Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!
"Sir, please wake up!"
"Sir, are you still alive?"
—
January 26, 1992 — Park City, Utah.
"The winner of the Jury Grand Prize at the 8th Sundance Independent Film Festival is... Buried Alive! Congratulations to Director Link!"
From the stage of the Sundance Film Festival awards ceremony, the head of the jury announced with great enthusiasm.
Applause erupted—crashing like a wave.
A handsome young Chinese man in a sharp black suit stood up from the guest section, shared a brief embrace with Nicole Kidman seated beside him, and strode toward the stage. There, he shook hands with Robert Redford, the festival's founder, and received a crystal trophy from his hand.
"Thank you! Thank you all!"
Raising the trophy with a smile, Link felt a sense of calm wash over him. After months of traversing this foreign land—America—with anxiety and uncertainty, this moment brought him a measure of peace.
"Thank you, Sundance. Thank you, Mr. Robert Redford, for founding this extraordinary and noble film festival. My gratitude also goes to the seven distinguished members of this year's jury. Thank you for choosing Buried Alive from among so many outstanding films. This is not only my honor but also my greatest encouragement."
"Why?!"
Just as Link was delivering his acceptance speech, a jarring voice rang out from the audience—loud, unfiltered, demanding. All heads turned.
"Why?! Why would Buried Alive win the Jury Grand Prize?"
It was Quentin Tarantino, shouting with barely restrained fury.
This year, Quentin had entered the festival with his film Reservoir Dogs. Its bold themes, razor-sharp dialogue, and meticulous craftsmanship had earned it the coveted position as the festival's opening film.
From the outset, Reservoir Dogs had stolen the spotlight—garnering praise, headlines, and critical attention far surpassing that of the little-known Buried Alive.
Even before the festival had concluded, critics and press alike had predicted the Jury Prize would inevitably go to Reservoir Dogs. Many believed it was not only the best film of the festival but destined to win multiple awards.
Confident, Quentin had dressed for triumph—slicked-back hair, tailored suit—and waited silently in the audience, convinced the top prize was his for the taking.
But then, Buried Alive won. Reservoir Dogs received nothing.
The upset was seismic. The shock, unbearable.
Hot-blooded and impulsive, Quentin had held his tongue for as long as he could. But now, with Link on stage, he could no longer contain his outrage. Rising to his feet, he challenged the jury to explain their decision.
"Quentin, stop shouting—sit down," hissed Lawrence Bender, producer of Reservoir Dogs, tugging urgently at his friend's sleeve.
"Don't stop me, Bender. I just want a straight answer. Why the hell did Buried Alive win over Reservoir Dogs? What does that film have that mine doesn't?"
Towering at six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and defiant, Quentin could not be restrained. Lawrence could only try to reason with him.
"Link's Buried Alive isn't without merit," Lawrence said quietly. "He chose a highly sensitive topic—an abused homosexual man as the protagonist—used it to condemn domestic violence and homophobia. The film has a strong social message. Compared to Reservoir Dogs, which glorifies violence, bathes in gore and profanity, and explores morally ambiguous themes, Buried Alive aligns better with the festival's values."
"Well said."
Robert Redford, just stepping down from the podium, approached them. His voice was firm, unwavering.
"The purpose of the Sundance Film Festival isn't just to discover exceptional independent films. It's to encourage cinema that contributes to the betterment of society. In this regard, Buried Alive excels beyond Reservoir Dogs.
"Moreover," Redford continued, "Director Link demonstrated remarkable innovation. He confined his entire film to a small wooden box—one actor, a few simple props—and yet, he delivered a harrowing, gripping experience. His creativity is nothing short of ingenious. His direction is refreshingly original. This award is well-deserved."
Applause broke out once again—strong and unanimous.
Quentin scowled but begrudgingly returned to his seat.
"Haha, thank you, Mr. Redford, for your kind words."
Link smiled, then glanced toward Quentin.
"Though I was challenged by Director Tarantino, I remain delighted. Michelangelo once said that all great works of art, and all great artists, are born from fierce competition—and forged in the fire of doubt. I am grateful to live in such a vibrant era, to share the stage with so many brilliant filmmakers here in Hollywood."
"Let us all continue to strive, to labor for the glory of light and shadow, sound and vision. Let us make films that history will remember. Let history remember Sundance!"
With passion blazing, Link raised his trophy high.
"Well said!"
The crowd of filmmakers rose to their feet in applause.
They applauded Link's magnanimity. They applauded his bold declaration.
Even the begrudging Quentin, coaxed to stand by Lawrence, offered a reluctant clap.
The ovation lasted over a minute.
Waving in gratitude, Link returned to his seat—just in front of Quentin's.
"Hmph! Link, you may have won that trophy by playing it safe, but that doesn't mean a thing. Are you willing to make a wager?"
Quentin kicked the back of Link's chair, his voice low and aggressive.
Link turned to Nicole Kidman, the lead actress in Buried Alive, and handed her the trophy. He had forgotten to thank her in his speech. She smiled and whispered, "Congratulations."
"Link, do you dare?" Quentin demanded again.
"What do you want to bet?" Link asked with a cool smile.
"Box office numbers. We're both debut directors. Let's bet on whose film does better in theaters. Winner takes the glory. How about it—do you dare?"
Quentin tilted his chin, eyes glinting with defiance.
"And what's the wager?" Link asked.
After a moment's thought, Quentin pointed to the trophy in Nicole's hands. "If you lose, you hand me that trophy—publicly."
Link burst out laughing. "And if you lose, you come work for my production company—and direct two films for me. How's that?"
"Two?! I just want your trophy, and you want me to shoot two of your films?"
"You proposed the wager, not I," Link said lightly. "If you're afraid of losing, you're free to decline."
Quentin scowled, ignoring Lawrence's protests. He raised his fist and growled, "Fine. Deal. I never lose."
With a smirk, Link met his fist with his own.
Fifty filmmakers watched in silence as the pact was made.
(End of Chapter)