Hollywood has countless parties every day, especially on weekends.
Some time ago, as Run Lola Run's box office became increasingly successful, besides Orion's official celebration banquet, Janet suggested Simon host one or two parties at the Palisades mansion to thank everyone, and Simon agreed.
But before they could implement it, it temporarily came to nothing.
The purpose of tonight's party at Robert Redford's was to celebrate the official greenlighting of several independent films funded by the Sundance Institute.
The black Chevrolet SUV stopped outside a mansion midway up Beverly Hills. Simon instructed his driver, Neil Bennett, to pick him up at ten, then got out.
...
Dusk was falling.
Simon entered Redford's mansion, where the courtyard was already bustling with people, men and women gathered in groups of three or five, chatting.
Robert De Niro hadn't arrived yet, so Simon wasn't in a hurry. With Robert Redford's introduction, he quickly blended into the crowd.
"This is a film exploring the gap between ideals and reality, called Promised Land. Danny has always been a bookworm, eager to prove himself. As an adult, he decides to wander the world—the boldest decision for his timid nature. During his travels, Danny meets Bev, a free-spirited, daring girl. He sees his other half in her and suddenly proposes one day..."
In the courtyard, Simon listened attentively to director Michael Hoffman's pitch for his upcoming feature, his first funded by the Sundance Institute.
After Michael Hoffman finished, Simon turned to another woman listening nearby, smiling. "Meg, do you want to try for the role of Bev?"
The woman was Meg Ryan.
Simon hadn't expected to run into her again that evening after their afternoon meeting.
Meg Ryan was wearing a black halter gown. Perhaps due to heavy makeup or the night, she didn't look as haggard as in the afternoon.
Seeing Simon appear earlier, Meg Ryan had looked like she'd seen a ghost. Now, trying to compose herself, she replied casually, "Yeah, Vi... Simon, what do you think?"
As she spoke, she defiantly lifted her chin slightly.
The group standing together hadn't expected Simon to know Meg Ryan. Hearing their exchange, they looked curious, awaiting Simon's response.
"Bev should have an outgoing, unrestrained personality. With your acting style, the role would come off as silly," Simon just shrugged, glancing her up and down, adding under the surprised gazes of the others, "So, come to my place obediently tomorrow."
Damn villain.
Seeing the changing expressions around her, Meg Ryan thought bitterly, feeling somewhat dejected. With him saying that in front of the director, her chances for the role were basically gone.
Mustering courage, Meg Ryan was about to retort when Robert Redford approached. "Bob's here, Simon. Let's go."
Simon nodded to the group and followed Robert to a living room in the mansion villa.
As one of Hollywood's four genius male actors of the 1970s, Robert De Niro was now middle-aged, past his peak.
However, while Hollywood rarely lets one coast on one or two hits for life, De Niro's four Oscar nominations and two wins were too prestigious. He remained one of Hollywood's hottest top stars.
Like many of his screen personas, De Niro was privately very quiet, even shy—reserved in speech, not good at small talk.
After brief introductions, the three sat on the living room sofas. Robert De Niro got straight to the point about Pulp Fiction: "Simon, I've read the script several times but I'm still very confused. I don't know what you're trying to express."
Having facilitated the introduction, Robert Redford had read the script too. Hearing De Niro's question, he looked over curiously, clearly sharing the confusion.
Even after Pulp Fiction was completed, they still didn't see what was good about it. Simon wasn't surprised by their expressions.
After a moment's thought, Simon replied, "Bob, I'm not trying to express anything through this film. It's just a story, as the title suggests—'pulp fiction,' an absurd, bizarre, uncertainty-filled postmodern black comedy."
Robert De Niro, hearing this, asked puzzledly, "Postmodern?"
Simon explained, "You can think of it as an anti-traditional, anti-authority, anti-continuity, anti-value artistic technique."
Robert De Niro nodded vaguely, then said, "Simon, you might have a clear vision for your film, but honestly, I struggle to understand it. I even find the script poor—completely disordered plot, sudden characters, lots of meaningless dialogue; it all seems inexplicable. You want me for Butch Coolidge, right? After reading your script, I don't even know how to build this character because I feel no purpose in his existence. It's like he's there, but also dispensable."
"Bob, you've understood the story, and deeply," Simon smiled, repeating De Niro's words: "He's there, but seems dispensable."
Robert De Niro shook his head. "Simon, I'm not sure I follow."
"Actually, life has no inherent meaning, Bob. Like us—we're discussing a film. If we agree, we'll sign, shoot, release, await audience reactions. That's our life. Others have theirs, doing their things. But for the world, or the universe, we're dispensable too. We're just here, living our lives, doing our things."
Robert De Niro's expression finally showed some insight.
Robert Redford's face held faint admiration, smiling. "Simon, I didn't expect you to be a philosopher too."
Simon just smiled and continued, "So, Bob, through Pulp Fiction, I want to build such a world. Butch, Vincent, Jules, Mia, Marsellus, Jimmie, the Wolf, even the cab driver you might find abrupt—they're all just seriously living their lives. Lives without meaning, but they're there. You think the plot's too chaotic, dialogue too much, characters too sudden—but it's not. If you see it as a real world, everyone exists reasonably. In fact, during shooting, I'll add more rich details to flesh out this world, make it more real and believable."
Robert De Niro nodded subconsciously along with Simon's explanation but finally asked, "What about the audience, Simon? Do you think they'll be interested in such a story?"
"That's another aspect, Bob. Will audiences be interested? I don't know. I just need them to enter the theater, watch two impromptu robbers discuss robbery in a diner, the female robber act like a little girl spoiling her boyfriend, then suddenly turn into a rabid bunny; watch Vincent and Jules discuss burgers like ordinary commuters on the drive, arrive early and politely wait, then burst in, recite Bible verses, draw guns, kill; watch Butch silently take gangster boss Marsellus's lecture like a loser faded boxer, then savagely kill his opponent in the ring, flee with his girlfriend; watch spoiled and lonely Mia; Jesus-lookalike drug-dealing Lance; Jimmie more worried about his wife than cops facing murder. When they finish watching these absurd, bizarre people teetering on madness and breakdown, if they wonder: Can Butch and his girlfriend escape safely? Will Jules or Mia avenge Vincent? Might that soft-accented cab driver go rabid like the bunny? Will Simon Westeros make a sequel? Then, in my heart, I'll open my arms and loudly say to them: Friends, welcome to the postmodern world of Pulp Fiction."
After Simon's infectiously speech-like words, Robert De Niro clearly showed interest. Even Robert Redford couldn't help saying, "Simon, hearing you, if I can't cameo in such a film, I'll regret it forever."
Simon had given Redford the script with that in mind.
Though Redford's awards couldn't match De Niro's, his box office in recent years far surpassed him.
For example, Out of Africa two years ago ranked fifth in North America's annual box office. In comparison, De Niro's 1980s films, mostly big productions, none exceeded $20 million domestically.
In Hollywood, box office meant status.
Robert Redford's current salary was evidently higher than De Niro's.
Such a star in Pulp Fiction was highly desirable. Simon wasn't arrogant enough to think all newcomers could draw crowds.
But with only an $8 million budget, Redford would have to take a pay cut, even a bargain price. Friendship aside, Simon knew proposing it himself would be abrupt; Redford had to offer first.
Now, hearing Redford, Simon nodded without hesitation. "Bob, if you join, I'd welcome it. But I must be frank—Orion's budget for me isn't much."
Robert Redford didn't know Simon's Orion deal, casually saying, "Just a cameo, Simon. Pay aside, which role suits me?"
Simon didn't hesitate, smiling. "The Wolf, of course. The former Butch Cassidy retiring to L.A., becoming the legendary Wolf revered by lowlifes—fun, isn't it?"
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was Redford's breakthrough; the Sundance Film Festival was named after it.
"Then the Wolf it is," Redford nodded decisively, glanced at De Niro, and stood. "I need to tend to guests. Bob, Simon, you two continue."
Redford saw De Niro was interested; next would be salary talks, so he excused himself.
Among the 1970s' four genius Hollywood actors, Robert De Niro was the most eccentric. These years, he had no agent; he handled salary contracts himself with producers.
[GodOfReader: I'm more damn curious on what's inside the damn briefcase, but that foot-fetish gay looking ass Director didn't specify or revealed what was the inside of it.]