Chapter 67: Sundance Film Festival

Chapter 67: Chapter 67: Sundance Film Festival

Leaving behind the negotiation deadlock and investment worries in Los Angeles, Irene accompanied her sister Sophia to Park City, Utah.

As soon as she stepped off the plane, the crisp air and an atmosphere starkly different from Hollywood’s refreshed her spirit.

Everywhere she looked, there were brightly colored down jackets, heavy snow boots, and fans, independent filmmakers, and talent scouts whose eyes sparkled with a pure love for cinema.

The Sundance Film Festival, a sanctuary for independent film, was a world both familiar and foreign to Irene.

As a newcomer, everything felt fresh to her. She curiously flipped through the thick screening manual, looking at the dense list of movie titles and director bios, most of which she had never heard of.

"Wow, this one is about using potato carving to express the loneliness of immigrants?" she murmured. "*How Snails Think About Existence*... can that really be made into a 90-minute movie?"

The Virgin Suicides premiered on the first day. Wearing warm snow boots and a thick coat, she went without makeup and blended into the crowd, queuing up with the other attendees to enter.

The journalists’ cameras were focused more on Sophia and the film’s lead actors. Their questions mostly centered on the original creative intent, the female perspective, and the challenges of independent production, rather than box office expectations.

During the screening, Irene sat in the audience and could clearly feel the focused, even slightly scrutinizing atmosphere. When Sophia’s melancholic, poetic, and slightly cruel narrative of youth unfolded on the screen, the room fell silent.

When the screening ended and the lights came up, the applause wasn’t a thunderous roar but was instead sustained, sincere, and filled with reflection.

Many critics and seasoned film buffs used words like "perceptive," "unique," and "unforgettable" to describe this debut work.

At the subsequent networking reception, Irene accompanied Sophia and met many key figures in the independent film circle. She met distributors specializing in art films, critics with keen eyes, and other independent directors with vastly different styles.

When they spoke with Sophia, they focused more on the use of cinematic language and the handling of emotional tone.

Irene heard someone whisper to Sophia, "Miss Coppola, you’ve found a very intimate yet universal way of expression." This was a form of recognition different from commercial success. It was about establishing an artistic identity.

After the long reception, Irene returned to her room and collapsed onto the large bed, not wanting to move at all.

Meanwhile, Sophia’s face still held a glow that was a mix of exhaustion and excitement. She said to Irene, "Fox’s distribution strategy might be right. This movie needed to be here to find the audience that truly understands it first."

She saw the light of being understood shining in her sister’s eyes, which gave Sophia more satisfaction at this moment than any commercial box office figures ever could.

At this moment, Irene realized that the sense of achievement her sister gained from films was completely different from her own. She didn’t have much of a reaction to others’ evaluations of her films, nor was she proactive about seeking peer recognition. Her goal was simply to achieve a higher box office so that more people could see her movies and hear her voice.

The fatigue from the flight combined with the bewilderment of the reception caused her to fall asleep quickly.

After a sleepless night, Irene found that Sophia had already left the room when she woke up. She went to the bathroom for a quick shower, changed her clothes, and went to the restaurant.

She found a seat at random and ordered some local specialties from the menu.

Soon after, the neighboring tables began to fill up. As she ate breakfast, she listened to them heatedly discussing "the emotional texture of film grain" and "the authenticity brought by non-professional actors."

She felt like an elementary student who had accidentally wandered into a philosophy class, so she only silently stuffed a bagel into her mouth.

In Irene’s view, their discussion was like a baker who, before making a bagel, needs to investigate the source of the ingredients, then break down the elements of those ingredients, and finally, while reassembling them, explore the possibilities and practicality of every combination, listing each one clearly.

It was fine, but unnecessary. After all, the person eating the bagel only cares if it tastes good.

So, she would only be a chef who made delicious bagels, not one who researched the rationality of the bagel.

Afterward, she accompanied Sophia to watch several more films in the competition unit.

Halfway through a three-hour film with minimal dialogue and numerous long, static shots of domestic silence, Irene, despite her best efforts, couldn’t help but let out a quiet yawn.

She peeked at the surrounding audience and found them all looking solemn and enthralled. ’Okay,’ she thought, ’this is probably what they call an immersive experience, whereas I’ve probably grown accustomed to being fed fast-paced editing and strong plots, and I can’t adapt to this slow pace.’

However, she didn’t come away entirely empty-handed. In a dark comedy indie film, she discovered several hilarious sequences and an actress with a very naturalistic performance style.

She immediately noted the name in her phone’s memo app. "This girl has something. There’s a story in her eyes. I could consider her for a comedy next time."

Once the screening was over, Sophia had to sign up for a film seminar and asked Irene to wait for her so they could have dinner together. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

She stood alone to the side of the exhibition hall, drinking hot cocoa.

An independent producer with a large beard and a beanie approached her.

"Hey, I saw your short film. The idea of using handheld cinematography to express urban alienation was great! Interested in chatting about your plans for a feature film?" he said enthusiastically.

Irene was stunned for a moment before realizing he had mistaken her for someone else, specifically, an art-house director. Finding it amusing, she didn’t immediately correct him.

"Oh, really? Would you be willing to invest in me? But my current plans for a feature might be a bit too commercial. I’m afraid you might not be interested."

The man waved his hand dismissively. "Commerce and art aren’t opposites! What matters is the essence of the expression!" It wasn’t until Sophia came over and called out "Irene" that the producer realized his mistake. His expression instantly became awkward, and he hurriedly apologized.

Irene waved it off.

That evening, Irene was alone in the log cabin guesthouse where they were staying, with the fireplace crackling.

Curled up on the sofa and hugging a pillow, she was reading the scripts Shelly had sent over. They were mostly low-budget comedies invested in by major studios. Judging by the titles, they looked like a bunch of flops, as Irene had no memory of these movies existing.

But she couldn’t rule out the possibility that the titles might change after release. Not wanting to miss out on a good film, she had to open and read them one by one.

By the time she was feeling drowsy and the words in front of her were blurring together, she still hadn’t found any recognizable projects.

She shook her head and massaged her aching neck, shifting her posture to get more comfortable.

With the mindset of finishing just one last script before calling it a day, Irene opened the second-to-last script in her inbox.

The document name was extremely simple, just two words: My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and it looked completely unremarkable.

However, as she finished reading the first dozen scenes and saw how that noisy, culture-clash-filled Greek family revolved around the somewhat out-of-place female protagonist, her brain began to race.