Sundance Film Festival (Part 2)

The main street of Park City was packed with the largest crowd the town had seen since its founding. The vast majority of them were "just" tourists—residents from neighboring states who had heard through various news reports and newspaper articles that something exciting was happening in Park City this year. People who had come to enjoy the festive atmosphere with a casual interest in crowded places. And members of the press or specific fanbases who had traveled from afar to catch a glimpse of a certain celebrity. Once you filtered out those "chaff," the "real" heart of the Sundance Film Festival remained: the cinephiles who came purely as enthusiasts to enjoy independent films. And they were currently reeling from a scene that was completely different from last year.

"Holy crap, is this a rock festival or what? Why are there so many people?"

"You've got the tickets safe, right?!"

"Don't worry! I stuffed them in my underwear!"

"What did the ticket taker do to deserve having to check that?"

These were the people who had spent busy days purchasing movie tickets, which had gone on pre-sale two days before the event started. Once the opening ceremony began, they naturally planned to attend the opening reception to catch a glimpse of the actors and directors. They had gathered in front of the Egyptian Theatre simply because that was what they did last year, but things were taking a strange turn. The crowd, which was already larger than last year's, kept growing. By the time the opening reception began, the street was so packed with people that there was barely room to step. The small film festival held in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠peaceful mountain valley had literally transformed into a rock festival, and everyone tightly clutched the movie tickets they had secured.

"Tomorrow morning is the first screening, right?"

"Yeah, Swing in Chicago. Let's see just how good it is."

The cinephiles' eyes gleamed. With the event suddenly receiving so much attention, they worried that the Sundance Film Festival might have been corrupted by the intrusion of big capital. If that were indeed the case, they were fully prepared to ruthlessly criticize the "someone" who was obviously the cause of it all.

Time passed, and the official opening reception commenced. As the actors and directors of each film stepped onto the modest red carpet and entered the Egyptian Theatre, they were met with polite, perfunctory applause and camera flashes. If Sundance were a typical film festival, there might have been a bit more excitement, but most of those standing on the red carpet were virtually unknown to the general public.

Then, a short while later, a helicopter touched down on the rooftop of a nearby building.

"Oh, no way. Could it be?"

"Come on... What the fuck, does he think he's the star of the show?"

"Sion! Siooon...!"

Everyone reacted differently. Some were filled with anticipation, some with resentment, and others with pure adoration. Despite his brief absence, the public's interest in Sion Lee was astronomical. And finally, he revealed himself to the crowd.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The crowd was momentarily struck dumb. Park City was a ski town. In other words, it was the countryside, and in the biting, freezing cold, almost everyone was bundled up in heavy down jackets or thick coats. Yet, appearing in this quaint, rustic American mountain town, Sion Lee stood with his hair slicked back with pomade, wearing a gorgeous, tailored tuxedo.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Crazy...

His entrance shifted the entire atmosphere of the street. In an instant, the small festival taking place on a mundane rural street felt as though it had been elevated into a massive, star-studded gala complete with a headlining musical performance.

Normally, people didn't wear flashy attire like tuxedos to the Sundance Film Festival. That was the very spirit of this celebration of independent cinema—breaking free from the commercialism of Hollywood show business. In that sense, Sion Lee's tuxedo was a massive departure from the Sundance dress code.

Yet, most people didn't find it strange at all. They simply stared, mesmerized, as his towering figure—standing well over six feet tall—strode forward with effortless, regal confidence.

Wow, seriously... he is ridiculously handsome.

How can someone look like that? Is he some kind of custom-built android?

A few female fans, who had luckily caught wind of his arrival and waited near the venue, cheered wildly, thrusting paper and pens toward him. Sion handled them with practiced ease, signing autographs. When they gasped out a breathless "You're so handsome!" between trembling lips, he flashed them a brilliant, dazzling smile.

"Thank you. You look absolutely beautiful today, too."

"Gasp...!"

They clutched their chests, looking as if they might faint on the spot. It was the raw, undeniable power of a teen heartthrob. With that spark, the crowd, which had been momentarily paralyzed by Sion Lee's sheer beauty, erupted into a frenzy.

"We love ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you!"

"Over here!"

"Take a picture with me!" "Can I get an autograph!" The crowd on the street screamed in excitement, leaving the festival security guards accompanying Sion's group sweating profusely. Sion slowed his pace slightly, leisurely interacting with the people who had come to see him. Slowly making his way across the street, he finally stepped onto the red carpet.

Watching this entire spectacle from a step behind, Daniel Summit and James Parker could only shake their heads in sheer disbelief.

"Man, so this is 'show business.'"

"It's finally sinking in. Just how big of a star we made a movie with."

Because of that, they felt a tiny sliver of anxiety. The breathtakingly beautiful actor standing before them was about to look completely different on the silver screen. A version of him that the audience would never expect—one they couldn't even begin to imagine based on his previous films.

Thanks to the organizers' meticulous preparations, the opening reception concluded without any major incidents. The festive eve continued throughout the streets. While industry insiders spent the opening night inside the theater, others gathered in various pubs and hotels for informal screenings. Since it was fundamentally an "indie" festival, the scale of the prepared events wasn't massive, but the burning passion of the cinephiles who had gathered here kept the festival's energy burning hot.

The night slipped away, and a quiet morning arrived as street sweepers cleared the debris from the night before. The streets were frozen over with a fresh layer of snow that had fallen overnight. To make it in time for the 10:00 AM screening, three cinephiles strode majestically toward the theater like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

"But who's Butch Cassidy and who's the Sundance Kid?"

"Me and this guy."

"Then what about me?!"

"Can't you just be the rookie of the Wild Bunch?"

"Let's not overthink it. All three of us are the Wild Bunch."

"Heh, you guys are hopeless."

"Today, we're going to watch movies like absolute beasts!"

"Oh yeah."

Excited at the prospect of spending the entire day watching fresh, hard-to-find independent films, the three members of the Wild Bunch arrived in front of the Egyptian Theatre and joined the line of people waiting for the doors to open. This was the venue of yesterday's opening reception and the largest cinema in Park City. In the past, it had featured an Egyptian-themed interior matching its name, but renovations had given it a more conventional feel. The festival atmosphere was already buzzing with crowds gathering to watch the symbolic first screening—the opening premiere.

"I went through hell to get this ticket. Today, I am absolutely going to witness Sion's new side with my own eyes!"

"Yesterday was just...! He was so incredibly handsome! I'm going to be grounded for a month when I get home, but I don't care! Just seeing him in that tuxedo with my own eyes was totally worth it!"

"The photos I took yesterday will develop well, right? Right?"

Three teenage girls, clearly fans of Sion, couldn't hide their excitement as they repeatedly checked the movie poster hanging on the theater's exterior wall. It featured the Swing in Chicago logo in a clean sans-serif font, showing the back of a man walking through a city center.

He's mostly played students so far, so is this role going to be a bit more mature? I can't wait!

Although they knew from newspaper articles that Sion had attempted a major image transformation for this film, they had been somewhat reassured after seeing his overwhelmingly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠handsome face at yesterday's red carpet event. No matter how much facial hair he grew, that gorgeous face wasn't going anywhere.

With everyone harboring their own expectations, the theater doors finally opened. The large, 400-seat auditorium took quite some time to fill. Once seated, clutching freshly popped popcorn, the audience waited with bated breath for the movie to begin. Soon, the lights dimmed, and the projector began casting the pre-roll onto the screen. The Sundance Film Festival opening sequence played, followed by the Philip Studios logo, and finally, everything plunged into darkness. Everyone held their breath, savoring the brief silence.

Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!

Swing in Chicago began with the shrill sound of a cheap alarm. Someone slapped the noisy alarm clock off and rolled over under the covers.

"Ugh, fuck..."

As the man rolled onto his side, a flabby belly spilled over. He wore only a stained tank top and boxer shorts. It was a face they knew all too well, yet at first, not a single person recognized him.

"What the...?"

"Is that Sion Lee?"

A few cinephiles recognized him a beat late. It wasn't just a matter of his face or physique; he was a completely different person. The man, who had been tossing and turning in bed, finally gave up and dragged himself up. The opening sequence that followed subtly foreshadowed two narrative elements: first, how pathetic and miserable the protagonist's existence was; second, that drug-drop crimes were rampant in the freezing streets of Chicago. It was a natural setup for those two elements to collide.

"I'm heading out, Heather. Love you."

When the heavily bearded man, with a somewhat unhinged look in his eyes, pressed his lips to a poster hanging on the door, the audience was left speechless.

No, no... nonononono!!

The teenage girls who were fans of Sion Lee clutched their cheeks and screamed silently in agony. To them, the Sion on screen was completely ruined. His golden, radiant looks had vanished, replaced by the disheveled appearance of a homeless man. He had gained so much weight that he looked like a plump meatloaf. Yet, the majority of the audience watched this version of Sion in stunned silence. It wasn't a world-famous star on screen, but a complete stranger. What made these mundane, everyday scenes so utterly gripping was the sheer, powerhouse acting of the lead actor, who was practically carrying the entire show on his shoulders.

Acting talent... from Sion?

Until now, associating acting talent with Sion Lee was like associating a 9-to-5 job with pure happiness—they simply did not go together. Yet, in this very moment, the images projected on the screen bridged that impossible gap. Sion, who was rumored to ad-lib bizarre lines and force script changes just to preserve his cool actor image, was flawlessly embodying a common Chicago factory worker. No, he wasn't just playing a role; it felt as if he had stitched the very essence of real-life white trash into his skin, thread by thread.

He trudged along, smoking a cigarette, coughing wheezily. He hacked up phlegm and spat it onto the pavement before boarding a bus. Staring blankly out the window, he headed toward the factory. The film showed Chicago through his eyes—a bleak, freezing city. It looked like a landscape out of industrial-era Britain. Smoke billowed from factory chimneys that resembled tombstones, and grimy-faced workers lined up to board the bus one by one. Without a single line of dialogue, simply by showing the protagonist commuting to work, the film effortlessly pulled the audience in, dragging them deep into the world the director had crafted.

Once at the factory, "he" failed to blend in with the others. During a break after sweating profusely, while the other workers gathered to smoke and chat, he leaned against a wall alone, struggling to smoke a cigarette he couldn't even draw properly, coughing repeatedly. Then, someone approached him.

"Hey, Alex. How's the work treating you?"

"Ah... Boss. Always the same, I guess."

"Yeah, it's tough, isn't it? Don't worry. Next week, we'll pay you properly without any delays."

"...Next week? Is the company struggling again?"

"You know how it is. Everyone's struggling lately. That factory with the big chimney in the back? I heard they're shutting down this time."

"Still, I wish the pay wasn't delayed. I can barely afford bread at this rate."

"Everyone's hanging in there. Let's just hold on a little longer, alright?"

"I wonder if someone has to die in an accident for them to finally wake up..."

Alex muttered, his hollow eyes fixed on the heavy machinery inside the factory. After uttering such grim words, he let out a faint, awkward laugh as if it were a joke. The foreman merely stared at him with an exhausted, fed-up expression, as if Alex's inability to fit in with people was simply inevitable.

The situation was dire, but there was also a sense that Alex brought much of it upon himself. The film progressed steadily, painting a vivid picture of Alex and his surroundings. On his way home, he stopped by a store and bought beer instead of food, drinking himself to sleep once he got back. A life repeating itself like a hamster wheel day after day. Alex needed a catalyst.

A catalyst to escape this place.

In his room, Alex reached his hand out into the empty air.

"You know what, Heather? They say when a person gets desperately lonely and suffocated, they start acting like they're talking to someone. And some people actually start hearing voices. Honestly, I wish that would happen to me. If I could hear your voice, I'd be so happy. Truly. Though I'm scared I'd start wishing for even more."

His self-deprecating murmur, slurred with alcohol, struck a chord with many in the audience. The film was precisely capturing the reality that many Americans were vaguely sensing at the time—a life where the wealth gap widened by the day, and even working hard offered no guarantee of a future. Completely captivated by Alex's monologue, the audience forgot all about the popcorn in their hands, their eyes glued to the screen.

"For starters, I wish I didn't have to worry about rent. If I just had enough money for that, some booze, and cigarettes, I think I could live somewhat happily. Fuck, I have to go to work again tomorrow... Should I just jump out the window? Would that make things better? Yeah, right. Bullshit. I should go sleep. If I sleep on the couch, it gets lonely."

Even after lying down in bed, Alex continued to mutter incoherent words before finally falling asleep, his breathing growing steady. A brief silence fell over the theater. The camera captured a high-angle shot of the apartment interior—a space that carried the slightly dated taste of an older woman. The angle, combined with the somber background music, built a strange, palpable tension, hinting that something was about to happen. Just as darkness and silence enveloped the screen, making it seem as though everything had ground to a halt, a sharp, jarring telephone ring shattered the quiet.

Ring! Ring!

Several audience members flinched, and the screen suddenly brightened. In a shot similar to the opening, a half-asleep, irritated Alex answered the phone.

"Fuck, seriously... sigh, hello?"

A stranger's voice answered from the other end.

"What...?"

The line went dead right after those words. And with that single call, Alex's mundane daily life began to slowly crumble.