Snow had been falling steadily since the morning. It covered the pavement like a fog, softening the edges of the world, as Harry Jackson stepped out of the car. Park City looked like something out of a postcard: quaint buildings twinkling with yellow lights, busy sidewalks filled with camera flashes, journalists and filmmakers hoping to be discovered.
Harry pulled his coat tighter against his neck against the cold. The 2002 Sundance Film Festival premiere of Memento was tonight and he was not just a sponsor or silent backer, but the producer. That felt so surreal. Months of financing, overseeing the reports from Gregory, sitting quietly behind the monitor while Christopher Nolan fought with timelines and built tension, had all culminated to this point.
The film was done, edited, polished and ready for other eyes outside of theirs.
As he entered the screening hall with Gregory, the Nolan brothers, and the other cast members, Harry paid attention to how heads turned. He was no longer a strange face to him—not just the outsider with too much money and not enough connections—but now he was the man that backed the Nolan brothers when nobody else would.
He didn't let on, but he was nervous.
The atmosphere inside was tense but electric. Fox's distribution division had greased a few wheels behind the scenes—some favors, some strings pulled—and secured prime placement and special guest treatment.
Harry was not sitting in general admission, but a few rows up with executives—an implication that most first-timers did not receive. He didn't ask how it happened. Some at Fox were eager to keep on Harry's good side after the way he had changed the momentum at the network. This was a prize, or a down payment on future allegiances.
The lights dimmed. The logo faded in. The reel began to roll.
Memento washed over the crowd like a slow wave—unfurling backward, turning heads, and pinching brows. It was gripping. Confusing. Hypnotic. Harry leaned forward in his seat, knowing all the ups and downs, but watching the audience instead. The silence felt palpable. You could hear people thinking. A couple of gasps, one suppressed sob, and then… the final sequence. The screen went black.
For a moment, no one moved. Then came the light clapping and then thunder; applause, not for the dog and pony show, but because the audacity of the storytelling was simply too good not to applaud. Whispers started flying down the rows: "Who paid for this?" and "Who the hell are you?"
That guy was Guy Pearce.
As the lights came on, the Nolan brothers stood to acknowledge the crowd. Harry only started to get up, but Gregory pulled him up to his feet. People turned. There were nods of approval. Some producers even came over to shake his hand. "That was bold!" one said. "You have good taste!" another said.
After the screening, the cast and crew were ushered into a small reception suite. There was wine, cheese, a bit of pressed meat on skewers that Harry didn't even bother to touch.
Everyone was glowing. Jonathan was laughing with a young programmer from the festival circuit, and Christopher was standing quietly by Gregory, occasionally being the recipient of compliments.
At one point, Nolan walked over to Harry, red wine in hand.
"I heard you've been busy." Christopher said, his head tilting to the side. "Fox? Really?"
Harry smirked sideways. "Not just Fox. Fox TV. I had to find a network where I could make things happen my way and distribute Memento through. After this one, of course."
"You're going for theatrical?" Nolan asked, pursing his eyes slightly.
"Yeah." Harry said, shrugging. "This was always going to be step one. Festival buzz, critical word-of-mouth. Then we go. Release. I've already started making calls."
He considered his pause for a second, as if to seek answers to what was behind the smirk, but eventually let it go. Harry had his reasons. Nolan learned long ago to not get involved in people's reasons.
That night, as the party continued and photographers came in wandering for sneak behind the scenes candids, Harry leaned against the wall and quietly watched, not for the first time or even in a starring role, but his first proper film premiere. He had not starred. He was also not the director. But he was there. He made it work.
By midnight, snow had settled again outside. Gregory was speaking to some distributor reps, the Nolans were lost in a sea of introductions, and Harry stepped out onto the balcony for a moment of silence. He pulled his coat around him, his breath visible in the cold.
He thought about everything that had brought him here. JTV. The theatre. Memento. Fox. And soon, something more.
He wasn't sure what kind of film he'd direct yet, or even if he would. But standing there, snow all around, the festival lights behind him, and the future ahead—Harry Jackson felt ready.