From Screen to Premiere
Lights adorned the office for Christmas along with the faint aroma of pine contrasting with the busy downtown Los Angeles streets just prior to Christmas in 2001. Fox Studios had been working tirelessly over the preceding week to transform the setting into a holiday wonder, where ornaments hung in the reception area and a 20-foot tree could be found in the atrium, with wreaths from Santa Monica filling every hallway.
At the premises, Harry Jackson was positioned at the glass wall of what was essentially a temporary office suite, gazing down to the animated, rotational banners of Premier League Soccer and SpongeBob. He was smiling, but focused on Memento. His mind had been preoccupied with just the thought of it since he funded it. He had built the stadium and all of the cartoon characters, but this movie, almost complete, felt like the real litmus test.
He tapped his phone. "Gregory?"
Not long after he had tapped his phone, Gregory Rourke entered the office, his thick winter coat folded over his arm. He offered a cocky grin.
"It's finished," said Gregory. "Post production finished yesterday afternoon. We have a final cut. It is... tight. Thought-provoking. Nolan's going to argue that it's three minutes long, but for our purposes? Perfect."
Harry fiddled with his collar, anticipation setting in. Timelines are tricky things, especially when you've set a release date but have yet to see the finished movie. "When do I get to see it?"
"I scheduled a private screening for you and the execs next week. Fox's distribution people want to have an early look at it," said Gregory. "With some champagne for the holidays!"
Harry smiled. "Right. Day one is having the network involved."
Later that afternoon, Harry joined Gregory in the Castle Theatre screening room, bathed in the soft, dappled light of Fox's distribution compound on La Cienega Boulevard. It seemed appropriately cinematic; plush red seats, soft carpet, the unmistakable smell of buttered popcorn mixed with fresh brochures.
A handful of individuals were sitting together to sip on their coffee, after exchanging seasonal tidings: Sandy Grushow, Gail Berman and Terry Schaefer, head of the Fox Network Divisions group.
Sandy had been comparing the Tree lighting ceremony in Long Beach to the Tree lighting ceremony in Los Angeles as Gail was explaining how she was suffering through a mid-west cold snap. Terry, half-way clad in a waistcoat and Santa cuff links, explained he had just come from watching the United match.
Harry introduced them as Gregory came across. "Greg, this group," Harry said, gesturing, "they are my people in Fox. They will ensure Memento gets the right screens in the right markets."
Gregory was shaking Sandy's hand first, then Gail's, then Terry's. "Good to meet you all. I trust that you all will enjoy what Chris and the crew have delivered."
Harry rubbed his jaw. "After this? I could expect field trips to Venice, Sundance ... Cannes maybe?"
"They will come," Sandy replied, smiling. "If the film delivers."
_____
The lights dimmed. Harry watched the Fox execs find a place against the glowing tree's reflection through the back glass window. As the projector clicked to life, blackness gave way to the crumpled words of 'Memento's opening.
He watched with the others—completely entranced. The non-linear storytelling, Guy Pearce's haunted gaze, the ticking score; it all made sense. Harry felt his breath hitch in the third scene: when Leonard first looks in the mirror. It was raw, visceral, and so intimately clear of memory and loss.
When the final credits rolled, the room was dead silent for four full beats.
Then Sandy closed his eyes and said, "That's... amazing."
Gail leaned in, "That's festival-worthy."
Terry wiped his eyes, "That's... Halloween-night chills. That is talent."
Harry let the moment hang, "This isn't a mass-consumer film," he said. "This is an award-winning film. Cult status. Repeat views."
Gregory nodded, "As per Mr. Jackson, we will have a festival screening to create a bit of a reputation. And then we will release to a small audience for you."
---
Later that evening, Harry brought Lisa to the atrium next to the tree, where carolers had formed a small circle. She wore a festive scarf; he'd gifted it with a grin earlier.
"Merry Christmas," he said, handing her a cup of hot cider.
She glanced through the crowds of Fox employees waving at them. "Successful day?"
"We've got soccer. We've got SpongeBob. From what Sandy and Terry tell me, they like what I bought from JTV."
He watched as Adam, the network's cameraman, introduced himself and struggled through seasonal small talk. Lisa laughed, patting his arm for warmth.
Later, passing the brightly lit lobby, Harry spotted a Fox building volunteer drive for local shelter donations—gift-wrapped bags, tags naming families. He scribbled down an idea. Promote Memento charity screenings? he thought. The film's meditations on grief could fuel empathy alongside ticket sales.