The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 9: You Don’t Know Your Own Talents

By the time night fell, Hawk had finished exploring the outdoor exhibition area of the film festival and returned to Main Street.

Apart from the 30-plus business cards Brandon collected, there was little to show for their efforts.

This was Hawk’s first time attending a film festival, and it wasn’t what he had envisioned. The small production teams in the outdoor exhibition area were poorer than expected, with wallets as dry as their expressions.

Brandon asked, “What’s next?”

“Let’s hit the cinemas, gather more data, and talk to people from the participating crews.” Hawk included Brandon in his plan because he might come in handy. “Didn’t you say you know people on the organizing committee? Tomorrow, can you try to get a list of all the films in the festival? Also, see if you can dig up last year’s sales data.”

Brandon hesitated before answering, “I’ll give it a shot.”

They visited five cinemas, collecting a pile of film brochures, and even watched two movies. However, the films were so bad that they left before either screening ended.

Eventually, they arrived at the Big Salt Lake Cinema near the community, where several people were handing out flyers to passersby, trying to attract them to watch a movie.

The leader, a man in his late twenties, was dressed in a suit and tie. His long face and brown hair gave him a sharp look, and his left wrist sparkled with the golden glow of a Rolex.

One of the group ran over and handed a flyer to Hawk. “The Heights of the District—showing soon! Free screening!”

Hawk took the flyer and quickly glanced at it. The pictures were filled with Mexican characters, and the story was set in a Mexican-dominated neighborhood in Washington, D.C.

A professionally styled portrait on the flyer revealed the Rolex-wearing man as the film’s director.

Hawk passed the flyer to Brandon and observed the theater entrance.

Most of the attendees were white, with a few Black people and hardly any Mexicans.

After a moment’s thought, Hawk said, “Let’s go take a look.”

Brandon asked curiously, “Does this movie have potential? I mean, a story about Mexicans? Sounds boring…”

Hawk walked ahead. “How would you know without watching it?”

Brandon closed his mouth but couldn’t stay quiet for long. Before they even reached the theater, he blurted out, “I get it! The director’s wearing high-end brands and a Rolex. He’s obviously rich.”

Hawk replied, “You’ve finally spotted the key detail.”

Brandon grinned. “I’ve got an eye for beauty.”

Inside the theater, Hawk chose seats in the last row. They waited for about ten minutes before the movie began.

The audience wasn’t large; out of 200 seats, barely a third were occupied.

Hawk noticed the Rolex-wearing director slip into the back row as the movie started. He took out a portable camcorder and began filming the audience, his face alight with anticipation.

But the excitement on his face soon faded.

The film quickly established its setting: Washington’s Heights district, a predominantly Mexican neighborhood nicknamed the “World’s Crack Capital.” The protagonists were a group of former Mexican dealers trying to turn their lives around amidst the shadows of drugs and violence.

The screen was filled entirely with Mexican characters, and some dialogue was in Spanish.

Barely five minutes into the film, three white audience members left.

Shortly after, a mix of Black and white viewers followed suit.

The Rolex-wearing director’s expression darkened. He seemed like a novice, and as yet another group left, he couldn’t help but stand up and ask, “Is the movie bad?”

A white man shrugged dismissively. “Not interested.”

“Boring.”

“Who cares about this garbage?”

The harsh comments weren’t limited to them. A few minutes later, Hawk noticed Brandon yawning beside him. After glancing at another group leaving, Brandon asked, “Should we leave too?”

“The production is rough, but the story’s decent,” Hawk said deliberately. “Why do you want to leave?”

Brandon repeated himself. “It’s just a bunch of boring drama about Mexicans. Not interesting.”

Hawk responded, “Let’s finish it first.”

By the film’s halfway point, nearly half the audience had left.

As the movie industry often attracts emotional and expressive people, the Rolex-wearing director was clearly disheartened. He turned off his camcorder and slumped back into his seat.

Hawk quietly moved to the empty seat beside him and asked, “You’re the director?”

The Rolex-wearing man nodded numbly.

“Great film,” Hawk complimented before introducing himself. “I’m Hawk Osmond, media professional.”

The man forced a handshake. “Eric Eason. You can see it for yourself—just another unsuccessful director.”

Hawk asked deliberately, “I hadn’t heard about this film before. Which company backed it?”

Hearing this, a bitter expression flashed across Eric’s face, as if recalling kneeling before a plain-faced woman, full of resentment and frustration. “I financed it myself—nothing to do with any studio.”

Hawk pulled out one of the business cards he’d printed in Salt Lake City and handed it to Eric. “Can we exchange contact information?”

Eric accepted the card and gave one of his own in return. But before Hawk could say more, Eric suddenly stood up. The gloom and disappointment on his face vanished, replaced with a dazzling smile as he strode toward the theater entrance.

Hawk was surprised by how quickly his demeanor changed.

Entering the theater was a classic American woman: tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, with a stocky waist, and a square face to match.

Eric rushed over and planted a firm kiss on the woman’s lips. “Honey, you made it!”

She returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. “I’m here to congratulate you—your film finally screened in a theater!”

Eric’s smile stiffened slightly as he muttered, “Theatrical screenings are different from festival showcases.”

The woman continued, “Don’t worry, I’ve been in touch with a distributor. They’ll be sending someone to watch the film.”

Eric’s grin blossomed wider than a sunflower. “I don’t know how to thank you enough…”

From a short distance, Hawk had overheard everything.

When The Heights of the District finished its screening, the audience slowly filtered out. Eric was busy chatting with the woman, leaving no chance for further conversation.

Hawk exited the screening hall and carefully examined all the promotional materials for The Heights of the District in the ticketing area.

Brandon asked, “Seriously? You think this film has potential?”

Hawk didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pointed to the screening hall. “Do me a favor—go back in and chat with the director. Try to learn about the film’s financing, exhibition, and sales prospects. Get as much information as you can.”

“I don’t know him!” Brandon protested. “He’s not a friend—how am I supposed to ask?”

Hawk sighed. “You don’t know your own talents.” He nudged Brandon toward the hall. “Trust yourself—you can do it.”

Reluctantly, Brandon went back inside.

Hawk waited by the roadside for half an hour before Brandon reemerged, practically glowing with the thrill of gossip.

“What’s the story?” Hawk asked directly.

Brandon’s first words were, “The poor director sold his love to fund the movie. Every night, he has to grovel to that woman.” He added with a disappointed shake of his head, “Turns out being a kept man isn’t all that great. I think I’ll stick to chasing my pretty girl.”

Hawk sifted through the rambling remarks to find the key point. “If the film needs more funding, would the woman bankroll it?”

Brandon thought for a moment before replying, “From what the director said, it sounds like she inherited over a million dollars. In her social circle, having an artsy filmmaker boyfriend who worships her probably boosts her image quite a bit.”

He confirmed, “As long as the director ‘performs’ well at night, getting another round of funding shouldn’t be hard.”

It was getting late, and Hawk’s stomach rumbled. “Let’s grab some food. You can tell me more while we eat.”

Brandon had proven skilled at building rapport, managing to uncover a trove of useful information.

Eric Eason had only ever made one experimental short film before. At a film industry gathering, he had the chance to meet his square-faced girlfriend, Catherine. After outshining his competitors, he won her favor and secured a $200,000 production budget to create The Heights of the District.

Like many young directors, Eric had high artistic ambitions but little understanding of the market. He believed his debut feature film had the quality to secure theatrical distribution. With his girlfriend and a few hired hands, he brought the film to the festival to showcase and promote it.

However, the audience’s mass exodus during the first screening shook his confidence.

The second screening was scheduled for three days later, from 9:30 to 11:30 in the morning, at the same Big Salt Lake Cinema.

This second showing would be crucial.

Using her late father’s connections, Catherine had managed to invite a team of buyers led by Rob Reiner, a senior VP of production and distribution at Castle Rock Entertainment, a major Hollywood studio.

Whether or not the film would be picked up for distribution and enter theaters hinged on this one event.

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