Simon, hearing the Variety reporter's skepticism, simply nodded lightly. "Yeah, the logic is actually pretty simple. If these jobs weren't done by me personally, and I put my name on them anyway, I'd definitely have a horde of people coming after me down the line."
Hearing Simon say this, many in the audience who had harbored similar doubts suddenly felt enlightened.
Ghostwriters existed in every circle, and Hollywood was no exception.
But given the quality of Run Lola Run, the odds of a dozen or so undoubtedly talented Hollywood filmmakers all ghosting for one young guy were vanishingly slim.
Moreover, while most people didn't yet know Simon's background, no matter who he was, there was absolutely no need for him to do that. When it came to professional filmmaking skills, getting exposed would be all too easy.
Still.
If a huge chunk of Run Lola Run's behind-the-scenes work had really been handled personally by the young man on stage, no matter how you sliced it, that was just too unbelievable.
The Variety reporter clearly felt the same way. Hearing Simon's response, she immediately pressed: "So, how did you manage it?"
Simon smiled. "Miss Trevor, that's a tough one to answer. But if we start from when I began writing the script, I worked on this film for a full six months. There were a lot of ups and downs along the way, and I met plenty of people willing to help me—like Bob, Janet, Katherine, Brian De Palma, David Giler, my agent Jonathan, and so on. Looking back, I was incredibly lucky, because so many aspiring filmmakers never get chances like that. Here, I'd like to thank all of them again, and I hope one day I can pay it forward and help others."
Though she hadn't gotten a satisfying answer, Jane Trevor nodded earnestly and sat back down.
Then, at Robert Redford's signal, hands shot up again from the crowd.
There weren't many media reporters who'd made it to Park City—Robert knew most of them and wasn't in a rush. This time, he casually pointed to a young guy sitting in the back row.
The kid didn't even wait for the mic, blurting out eagerly: "Simon, your movie is so cool. I really hope I can make something like it someday. So, I want to know—how did you learn all this? Or, which film school did you go to?"
Simon shook his head with a smile. "I didn't attend film school. As for the skills, I'd say they're self-taught. But my situation's a bit different from most people's. So if you want to be a director, I'd still recommend going to a professional film school."
Hollywood had plenty of famous self-taught directors—even Robert Redford, sitting right there on stage, could count as one.
Still, hearing Simon's answer, many in the screening room looked shocked.
Though they didn't know his exact age, he was obviously very young. If he'd gone through systematic training at a top film school and mastered a range of skills to make Run Lola Run, that would make sense.
But self-taught? Anyone who'd tried that knew how many hurdles you'd hit, how many detours you'd take—so pulling off something like this was just mind-boggling.
As the crowd reeled in surprise, Janet, who'd been sitting quietly beside Simon, blinked, suddenly recalling the huge stack of film books he'd haphazardly bought a few months back.
The little bastard's totally bullshitting.
But.
It's really so weird.
The kid sat down, and Robert Redford handed the next question to another media reporter.
The Q&A session dragged on until noon, when Run Lola Run's Sundance premiere finally wrapped.
The film would have a few more screenings over the festival's remaining days, but Simon wouldn't need to attend those. In fact, many filmmakers left Park City after their weekend premieres, only sending reps back for the closing if they got award news.
Sunday afternoon, Simon touched base with Peter Butler about his exclusive interview. Come evening, he saw Jennifer Rebould and Lisa Collins off on their flight back to New Haven, Connecticut, home of Yale.
But Simon didn't get a moment's peace.
Right after the Run Lola Run premiere, he was swarmed by several indie distributors who'd come to Sundance hoping to snag a gem—probing, quoting, schmoozing, swapping contacts.
One fat guy even boldly threw out a $2 million buyout offer, more generous than Fox, but wanted to pay just $200,000 upfront, with the rest trickling in after release.
Simon mentally cursed Harvey, you fat liar, then ignored the guy.
Monday morning, he'd barely gotten out of bed when Kathryn called from L.A. Right after, Robert Redford called, asking him to swing by the Sundance Institute.
Simon drove into town, picked up a thick stack of newspapers featuring Run Lola Run reviews from the Institute, and grabbed breakfast on the way.
Back at the resort apartment, it was past nine.
Park City's weather was still frigid. With no outsiders around, Janet reverted to her lazy form, lazing in bed like a sleepy cat. Only the sight of the newspapers Simon brought back perked her up—she squealed for him to hand them over and dove in eagerly.
"Variety, hmm: Out of nowhere, Sundance delivers a stunning anti-genre masterpiece, Run Lola Run. This film, written and directed by newcomer Simon Westeros, uses a fascinating triptych structure to vividly illustrate the 'butterfly effect' for audiences. At the same time, its exploration of life's infinite possibilities lingers long after. Blah blah blah, let me switch to another."
Janet read a few lines, then skimmed the rest and grabbed the next paper impatiently. "This one's The Hollywood Reporter—seems impressive too. What surprised this writer most was Simon Westeros's masterful use of a range of film techniques. The movie excels in cinematography, color, score, editing, and more, hitting a level that's downright top-tier—nothing like a low-budget flick under a million bucks. And apparently, a lot of that work was done by Simon Westeros himself. It's like watching another Hollywood genius on the rise. Makes total sense—let me check, oh, Peter wrote a review too. Didn't you agree to hold off until after the festival? Oh, this is just the review."
She read through Peter Butler's piece in the Los Angeles Times, flipped the rest, then tossed them aside, bubbling with excitement as she poked her bare, pale upper body out from the covers. "Little boy, you're about to be famous. Come here—let your big sister give you a kiss first."
Simon pushed Janet back under the covers. "I'm not kissing a lazy woman who hasn't even brushed her teeth."
"What!?, you're dissing me? Careful, or I'll call my four brothers to beat you up."
Simon chuckled, tucking the flipped corner back over her. "Call a cousin too—make it five. Bring baseball bats."
"Hmph, like, i don't like my cousins."
They bantered like that for a bit, until the living room phone rang again. Simon saw her bury her face in the pillow, leaned down to kiss her rounded shoulder, and said, "Get up already. I'll grab the phone."
It was Jonathan Friedman calling. L.A. had just started the workday, and his agent had already seen the glowing Run Lola Run reviews in several major Hollywood papers. He congratulated Simon, then relayed that Orion Pictures president Mike Medavoy had called him first thing, sniffing around about the film—clearly interested in distribution.
They talked for over ten minutes. As they were about to hang up, Sandra Bullock happened to arrive at Jonathan's office, so they chatted a little more.
Los Angeles, WMA headquarters on El Camino Drive.
Sandra said goodbye to Simon, gently set down the receiver, and took a seat across from Jonathan's desk.
"So," Jonathan Friedman said, handing her a packet, " Back to the Future 2 is gearing up, and casting's underway. Your resume's a bit thin, but I saw praise for your Run Lola Run performance in several papers this morning. Prep for this—I'll pull strings to get you through the first round. After that, it's up to how things go."
Back to the Future—last year's North American box office champ, produced by Steven Spielberg, directed by Robert Zemeckis. Sandra knew it inside out.
But after wrapping Run Lola Run, she'd only just landed a supporting role in a spring TV show.
She flipped open the audition materials, scanned them quickly, then ventured uncertainly: "Joe, this is... the lead actress audition?"
"Of course," Jonathan Friedman nodded with a smile. "But don't get your hopes up too high—first round alone, hundreds of girls will be vying for it. Oh, and talk to Simon—have him cut a clip of your Run Lola Run performance. Get it to me by Friday; I'll pass it along to the Back to the Future 2 team."
"Yeah, I will," Sandra nodded, then added, "But Joe, Simon won't be back from Park City until next week. And I... I don't have his place's number."
Jonathan chuckled, scribbled a number on a sticky note, and handed it over. "It's a film festival—Park City's got all the gear. The print's there too, so have him edit it and mail it back or get someone to bring it."
They chatted a few more minutes before Sandra stood to leave. Stepping out of Jonathan's office, she found another of his clients, Courteney Cox, waiting in the outer room.
Sandra knew Simon had first offered the Run Lola Run role to Courteney, and Courteney knew it had gone to Sandra. Now, bumping into each other like this, both felt an inexplicable awkwardness—they nodded casually as if nothing was amiss and brushed past.
Courteney knew why Jonathan had called her in today. Back to the Future 2 casting was on—huge news in Hollywood.
Spotting the audition packet Sandra had just held, Courteney recalled the Run Lola Run review she'd seen in The Hollywood Reporter over breakfast, and a sharp wave of unease hit her.
Back to the Future 2's lead guy was definitely still Michael J. Fox. Under Jonathan, at least three fit the female lead: Elizabeth Shue, herself, and Sandra Bullock, who'd just left.
Thinking it over, Elizabeth Shue had done The Butterfly Effect, Sandra Bullock Run Lola Run—both tied to him.
And herself.
She'd had the chance originally.
Now.
Hopefully Run Lola Run doesn't make too big a splash.
On second thought, it was just a low-budget indie, way off mainstream, so even with some praise, it probably wouldn't stir much in Hollywood.
Muttering that to herself, she took a deep breath, pushed the mess from her mind, nodded to Owen Reich under his gaze, and stepped into her agent's office.
Around the same time.
Not far from WMA headquarters, at Fox Studios.
Fox president Leonard Goldberg had summoned Peter Sanders to his office first thing.
They settled in the sitting area, and Ronald Goldberg handed over clippings of Run Lola Run reviews his secretary had just compiled. "This should be that Butterfly Effect writer's project—the one you mentioned on the phone last week?"
Peter Sanders had actually already seen the reviews. He took the clippings, flipped through them perfunctorily, and nodded. "Yeah, that's the one."
Leonard Goldberg, getting confirmation, said, "Didn't you already talk to him? Why haven't I seen results?"
Peter Sanders set the reviews on the coffee table. "The kid wants a profit-sharing deal."
Leonard Goldberg leisurely pulled out a cigar, trimming it slowly. He paused at that, then shook his head with a laugh. "What a clueless punk. Fine, forget it—let him shop it elsewhere."
Peter Sanders hesitated, then said, "Leonard, about him—there's more."
With that, Peter Sanders briefly covered Simon's age and some marketing ideas they'd discussed.
Leonard listened, realizing at some point his cigar had dropped to the floor. He picked it up casually and tossed it aside, his gaze still fixed on Peter Sanders. "Eighteen—you sure that's real?"
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