The lot at Warner Bros. Studios in Burbank was unusually calm. They were wrapping the final month of shooting Memento, and Harry Jackson—producer, investor, and intrigued spectator—had taken to arriving before most of the crew, coffee in one hand and notebook in the other, to watch everything with an exuberance of enthusiasm beyond his calm demeanor.
Harry stood just behind the camera, next to Gregory Rourke, his production supervisor. However, Harry was not looking at the actors or through the lens. He was looking at Christopher Nolan, the British filmmaker guiding every frame as if he were a conductor leading a jazz ensemble softly and unassumingly.
"Reset!" called Nolan. "We'll go again, but this time i want to be tighter in on the eyes."
Guy Pearce nodded and wiped a bead of sweat from his hair at the temple. They had already run the scene five times. But Nolan was not after 'good.' He was after right.
Harry leaned in toward Gregory. "That's why I invested," he said quietly. "Not because of the hype, but because of this."
Gregory smiled. "Most producers only show up on the first day and the wrap party. You have been here every damn day."
"I'm here to learn," Harry responded.
At that moment, Nolan turned around. He looked at Harry with an intense but calm stare.
"For a money man, you're oddly involved here," Nolan said, walking over as the crew was resetting.
Harry laughed. "A money man with dreams of yelling 'Cut!' and not 'Fund it!'"
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You want to direct?"
Harry gave a slight smirk and shrugged. "Eventually. I don't want to be that guy who thinks he can direct. I want to know how to do it. That's why I'm here. To watch you."
Christopher looked at him for a few seconds and said flatly, "Most people that shadow me quit after about a week."
Harry said, "Most people don't run a network and two studios while shadowing you."
This earned a rare smile from Nolan.
"Speaking of running things," he said, "I hear you jumped ship. From Jackson Multimedia to… Fox?"
Harry grinned slyly. "That's right. And guess what? We'll even have distribution through Fox after post. I want Memento to premiere at the Venice Film Festival."
"Venice?" Nolan said, his eyes narrowing. "Not Sundance? Or Berlin?"
Harry nodded. "Venice gives you that air of prestige. Artistic credibility. Critics eat it up. Nolan… you will be the talk of every film magazine if we time this right."
Christopher looked skeptical. "You're planning more than just a screening, aren't you?"
Harry didn't answer. He just smiled again and went back to scribbling notes in his journal.
----
Late November, End of Shoot
The last scene had been wrapped. Cast and crew applauded. A modest wrap party was being set up on Stage 6, but Harry lingered beside the monitor.
Nolan walked up beside him.
"That's it," he said quietly.
Harry exhaled. "You just made history. Now let me go and figure out how to sell it like the Sistine Chapel."
"Just don't turn it into a cereal box tie-in," Chris
Lisa answered with a yawn. She was sprawled on a recliner with her laptop, four tabs open—each for LA mansions.
"Harry?" she asked groggily. "What's up?"
"Buy me a house."
"Excuse me?"
"A mansion. Berkeley Hills. I'm done renting. I want something with a view of the city and enough room to host a dinner for forty."
Lisa rolled her eyes. "So, you finished filming and now you want a victory castle?"
"Exactly."
"You're lucky I didn't take the Fox executive job."
"I'd have died by now without you."
"I know," she said, smirking. "Alright. Mansion shopping begins. Got a price range?"
Harry said, "No more than five million."
Lisa blinked. "You're lowballing it for Berkeley Hills."
"I want class. Not a footballer's Instagram."
"What?"
said with a dry smile.
Harry laughed, then walked off, dialing his phone.