Harry Jackson was propped up against the luxurious glass railing of the Dream Theatre's top balcony, taking stock of the audience building below. For the second night, the outside marquee had said, "Memento Premiere – Limited Release."
The loud lobby was filled with patrons wearing winter coats, holding programs, and stuffing their faces with Hefty-brand popcorn. It was early March 2002, and not only was London better than ever at building lineups, but Harry's gut felt Memento was doing something other than being profitable; it was also becoming prestigious.
Harry felt the familiar tap on his sleeve. It was Marsh Wahan, the theatre's manager – seemingly gaining energy rather than losing it from London's long winter. "Box office is solid, sir," he spoke in low tones. "Almost sold out tonight. And your West End cinema partners? They want the rights for next weekend."
Harry smiled and felt some warmth enter his voice. "That's good news Marsh. Never expected Memento to bring in this. It's a cult flick, not a blockbuster."
Marsh nodded and stepped back to the lobby barrier to check on arriving guests. "It surprised me, too. I was just speaking with Mr. Patel that we may have to lay on some vintage wine for the premiere events."
Harry closed his eyes and breathed it in—that warm perfume of popcorn, the quiet London chatter, the energy. He opened one eye. "You won't always need to sell vintage, Marsh—just good films in good spaces."
Marsh tapped his notes on his clipboard. "Still, the Dream's numbers are solid overall. Food court revenue is up 40% compared to last quarter. Premium seats are consistently full. If I may, I'll be pushing for another location in Manchester soon."
Harry nodded, pulling the façade of perhaps modest concern back over pride. "Manchester's great, but take your time. Consolidate first. Manage current traffic."
Marsh inclined his head. "Understood."
-----
Earlier that morning, Harry had gone through the numbers. He'd already spent another £3 million on renovations three halls, a cafe to support independent film, a nice Dolby surround system, and a rooftop lounge. With box office, concessions, and premium club memberships, he was on track to recover that investment in under twelve months—not bad for a theatre that had been a rundown construction site two years ago.
He and James Miller, his new PA, had returned to the lounge for an update in the corner of the room.
James was tapping away on his PDA, dressed in thin Oxford shirt and tie. "First numbers are fantastic Mr. Jackson: Memento grossed £310,000 for us in two nights with a total £5 million budget. That's ROI range plus awards pending from Berlin."
Harry paused and put his elbows on his knees.
He laughed, unexpectedly. "Good. Really good. That margins start to pay back investors—and give us incentive to book more limited art-house runs."
James nodded, and sipped his lukewarm coffee. "Also—Fox is preparing release in select US cities next week: Portland, Seattle, Austin—key demographic cities. LA will follow two weeks later."
Harry clapped his hands once. "Perfect sequencing. Berlin, London first. Then U.S. test runs. I'm flying back to L.A. to oversee the two-week push before final domestic expansion."
James pocketed the PDA. "Shall I confirm your flights? You fly out late Monday?"
Harry stared into the distance, visible through the glass behind Marsh. Winter fog hovered above the rooftops. "Yes. Monday morning."
_____
While Harry was speaking, a buzz came from his phone. He stepped back, and ducked upstairs.
"Hello?" he said.
"Harry, it's Bob - and Sky too. Heard you're in London."
Harry tugged at his collar around his jacket. "I am. The Dream is doing solid business. But I suspect you are calling about Providence."
Bob's voice sparked with excitement. "It's done. We finished the script tonight. We tightened the town-reveal at page 45. Sky put in the prophecy Tobias character. It's darker, and more ritual. We left your ideas in about the bloodline, but it still leaves that ambiguous. I think it's strong."
Harry exhaled, then smiled. "That's great. I can't wait to read it. I'm really proud of you guys. Please send the notes and the latest draft as soon as I land?"
"Yes," Sky said. "And - Jonathan wants in. He's excited. He'll come in for the next pass, probably after Sundance."
Harry nodded. "Let's plan that for the week after. First thing Monday, I'll read the script. By Wednesday, we can get together to map the production schedule."
Later that evening, Marsh came out on the balcony again; he had fresh wine and two clean glasses in hand.
"To Memento," Marsh toasted.
"To its director," Harry raised his glass, "Christopher Nolan deserves the credit."
Marsh smiled, "But you brought it here."
"Not me," Harry shook his head, "I just gave him an opportunity."
They had their first sip and the mood herein the marquee lights finally set in. The theatre was alive with energy— a row of seats filled, the nightly programming throbbing with activity, and Memento headlining. The rooftop lounge was surging with activity on a night like tonight. Plates and plates of charcuterie; posters of Memento on the preceding-formica tables, we were within a proper cool, rainy-night escape now.