By the time the sample screening started, the crew's wrap party had already wound down.
The event had been deliberately set for that day, giving everyone an excuse to relax and head home early.
It was simple, quick, and no fuss. Some restless actors and crew had already slipped away halfway through.
Still, as the director and assistant director, Christian and Richard stayed behind.
They also had the extra job of escorting Jodie Foster to the sample screening, especially to feel her interest in further backing the project.
Charlize stayed, too.
"I want to see how I came across," she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Jodie admired her commitment. Christian, on the other hand, found it a little pointless.
From experience, he knew post-production could rescue a flat performance or ruin a good one, depending on how much time and money you were willing to burn.
Still, he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to complain as long as Charlize was laughing and chatting with Jodie instead of hitting the drinks.
His gaze lingered briefly on Jodie. She had a sharp, classic elegance — like the edge of a blade.
Beautiful, but better not to get too close.
'Focus, Booth,' he reminded himself.
By now, they were all crammed into an old RV parked just off the set — Christian, Charlize, Richard, Jodie, her assistant, and Addison Young, the cinematographer.
Six people jammed into a space built for four. Cozy wasn't the word for it.
Christian slung an arm around Old Gun's shoulder and grinned.
"You polish this up for the company?"
Old Gun shot him a look. "Course I did," he muttered.
But with three women present, he swallowed whatever else he might've said and busied himself to get the footage rolling with Addison's help.
"I haven't seen any of it yet," Richard admitted under his breath.
"Hope it doesn't look like garbage."
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
He mostly handled the schedules and logistics, not the camera work, but he still watched with a kind of nervous pride.
He thought the shoot had gone well. Maybe even better than well. But hope could blind a man.
"It'll be good," Addison said suddenly, half to himself.
Old Gun glanced over, thinking Addison had answered him, but realized the cinematographer was staring at the screen, lost in his own world.
Christian smirked faintly. Addison was as emotionally wrapped up in this as any of them. Probably more.
Old Gun gave a small shrug and turned his attention to Jodie.
The footage started to roll.
Jodie watched, her arms loosely crossed, studying every flicker of the raw, uncut film.
No soundtrack, no final edits, not even any proper dubbing yet.
Still, she was a seasoned veteran; she could see through the roughness.
And what she saw made her raise an eyebrow.
The film, even in this jagged, unfinished form, had something.
Promise.
The opening scene — the two climbers' deaths — hit all the right notes.
Fog coiled around the cliffs, draping everything in a cold, ghostly hush.
The climbers' struggle up the jagged rock face carried a tension that felt real, not staged.
It was the kind of atmosphere you couldn't fake.
It took a director with a good eye and a cinematographer who knew how to paint with shadows.
When the male climber died, the camera work sharpened into something visceral.
The focus stayed on the woman, still clinging to the stone, as her partner, barely a silhouette above her, ignored her desperate cries.
Then came the fall. His body, small at first, grew larger and larger, hurtling straight toward the audience.
The screen filled with his terror-stricken face, blood blooming across his features just before impact.
Jodie Foster found herself instinctively leaning back.
It was a technique better suited for 3D, but even here, it punched through the 2D screen with brutal force.
Jodie could name a few films that had tried this approach, but none had landed with this kind of raw, physical jolt.
Across the cramped RV, Christian caught Addison's eye. They shared a flicker of satisfaction.
The shot had worked.
It had cost them, though.
Brandon Fisher — the stuntman who had pulled off the fall — had cracked a rib and was nearly worse after missing a wire cue on the last take.
Jodie didn't know that.
Right now, the screen just absorbed her, and Christian preferred to keep it that way.
The footage flowed on. As the body seemed about to smash into the lens, the camera seamlessly switched to the woman's point of view, trailing the fall in a sickening free dive.
Opposing-motion shots like this weren't new, but pulling them off without disorienting the viewer took serious nerve.
And a little imagination.
Christian's touch showed how the frames stitched together, guiding the eye without losing the gut-punch effect.
The corpse's face loomed, filling the screen — then the skull burst apart with a wet, awful crack.
Someone screamed.
Not Jodie. Her assistant, Anna, clutched at her chair, face pale.
Jodie didn't flinch. She watched critically, breaking down the way the three shots folded into each other like cards in a gambler's hand.
Individually, none of the camera moves were revolutionary.
But together, they hit harder than the sum of their parts.
It was smart, confident filmmaking.
And it made her glance at Christian with a new respect.
Christian sat back, arms crossed loosely, as if he were half-bored. But inside, he felt a flash of satisfaction.
This wasn't just good.
It was something better: it was memorable.
Still, he didn't get carried away.
He knew damn well he'd borrowed pieces of it — techniques that would one day be common in 3D blockbusters.
Addison had done the heavy lifting on the technical side; Christian had stitched in a few bloody flourishes.
The shots he was proud of?
They hadn't even hit the screen yet.