
Unfortunately, she'd have to rush off this afternoon.
Classes tomorrow.
And she couldn't tell her parents about this, or she'd be in for a scolding; she was a good girl, after all, and had been for years.
She could only tuck it away silently in her heart.
She didn't know how long she'd spaced out, but it felt like full daylight, so she carefully sat up, picked up the watch from the bedside table, and checked: 7:30.
His movie premiere was at 9; they'd probably need to head over early.
She wondered if he was up yet.
Perhaps she should prepare breakfast for everyone.
Hmm.
Definitely no ulterior motives.
I'm a good girl.
She got dressed, washed up, and even tied her hair into a ponytail in front of the mirror.
She'd have to untie it when going out with a hat on.
But.
He occasionally sneaked glances at her ponytail.
Heh.
Busted.
Did he think I wouldn't notice?
She didn't call out to Lisa, slipping quietly out of the bedroom and tiptoeing to the kitchen.
Then she got a start—he was already bustling about in there. Hearing him greet her, she quickly responded, her heart racing as if she'd been caught plotting something naughty.
Still, she mustered the courage to step forward and help.
Janet and Lisa got up soon after.
After breakfast, at 8:10, the four of them drove out of the resort apartment and headed to the Egyptian Theater in downtown Park City.
She'd done her homework: this was just a tiny little film festival, not very popular. Looking at the hall with over four hundred seats, she secretly worried. She'd noticed yesterday that the streets of Park City weren't bustling, and now it was morning—in this cold weather, even fewer people would drag themselves out of bed for a movie.
If turnout was too low, it'd be mortifying.
So she proactively volunteered, grabbing a thick stack of festival flyers from the staff to hand out outside the theater.
She was pretty enough; she could probably lure in a few guys.
Lisa and Janet came out with stacks too—Lisa had turned him into an idol, and she was naturally enthusiastic, so that made sense.
Janet surprised her, though.
Clearly a woman accustomed to luxury, yet willing to do this; she must really love him.
Then, she quickly realized her worries had been unnecessary.
From 8:30 onward, people started trickling toward the Egyptian Theater in twos and threes. By nearly 9, the line of waiting viewers stretched over ten meters outside, and word came from the ticket booth: sold out.
Standing on the street, she turned to peer inside—the hall was crammed with people, some voicing loud complaints.
A couple nearby even bickered about it; from what she overheard, they'd seen two films yesterday with only twenty or thirty percent attendance, so the guy had figured they could show up last-minute and snag some extra sleep.
They hadn't expected to be shut out.
Glancing at the time—almost 9, with the screening about to start—she exchanged looks with Lisa and Janet.
The hall was packed; how were the three of them supposed to get in?
After a moment's hesitation, they pushed their way forward anyway.
They explained to the staff they encountered, and the three were let through, prompting grumbles of discontent from behind.
Entering the screening room, she looked around: it was full of people, their conversations buzzing together in a lively hum.
Remembering that couple's words, she couldn't help feeling a bit smug.
He really was one of a kind.
A little nervously, she and Janet made their way to the front row. Good—he'd reserved seats for them right next to him, three in a row.
She also spotted Robert Redford sitting on his other side, the two chatting amiably.
She knew Robert Redford was the founder of this festival, but seeing him still caught her off guard—she'd absolutely loved Out of Africa from two years ago and had even bought the videotape.
Meryl Streep and Robert Redford.
Karen and Denys.
Herself and... him.
An inexplicable little substitution, an inexplicable touch of melancholy.
She sighed softly.
Janet sat next to him, she sat next to Janet, and Lisa plopped down giggling beside her, looking thrilled.
Carefree fool.
Nine o'clock.
The lights in the screening room dimmed right on time.
A bit surprised—this was a film festival, after all; no interaction? Then she realized it might come after the film; from 9 to 12, that was three hours.
It opened with a quote from the British poet T. S. Eliot: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
She knew Eliot—a Nobel laureate in literature. But his work was always so obscure; she wasn't particularly fond of it.
Still, since he'd used it here, she intended to mull it over properly.
Then.
The sound of a pendulum, the urgent tick of a second hand, impatient music, Lola's outburst in a shout—it all shattered her attempt to pause and think, leaving only that figure sprinting through the alleys of Santa Monica in Los Angeles.
Red hair, blue tank top, green pants, big leather shoes.
Her name was Lola.
Run, Lola, run.
A completely subversive image.
A completely subversive film.
It was astonishing, like a sudden revelation: movies could be made like this, animation used like this, shots so sharp, camera work so cunning.
And the music.
And the visuals.
Only when the final shot ended did she snap out of that dreamlike journey, immediately longing for a second viewing.
But in the next instant, a pang of regret.
She wouldn't be able to see it again anytime soon, unless the film got a theatrical release.
Such an outstanding movie—it definitely would.
She had no doubt about that.
But she knew a thing or two about Hollywood; even if it hit theaters, an alternative film like this wouldn't get a wide release.
Hmm.
When the time came, if New Haven didn't have it, New York surely would.
Distracted by these thoughts, she didn't pay much attention to the credits rolling slowly on the big screen, while the audience around her clearly began whispering.
She didn't mind, didn't think much of it.
The film was over, anyway—they must have loved it.
Then Lisa suddenly poked her from the side. "Jenny, did you notice?"
"Hmm?"
"The end credits," Lisa said, eyeing her with dissatisfaction. "Such an amazing movie, and you zoned out?"
"I... of course not," she shook her head guiltily at once, explaining, "I was just thinking about when I could see it again."
"Fine," Lisa shrugged, but added, "You really didn't notice the credits?"
Worried that Janet and him might overhear on the other side, she signaled for Lisa to lower her voice before asking, "What about them?"
Lisa gestured with her hands. "So many names—Simon's name."
She was still a bit confused.
Lisa, in a tone that suggested she might have been seeing things, repeated, "Producer, director, writer, cinematography, lighting, score, set design, editing—anyway, several more, all with Simon's name."
This time, she finally got it.
But she figured Lisa must have been seeing things.
She was just about to tease her when the credits fully rolled off, and the lights in the screening room came back on.
With the brightening light, the murmurs that had filled the dimness quieted a bit. After a brief pause, enthusiastic applause erupted.
Ten seconds or so later, staff set up chairs on the stage, and Simon pulled Janet along as he and Robert Redford went up together; the applause, which had started to fade, surged again.
Only when Robert Redford smiled and raised a hand to quiet them did the screening room gradually fall silent.
Then Robert Redford took on the role of host himself, microphone in hand. "At Friday's opening ceremony, I promised everyone that you wouldn't be disappointed with this film. No one's doubting my judgment now, right? But if you still didn't like it, you'll have to take it up with Simon."
Amid the light laughter in the room, Robert added a subtle jab: "Of course, before you do that, make sure you can take this kid next to me. Now, if anyone has questions, go ahead and raise your hands."
Whoosh—
As Robert Redford's words fell, dozens of hands shot up almost simultaneously across the screening room; a few people hesitated, lifting theirs halfway, only to lower them upon seeing the scene.
Scanning the audience, Robert Redford pointed to a bespectacled brunette sitting near the front.
The woman stood, habitually adjusting her glasses, and looked toward Simon on stage. "Mr. Westeros, I'm Jane Trevor from Variety, and it's an honor to have seen such an innovative anti-genre film as Run Lola Run. However, I just counted, and the crew credits list your name in at least ten positions. Though it might be presumptuous, I still find it hard to believe—did you really handle all of those yourself?"