“Not one true moment in the entire eighty-five minutes,” Dan said. “Mile’s End has become like Lifetime television.” This was a frequent complaint of Dan’s: that the festival had become less edgy now that it was entering its twenty-fifth year. But Maddy took it with a grain of salt, because if he really hated the festival, he never would have submitted.
Like all opening-night selections, The Widower had been chosen for maximum audience appeal. It wasn’t in competition, and its Mile’s End screenings were publicity for a spring theatrical release by Apollo Classics, the mini-major division of Apollo Pictures. Weller played an aging dad in Reno trying to remake his life. It was the latest in his independent-film phase, in which he played unglamorous roles that showcased his gravitas and graying sideburns.
“I thought it was moving,” Sharoz told Kira. “I got choked up when he took the dad hiking.”
“Come on,” Dan said. “The guy has no process.” In one of Weller’s recent “small” films, Beirut Nights, which had been nominated for a slew of awards, he had played an over-the-hill CIA operative. The critics had made much of a moment when he found a small boy’s body in the middle of the road, pushed a lock of hair from the boy’s face, and cried a single tear. Weller had been still and very contained, without the histrionics that most actors used when they cried, but there was a cut just before the tear fell out, and after they saw the film, Dan told Maddy that he must have used glycerin drops.
Steven Weller was best known for having played Stan Gerber, a libidinous divorce attorney, on the hit NBC drama Briefs in the mid to late ’90s. He did seven seasons, winning women’s hearts across America. Maddy was fourteen when Briefs came on the air, and she thought he was so sexy, she had a poster of him from Tiger Beat on the wall next to her bed. She would kiss it every night before she went to sleep. After Briefs, he ventured into big-budget, high-profile action films and romantic comedies, his quote said to have climbed to $8 million per film. There had been a bump or two along the way—his biggest flop, Bombs Away, was about hostage negotiators who fall in love—but since then he had gotten choosier about his roles and was now considered one of the top ten actors over forty.
In interviews, he was quick to mock himself and his success, pointing to the element of luck in his career. Maddy didn’t know if his disbelief at his fame was real or an act designed to make him more likable. Several years ago he had bought a palazzo in Venice and spent a few months there in the spring and summer, entertaining luminaries. He was an anti-scenester, or so it was said.
“I think he has process,” Maddy said. “He’s just not very showy.”
Though she found some of the writing twee, Maddy had enjoyed The Widower. Weller wasn’t genius—her best friend in grad school, Irina, called him a “hack-tor”—but Maddy found herself responding to his less important scenes. In one, he kissed a woman too eagerly at the end of a date, and the woman recoiled, and Maddy felt that his posture as he walked away showed everything about his character.
“The only reason people think he can act is because he’s a handsome guy who makes himself look less handsome in his films,” Dan said. “Which is ultimately kind of offensive.”
“I don’t understand,” Sharoz said.
“Weller’s attractive but takes these unattractive roles,” Kira said, “so it seems like he’s transforming himself, except the whole time the audience knows it’s really him, so they want to sleep with the character even though he’s a sad sack, which makes them feel deep and generous instead of totally shallow and looksist.”
Ed Handy was approaching, cell phone in one hand and a tumbler in the other. A paunchy bald man in his early fifties, he carried himself like a male model. “Welcome to Mile’s End,” Ed said. “It used to be all prostitution and saloons. Now we service a different kind of whore.”
“How many times have you used that line?” Dan asked.
“Hundreds. You have to understand, every conversation here has been spoken.”
“Does that bother you?” Maddy asked.
“Not at all. Repetition relaxes me.”
A middle-aged woman, maybe late fifties, with shiny brown hair, blue eyes, and perfectly aligned teeth, came over and kissed Ed on both cheeks. Maddy had noticed her earlier, circulating gracefully. She wore dark jeans tucked into riding boots and an off-white sweater that hugged her boosted breasts. To her left was an extremely short young man with intense light blue eyes.
“This is Bridget Ostrow,” Ed said. Steven’s longtime manager-producer, Bridget Ostrow was one of the most powerful women in entertainment. “Bridget produced The Widower.”
“Congratulations,” Dan said, smiling widely. “Loved it. Loved it.”
When Maddy glanced at him, he didn’t make eye contact. She hadn’t expected him to be rude but was surprised to see him being so phony. “And this is Bridget’s son, Zack,” Ed said. “Zack’s at the Bentley Howard Agency in New York.” Bentley Howard, which had offices on both coasts, was one of the top five entertainment agencies. Ed turned to the Know Her crew. “These guys made I Used to Know Her. Dan Ellenberg here’s the director. A New York dancer goes home to Vermont to try to prevent her best friend’s wedding to this total sleazeball—I identified with him the most—and realizes they’ve grown in different directions. Maddy helped write it, it’s based on her hometown. Bridge, these two girls, Maddy Freed and Kira Birzin, are brilliant. First screening is Saturday at ten.”
“A.M.?” Zack asked.
“Yes,” Ed said. “If you guys are up, it would be fantastic if you came.” Maddy glanced anxiously at Dan. He had been furious when he first got the screening schedule. On Friday night, Bentley Howard was throwing a party for Rap Sheet, a film about a car thief turned rapper, at Mountain Way Pub and Grill. This meant that at ten the next morning, most Mile’s Enders would be sleeping off hangovers, not seeing films. Dan was convinced the bad timing would harm their chances of distribution.
“I had already made a note to see it,” Zack said.
“I’ll be there, too,” Bridget said, glancing over Dan’s shoulder at another face in the crowd.
“Your film has great buzz,” Zack said, clapping Dan on the back.
“Everything has buzz here,” said Dan. “It’s like the old man who told his friend his knee surgeon was the best, and the friend said, ‘They’re all the best.’ ” Zack laughed and rubbed his palm against his nose. Maddy didn’t know if it was a nervous tic or a sign of drug addiction.
Dan turned to Bridget. “I’m a big admirer of your movies. I loved Frogs.” Frogs was an ensemble retelling of the Exodus story set in the adult entertainment industry. Weller had played a porn director who blows out his brains.
“Interesting that you used the word ‘movies,’ ” Bridget said. Her voice was melodious and pleasing, with the trace of an outer-borough accent. “Steven likes to say we have to make the movies to keep making the films.”
Maddy caught Zack rolling his eyes. What was it like to be Bridget Ostrow’s son, trying to carve out your own niche as an agent? Clearly, mother and son were not in perfect harmony—but if he didn’t admire her on some level, he wouldn’t have gone into representation.
“It was so wonderful meeting you all,” Bridget said abruptly, glancing at Steven and Cady across the room.
Zack gave out business cards to the foursome. “I’ll see you Saturday morning if not before,” he said. As they left, Ed beside them, Maddy noticed that mother and son had the same gait, pigeon-like, the heads bobbing, the bodies undulating slightly, as they moved.