January’s Horizon

It was mid-January 2002 when Gregory Rourke called Harry Jackson with the big news that they were in discussions with Sundance and the Berlin International festivals and that both were vying for Memento for late January/early February release. The film's unique structure and nonlinear storytelling piqued the programmers' interest, and while Christopher Nolan was not widely known, he was starting to draw attention.

Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts turned to another kind of moment: the first reception at his brand-new mansion in the Berkeley Hills. The sprawling estate with breathtaking views of Los Angeles was finally finished. He loaded as few guests as feasible for a small housewarming—intimate, warm, not over twenty in attendance.

As Harry popped open the front door, he saw his mother, Rachel, in a probably thirty-year-old cashmere over coat, and grinning from ear to ear. Lisa—smoothing back her long curling hair—was standing next to her, introducing her husband, James Miller, and Harry's new personal assistant. James was a sharp young man dressed in a crisp blue blazer, and promptly extended his hand, cool, hearty grip.

"Welcome Mr. Miller," Harry said. Inside, Rachel had glided into the enormous living room where she had settled in at the soft glow of light reflecting off modern abstract art, only to be interrupted by a woman, Maria, who Harry overheard as she spoke to Rachel about, "Are you getting tired of red wine, I have white wine, or red."

She was the housekeeper who was displaying a wine offering for the house. She gave a short description of the second wine, and then concluded with a description of the whole house with no more than fifteen words.

At the end of the hall, gathered around a sparkling dining table, was Harry's inner circle: his stockbroker John K. Murray, who was smiling and enjoying a canapé; his lawyer Daniel Keane, staring at the space quietly; and Marsh Wahan, who still had a bit of London fatigue but wore a smile full of pride in his eyes.

Harry raised his glass in a toast as brief as the toasting experience. "To new beginnings. An empty house, a film to show, and friends who have shared it all with me."

Rachel nodded. The mist from tears began to form. "My son is making his legacy," she whispered, glassy-eyed. Harry looked at her and gave a knowing smile.

The night rolled along in casual conversation—stock strategies from John, festival excitement from Gregory, studio narrative from Daniel, and a theatre expansion report from Marsh. James was weaving around the crowd delivering drinks and plates with poise. He had already proven to be a good hire.

_____

But as dawn arrived, Harry woke with a pounding pain in the back of his eyes. He reached for the water—and winced.

Lisa came in quietly, placing a warm cloth on his head. "You had a little too much of a good thing last night, Mr. Boss," she said, her voice sympathetic. She walked over to the guest room drawer and pulled out the gift wrapped boxes. "Harry," she called, "the neighbors?"

Harry's mumble was acknowledgment. Lisa left. When Lisa returned ten minutes later, her husband found her standing at the front gate, boxes in her arms—and next to her, Tom Cruise, tall and tux-casual, holding a gift for his own neighbor.

"Good morning," Tom said casually, with a nod. "Great party last night. Finished shooting Mission: Impossible 2 just weeks ago in Australia."

Lisa beamed. "I know. Just thought I would return the hospitality—homemade cookies and a little gift for your family."

Tom smiled and took the little tray. "Thanks. And if your boss ever wants to do a home screening, just let me know."

Lisa laughed. "I'll pass that along."

Tom walked on, nodding farewell to James, then Marsh who was awestruck, then back into the crisp Berkeley morning.

"Was that Tom Cruise?" Harry asked, still a little dizzy.

-----

Later that afternoon, Harry felt well enough to meet the Nolan brothers in his large, sun-filled study. A projector and screen were set up on a table, a funkily shaped light projection racing around the hardwood floor.

The Nolan brothers arrived together—two serious, ambitious men who had put their faith in Harry early on in the production. Harry made coffee for the brothers, and pointed at the city view that spread below them.

"I hear we have offers," Harry said quietly, "Sundance wants to premiere in January, Berlin in late February. You decide."

Christopher rubbed his chin. "Sundance gets you in front of an audience, again domestic buyers, but Hollywood critics as well. Berlin is generally more auteur based and will come with international press. It's all in your strategy."

Harry nodded. "I want both. Domestic arrest with Sundance, then take the momentum into Berlin for Europe and global legitimacy." He paused. "And Fox will love the Berlin stamp for marketing purposes."

Jonathan smiled, tapping a finger on the mahogany table. "Ambitious. I like that."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Harry said. "Greg is running the screenings and travel - whatever you need. Venice might be first, but with Sundance and Berlin in January and February, Memento is going to go the year kicking ."

Christopher stood up and walked to the window. "You have built places, shows, networks . . . now film festivals. I see. Good."

Harry turned to look where Christopher was looking. "It all supports one another. Sports. Animation. Film. My television network. They're all of the same family."

Christopher stuck out his hand. "Then let's start with Sundance."

They shook hands on it, just him and Harry in that quiet moment like the distant hills of Oakland and buried skyline of Los Angeles.