The posters had gone up a week earlier—muted, shadowy images of Javier Bardem's profile, with half his face lost in darkness. Below it, the title: Providence. The tagline Fox had picked read, "Where faith ends, darkness begins." Harry wasn't a huge fan, but he didn't dislike it either. He had quickly figured out that marketing was a battlefield of its own, one he could influence but never fully control.
On Friday morning, with the October chill still hanging around Los Angeles, Harry woke up buzzing with that restless energy that only comes on premiere day. Not the red carpet or the festival; this was the real deal. The limited theatrical release had kicked off—twenty theaters in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Small, carefully selected venues, mostly art-house cinemas with dedicated weekend crowds. The kind of places where word of mouth could sprout like weeds through concrete.
By noon, Gregory had already texted him twice. First message: not bad for the first shows. About sixty percent full. Better than average for this time slot. Then, an hour later: NYC numbers are starting to come in. Solid start.
When Harry finally met up with him in Fox's West Coast office that evening, Gregory's smile was more cautious than triumphant. "It's modest," he admitted, handing Harry the early report. "But for a debut? This is a good sign. No drop-off between matinee and evening. If tomorrow stays steady, you'll have something to build on."
Harry glanced over the numbers: theaters averaging a few thousand dollars each, tickets selling consistently rather than in fits and starts. Not a blockbuster, but definitely not a flop either. Enough to show that people were curious, and curiosity could spread.
Gregory gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Hey, Spielberg's first film didn't exactly take the world by storm either. What really counts is that the critics took notice of you at Toronto, and now audiences are starting to check it out. You've made your mark."
Harry wanted to take that to heart, even though the numbers on the page still felt a bit shaky. "I'll feel more at ease once the weekend wraps up," he replied.
"You definitely should," Gregory said. "But don't overlook this. For a debut film? It's pretty impressive."
Later that night, they found a cozy spot in a West Hollywood bar—Harry, Gregory, Lisa, and to Harry's surprise, Daniel Hayes and Javier Bardem. Both actors were in town for promotional interviews and press duties, but they seemed genuinely interested in unwinding with Harry.
Daniel was the first to show up, looking a bit tired from a morning radio gig but still wearing that warm smile that had won over critics in Toronto. He pulled Harry into a hug, something the younger man was still getting used to.
"You wouldn't believe how many people approached me after the festival," Daniel said as he settled into the booth. "One woman took my hand and told me she hadn't stepped foot in a church in ten years, but after seeing the film, she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing." He laughed, shaking his head. "That's when I realized we had created something special."
Before Harry could even get a word out, Bardem walked in, his leather jacket casually slung over his shoulder, commanding attention from nearby tables without even trying. He took a seat, ordered a whiskey in smooth English tinged with his Spanish accent, and immediately focused on Harry.
"You know what they told me in Toronto?" Bardem leaned in, his voice low yet charged with intensity. "They said I scared them without raising my voice. Made them wonder if I was a man or a ghost." A subtle grin appeared on his lips. "That's not me. That's your direction."
Harry awkwardly lifted his glass. "You delivered the performance, Javier."
"No," Bardem replied with conviction. "You crafted the atmosphere. The silence. The anticipation. I just stepped into it. That's what makes a great director."
Gregory chimed in, clearly entertained. "And that's the kind of compliment that sticks when Academy voters start looking around in January."
Lisa, who had been quiet until now, tapped her pen against her notepad. "And the journalists are buzzing. I've had three requests today for sit-downs with Harry. IndieWire, Variety, even The Hollywood Reporter. They're eager to discuss 'the new voice in psychological cinema.'"
They chatted late into the night—sharing stories about the grind of filming, the exhausting twelve-hour days on the church set, and Harry's relentless pursuit of the perfect library tracking shot. Bardem couldn't help but tease him: "Fourteen takes! You almost drove us to madness. But now? Everyone's raving about it."
Daniel chuckled. "I thought my legs were going to give out from all that back and forth. But seeing the final cut… it was totally worth it."
As Harry listened, he realized just how much this film was a part of all of them. It marked Bardem's big leap into Hollywood, Daniel's first time in the lead role, and his debut as a director.