Chapter 209 Fame

“Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise / (That last infirmity of noble mind) / To scorn delights, and live laborious days.”

— John Milton

Lycidas

The applause died, but not the unrelenting Source Fours hung from the front-of-house pipes.

The Pro had spoken for itself—and now the cast and crew had to speak for themselves.

The MC, a local celebrity and longtime host of Sundance, warmed up the room like a wedding celebrant, squeezing forth laughter and applause from the audience sections as he introduced each of Eppie’s crew on stage.

As a continuation of her performative humility, Eppie chose to stand on the end of the line. Part of it was also because she was the shortest and Ferroni was the tallest. Standing in what was an exact ascending order of height seemed to appease her [The Empty Space].

Of the lot of them, Aubert was the one who seemed most at home. Kel stood beside Aubert, looking cool. Ferroni was sweating profusely, Bebe was shaking, and Norbert looked like he could use another dose of his hypertension meds. She herself was, of course, a master of public speaking, and would wrap up wherever the Q&A was headed.

The token questions were asked, and the appropriate token answers were given.

Then came the real Q&A, and the MC turned to the theatre and said, “And now, you have the floor. Ask if you have questions, but let’s not make it a speech.”

Volunteers in matching uniforms directed the show of hands to the MC.

The first question belonged to a woman who looked to be in the industry. “Mr Ferroni, as you know, the screenplay is credited to A. Vasseur, whose films have not seen box office success beyond France itself. You have made significant changes to the original script. Can we talk about your thought process?”

Whoa… Eppie was impressed. The lady was fishing for information, but also angling for drama. A little conflict and confrontation would certainly drive articles, especially if a conflict could be established between the original writer and the new director. There would be no legal case, of course. Vasseur had given up his rights to finance his newer films, and the purchaser was free to do with it what they pleased. The credits did indeed carry the words “Original screenplay by Alvarez Vasseur,” and that was all the obligation Ferroni owed.

Ferroni hugged the microphone.

“I read the script, and I was in love with the idea. I wasn’t sure how I could possibly bring it to the screen until I found her—”

The audience looked toward Eppie.

Eppie coughed and pulled Bebe up as a shield.

The audience broke into laughter.

“Eppie helped, of course, but I must give all due credit to our script doctor. Everything that worked in that script came from her unblemished creative mind.”

Applause, whistles, and cheers.

“So, to answer your question, I am thankful to Director Vasseur for originating the concept. That said, what elevated it from something we were very uncomfortable with to something that celebrated the best of what the film could be belongs to my script doctor, my editor, and the actors who had given their all.”

The microphone was passed to Bebe.

“I’m usually invisible, so I can’t be nearly as diplomatic.” She spoke with a trembling voice. “I love the character that Aubert played. The simplicity of it. The purity of his intent. My concern with Director Vasseur was that he brought Josie into the room; only he sent a child in and told us a woman walked out. Unfortunately, to all of our eyes, Josie was still an adolescent, a very vulnerable one. If you do love the film, I do not recommend that you read the original manuscript.”

Bebe handed the microphone back, and more applause followed.

Eppie watched her [Karmic Causality] pop, and felt both pride and relief.

The second questioner was selected from the fourth row towards the right. When the man stood up, Eppie knew that it wasn’t going to be one of those easy questions.

“This is for Miss Fontaine.” The voice had an edge. “You were sixteen when you filmed this, correct? The film puts you in an apartment in a room with a man in his fifties. I’m one of those people who did read the original script, and I’m glad it went the direction it did. Could I ask how you assumed the role? Is it from personal experience?”

The accusatory tone in the man’s voice told Eppie that the man had also read all of the articles about her relationship with Director Curon. With her [Facial Landscape], she could read from the man’s seemingly righteous face that he was here for a gotcha. It wasn’t a hostile act. It was, in the nature of the news cycle, business.

The rest of the room leaned in.

Eppie had a few answers brewing in her head, and one of them came to her more poignantly than the rest.

In her original world, the very talented Miss Portman had described reviewers remarking upon her “budding breasts”, and that the film had created for her an environment of sexual terrorism.

Another star who had to simulate an assault on film was Miss Fanning, at twelve. Dakota’s parents were very involved, as were her studio’s legal team, observers, and counsels. She told the questioner at her Sundance Q&A that it was “acting” and nothing more, not to mention they shot only her hand and her face.

“There is nothing offensive about found families,” she answered with a beaming smile that lit up the room. “The emotion is umbilical. The connection is parental. Their love, if you must find it, is filial.”

She paused. “I know it’s my first film, so I sound naive saying it, but Mr Aubert was the most professional actor I know. He mimed everything before he did it. He taught me how his character would think and feel, and it’s thanks to him that I was able to play out the role you’ve just seen.”

The room gave scattered applause. The armchair critic wasn’t finished.

“Nonetheless, Josie is a desperate young girl with no hope, no money, no security, and Marcel holds power over her life. That’s a power imbalance, is it not?”

Eppie looked at the MC.

The MC looked at Ferroni.

Aubert stepped up.

“Bon. I am going to be French about this, jeune homme.” The veteran actor stood half shielding Eppie. “Marcel is a man with a lot of limitations, but he still understands love because love is universal. The love he feels for Josie is that of a father for a found daughter. Un père. Une fille. Nothing else. This kind of love, young man, is sans réserve: it is the antithesis of desire. Les papas in this room, les tontons with nieces and nephews, you will agree with me, I think. If you cannot conceive of Marcel’s love for Josie as anything other than a transaction, then that says more about you than it says about the characters.”

This time, the applause flowed from the front of the theatre to the back, from left to right, and the questioner sat and remained silent.

When the timing was right, Eppie gave Aubert a hug, and the applause refreshed itself.

Two more questions followed: one about Eppie’s preparation for the role, and one about how much footage Norbert had left on the cutting-room floor.

“We have time for one more question,” the MC said at last.

The last questioner, or so it seemed to Eppie, was from one of the populist outlets.

“I have a question for Jack,” the man said with undue familiarity. “It’s about the budget of the film. Can you tell us who paid for it?”

By now, Eppie could really feel the target painted on her back.

She had no idea if any of this was intentional or whether people were simply trying to drum up eyeballs on their websites or publications, but she was being taken for a ride.

“I think I’ll decline that question,” said Ferroni. “There are limits to privacy which I cannot breach.”

“Can you confirm if Ms Fontaine paid for it?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Ferroni kept smiling, but it no longer reached his eyes. The MC had clearly sensed that things had gone a bit pear-shaped. With the eyes of an eagle, he moved on to a far more suitable final question: a young woman whose eyes had not left Kel since the floodlights had fallen on the crew.

NovelPhoenix is the author's publishing home for this chapter, which was copied here without their consent.

“Hi Calvin, I love you. My name is Patty.” The girl looked like she was about to faint. “If Tull’s character hadn’t died, do you think he would have had feelings for Josie?”

The long, unending minute of flummoxed speechlessness on Kel’s face was enough to create the biggest laughter of the night.

“Good save…” Eppie gave the not-[Parasite] a nudge with her elbow as they walked off stage.

“What save?” Kelvin’s expression remained ridiculous. “How the hell am I supposed to answer that?”

The after-party was hosted by Sony Classics, though rumours said that it was paid for by Trent Davis on Kel’s behalf. It took place in one of the wings of Mirabelle’s Chalet Hotel, where Eppie returned her Conti dress and was given something lighter and more suitable for casually conversing with industry heavyweights.

Though Eppie herself had limited interest in diving headfirst into the filmmaking world, she did enjoy seeing Ferroni fangirling at his seniors.

While she accompanied Mirabelle in her new cocktail dress, she watched Ferroni get dressed down by directors whose names and accomplishments she knew nothing about. One guy, who had a heavy Brooklyn accent, was grilling Ferroni about the shots and how many takes the mourning scene took.

Another, an African-American director, spoke extensively about how much he appreciated Ferroni’s use of the Bronx and its setting. What he was more interested in was how in the world a California-based Italian-American director who primarily worked in cable TV was able to convince a block to let him film.

As for Eppie, she was introduced to a lady called Christina Dachon. Mirabelle told her that Christina was the New York producer who wrote the handbook on how to make indie films without raising a cent. Dachon was clearly an insider, for she spoke of Vaughan dearly, and spoke at length of her gratitude for the new art trusts that had been established for New York’s artists. Had it not been for that trust, she said, a great deal of the city’s art-makers would not have celebrated warm Christmases.

Kel was gone the same evening.

Aubert left on Sunday after sharing another meal with the girls.

Bebe had work, but promised Eppie to look over Pygmalion; Norbert had to get back to his TV projects.

Ferroni had booked himself to stay for the whole ten days. He would be fielding Q&As after every screening, doing press rounds when prompted, and keeping the spotlight on the film. The awards would come a week later.

Eppie was scheduled to stay for the weekend with Valorie.

She and her eye-catching friend watched every other film being screened for the duration of their stay. Eppie signed autographs, was stopped by fans who sang the shanty back to her so that she had to answer, and shopped for souvenirs to give to Dr Cooper.

Then came Monday, and she and Valorie got back on a plane and flew back to the normalcy of their lives in NYC, knowing that the reviews would have landed.

NEW YORK POST

SUNDANCE DISPATCH

By B. BRADSHAW

THE PRO ⭐⭐⭐⭐

PARK CITY, Utah—It is very rare that I would walk out of Park City, Utah, wishing that I had more stars to give. Rarer still is a first-time feature director premiering a virginal work at Sundance and receiving universal praise.

Nonetheless, when the lights came on, there were four stars on my notebook. To be honest, there should not have been a film this good. It began as a script with a great number of problems, problems which an American audience would not have forgiven.

One would struggle to say that the story is itself original. It involves a found family between a peculiar hitman and a neglected teenage girl. The antagonist is a corrupt drug agent. The film was shot in the Bronx and has three or four locations. Seventy per cent of it happens in the same corridor, in the same two apartments, in one building.

This is director Jack Ferroni’s first outing, and it’s impressive because all of his previous directing credits, despite his significant critical success, could be summed up on a single page of this critic’s notebook. The script was originally written in 1993 by the controversial director A. Vasseur. The French actor Rémy Aubert would have played the title role in his early 40s, and now he has come back and played it in his early 50s. The antagonist is played by a former acting teacher at California’s premier high school conservatory, LAPA. The girl, arguably the most important role within the film, is played by Euphemia Fontaine, a pop star and singer-songwriter under Sony BMG.

And yet it all came together. There is a scene in a corridor that I think will become a cinematic memory people will share for years. It is a sustained piece of screen acting, about four minutes long, involving almost no speech and no fanciful camera work. There is no background music, only an ambient radio, and yet the audience could barely breathe.

The second scene that left me personally speechless belonged to another first-time actor, the notorious rapper Kelvin Grant, whose music videos have established a reputation. Much to my delight, having spent only nine minutes on screen, he made me grieve for Tull, his character.

There are many more scenes like the ones this critic has just described. I do hope that Sony Classics, which has purchased the film, chooses to put more money into the credits. At the first viewing, it looked as though someone had exported an MS WORD document.

In the end, this is a film that has beaten the budget. The camera equipment is not the best, the special effects are non-existent, the costuming is dated but natural, while the music is entirely taken from the catalogue.

Yet none of that matters. The audience has walked out of the film feeling enlightened. When a film makes you desire to grab the person next to you and talk about the film itself, then, for this critic, that is a four out of four.

NEW YORK DAILY NEWS

RUSSELL HADLEY

⭐⭐⭐⭐

A Four-star Masterpiece with Questionable Finance.

If the buzz surrounding the film is correct, the best film at this year’s Sundance, arguably one of the weaker years, cost less than a modest Manhattan brownstone. It was shot in the Bronx, an area notoriously difficult to book for filming, and stars a sixteen-year-old who has taken a salary at base union rates. With its buzz and its word of mouth, the film is set to make a fortune. In fact, with rumors of what Sony Classics had paid, as well as the bidding for overseas rights, the filmmakers may have already made a profit.

The question is: profit for whom?

Before we arrive at the answer, we can all agree that the film is fantastic. Four stars. There is little reason not to see a film that is so homegrown and will soon become a staple in both video stores and home cinema libraries.

However, a film is not made on art alone. An indie film such as this relies on finances, art grants, the generosity of its patrons, and the staff involved being austere with their wages.

On stage, when questioned about the state of the film’s finances, director Ferroni replied, “That’s a loaded question,” and did not answer. The question was not loaded. Public filings with the New York Department of Buildings and the State Attorney General tell us a different story.

It would seem that Euphemia Fontaine, singer-songwriter and Sony darling, a young woman whose multi-modal catalogue has potentially earned Sony somewhere north of nine figures over the last eighteen months, has funded the film. The money comes from a charitable trust whose purpose is to be an “Ark for Arts” whatever that means. What is evident is that its trustees include a Sony Music Executive, and the singer is herself the principal donor, together with Sony BMG.

Miss Fontaine’s tax filings were not available for public perusal. Her Trust was.

What this “Ark” for art has funded thus far can be summed up as follows: A cat shelter. An $8 million renovation of a shuttered theater under her name as Trustee. And a film wherein she is the lead.

Is this legal? This paper cannot say. What raises questions is why or how a sixteen-year-old would put almost every cent she’s made into a tax shelter, and that shelter has placed money into a cat shelter, a theater she has rented, and a movie she has financed. Where is the IRS in all of this? Were they there applauding her at Sundance?

When The Pro earns a hundred million dollars, where does it go? If Miss Fontaine must fund the arts, then the question we should ask is whose art, whose theatre, whose film?

I have seen the film three times. It is an absolute masterpiece.

The finances, it would seem, are just as finely plotted.

KEL_G_OFFICIAL_FORUM › GENERAL › the_pro_(SUNDANCE)_*SPOILERS*

tullsgirl_98 — fri 11:52 PM

His brains went spattering. Man, I was shaking, shaking. I tell you.

kelisKING — fri 11:58 PM

I was just gonna watch it for Kel, but this is legendary. When the scene came up, I almost cried my eyes out.

tullsgirl_98 — sat 12:03 AM

3 lines my ass he has a whole scene with Fontaine. I’m gonna play back the tape till it burns out.

KelXJosie — sat 12:04 AM

Changed my name. no regrets

BronxBorn — sat 9:40 AM

Real talk though. Our boi can act. The Post gave it four out of four, dawg. Critic’s a heavyweight too.

kelisKING — sat 9:51 AM

the post said WHAT

MsCocoa — sat 9:52 AM

*link* read it and weep. Kelvin can act. It’s official.

ParkCityLocal — sat 10:30 AM

second screening is tuesday at the library centre, 4:30. Two every day. Who else is coming?

Delphine2k — sat 1:12 PM

I don't like how that dude kept asking Eppie about being underage and stuff. That's some creepy shit, man.

kelisKING — sat 1:20 PM

Or that dude who kept asking about money?This film is gonna make so much money.

MsCocoa — sat 1:21 PM

da article from the Daily News is stupid, bro. They’re trash.

BronxBorn — sat 1:30 PM

Does anyone know if Kel's gonna make more films?

tullsgirl_98 — sat 1:31 PM

Fo sure.

MsCocoa — sat 1:35 PM

HI PATTY. patty from heber. tullsgirl is that you

tullsgirl_98 — sat 1:35 PM

That's a loaded question.