Peter Sanders nodded but added cautiously, "At least, Simon Westeros's driver's license shows he's currently eighteen. Leonard, if necessary, I can look into it."
Leonard fell silent, leaning back on the sofa in thought.
As president of a major Hollywood studio, with years of film marketing experience, Leonard Goldberg naturally understood the kind of buzz an eighteen-year-old director's theatrical debut could generate.
A few years back, former child star Stephen Paul had directed his first film, Falling in Love Again, at twenty. Though the movie was a disaster, grossing just over a hundred thousand at the box office, it still drew attention from heavyweights like the New York Times.
Now, Simon Westeros was only eighteen—that gimmick carried even more weight than twenty. Sure, it was just two years' difference, but in most people's minds, eighteen was still a kid, while twenty was an adult.
More importantly, from reviews in Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, and the like, Run Lola Run far outshone Paul's amateur effort.
If they snagged this film, paired it with The Butterfly Effect—which Simon Westeros had scripted—and crafted a full joint marketing plan, the payoff could be unexpected.
His thoughts shifting here, Leonard Goldberg suddenly recalled something else. "Peter, if I'm not mistaken, our contract with Simon Westeros includes first-look rights on two more scripts, right?"
Per the first-look deal, any scripts Simon Westeros wrote had to be offered to Fox first. Only if Fox passed could he shop them elsewhere.
Most of Run Lola Run's post-production had been done at Fox Studios—even Leonard Goldberg had heard whispers. But no one had taken a young guy's experimental flick seriously, so it'd gone unchallenged.
But things could get dicey if someone decided to push it.
Hearing Leonard Goldberg say this, Peter Sanders nodded knowingly, then shook his head. "Ronald, I had the contract reviewed again—there's an exception clause: films Simon Westeros directs himself aren't bound by the first-look. So he's not in breach."
Peter Sanders had handled the Butterfly Effect contract admin; Leonard Goldberg shot him a displeased glance. "Why'd you agree to that?"
Peter Sanders explained helplessly, "Mr. Murdoch greenlit Butterfly Effect personally, Leonard—you know the rush we were in to close it. And back then, no one thought an unknown newbie like Simon Westeros could make anything worthwhile."
Leonard Goldberg waved him off, uninterested in excuses. "Fine—have Simon Westeros send over a print. Wednesday; I've got time Wednesday morning. I'll watch it first, then we'll talk."
No matter the reviews, Leonard Goldberg trusted his own judgment more.
Peter Sanders nodded. Seeing Leonard ready to wrap up, he hesitated. "One more thing—about Sundance. This year's juror David Ansen's a friend; I called him a few days back."
Leonard Goldberg knew Peter Sanders's type—not exactly generous—so he doubted this was advocacy for Simon Westeros's awards.
Glancing at the reviews on the coffee table, Leonard shook his head. "With things as they are, you think Sundance will let Run Lola Run go empty-handed? Tell your friend—no need for these petty maneuvers. Simon Westeros's rising profile helps Butterfly Effect too."
...
After a morning of calls, learning Leonard Goldberg wanted to see Run Lola Run's final cut personally, Simon made a quick trip back to L.A. Tuesday afternoon.
Wednesday morning, Leonard Goldberg watched the film, offered little comment, just doubled Peter Sanders's offer to $2 million.
Clearly still not what Simon would accept.
So he turned down other invites and flew back to Utah that afternoon, resolved to handle distribution after Sundance wrapped.
Meanwhile, as the week began with media raves for Run Lola Run, the film's buzz grew.
Though nonprofit, Sundance operated on standard commercial lines—Utah's subsidizing government and sponsors all wanted higher visibility.
So as Run Lola Run gained notice, the festival committee subtly fanned the flames, reaching out to more outlets for coverage.
Then, Robert Redford's praise, sold-out screenings, the Fox $200,000 script deal winner, young director handling most behind-the-scenes solo—bits like these seeped into more views, steadily boosting Simon and the film's profile.
Park City.
Time flew to Sundance's second weekend.
In a conference room at the Sundance Institute at the base of the west ski resort, this year's dramatic jury—David Ansen, Landa Haines, Jane Benix, Kit Carson, and Amy Robinson—debated final awards.
Though festival chairman, Robert Redford had no say in jury picks.
Officially, at least.
He waited in another office for their decision.
But Robert had thought he'd quietly aligned with the five—yet in the room, debate split into camps.
Landa Haines and Jane Benix strongly favored the Grand Jury Prize for Run Lola Run.
Kit Carson and Amy Robinson leaned toward Waiting for the Moon. For Run Lola Run, they felt Simon was too young—a Special Jury Prize sufficed. As a sop, toss in Sundance's sole technical award, cinematography; the film earned it there.
Beyond the four, David Ansen stayed quiet.
After some wrangling, Kit Carson glanced at David Ansen. "Landa, Jane—how about we vote?"
Landa Haines and Jane Benix eyed David Ansen too, hesitated, then agreed.
No need for hands—with two-two, David's stance would decide.
David Ansen scanned the group, recalling recent events.
Before this Sundance opened, he'd gotten a call from Fox VP pal Peter Sanders, hinting to downplay Simon Westeros's Run Lola Run in awards.
After the first weekend, maybe due to the film's buzz or whatever, Peter called again—never mind.
But it didn't end; Wednesday afternoon, another call.
Peter sounded resigned: Simon Westeros had flatly rejected Leonard Goldberg's very sincere offer, pissing Leonard off. Hearing Simon planned to shop post-Sundance, Leonard again hoped David could sway the awards.
All this back-and-forth—what did they take him for?
David Ansen was a screenwriter, sure, but his day job was Newsweek contributor—he didn't rely much on Hollywood.
So he'd decided to bow out, let the other four hash it.
Now, unexpectedly, they'd handed him the tiebreaker.
After a pause, David Ansen's gaze circled the others before he spoke slowly. "I pick Run Lola Run."
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