The Fox Searchlight offices were downtown. Glass and steel. Modern. Henry sat in the waiting area outside the conference room. Leather chair. Coffee table with industry magazines. A receptionist who smiled politely and didn't make conversation.Jeff had gone in with Marc and the producers twenty minutes ago. Henry could hear muffled voices through the door. Couldn't make out words. Just tone. Professional. Cordial.He checked his phone. Nothing urgent. Checked the time. Ten forty-five.
The door opened. Jeff stepped out. "Henry. Come here for a second."
Henry stood. Followed Jeff a few feet down the hallway.
"How's it going?" Henry asked quietly.
"Good. Very good." Jeff kept his voice low. "They want it. We're negotiating terms now."
"What kind of terms?"
"Distribution deal. Limited release. Summer 2009. They're talking about positioning it as their primary release for the season. That's big."
Henry nodded. "What about me?"
"That's why I came out. They want you for press. Lots of it. Junkets. Talk shows. The full promotional circuit. I'm making sure it's written into the deal. You get top billing. Your face on the posters. This is your breakout."
"Is that normal? For a first-time lead?"
"No. But the buzz is strong. They know you're the selling point as much as the story." Jeff glanced back at the conference room. "Trust me on this. By the time this film releases, everyone will know your name."
"Okay."
"I need to get back in there. Sit tight. Shouldn't be more than another thirty minutes."
Jeff disappeared back into the conference room. The door closed.
Henry returned to his chair. Sat. Waited.
Forty minutes later, Jeff emerged again. This time with Marc and the producers. Everyone looked pleased. Handshakes all around.
"We got it," Marc said to Henry. "Fox Searchlight. Wide release. October"
"Congratulations," Henry said.
One of the producers clapped him on the shoulder. "You're going to be busy. Hope you're ready."
Henry wasn't sure if he was. But he nodded anyway.
They left the building together. Outside, the morning was bright. Cold. Park City felt smaller now that the deal was done.
"I need to call people," Marc said. "Let everyone know. I'll see you guys later."
He walked off, already pulling out his phone.
Jeff and Henry stood on the sidewalk.
"So," Henry said. "What exactly did you negotiate?"
Jeff smiled. "Distribution rights. Marketing budget. Release date. And for you specifically—top billing, mandatory press appearances, photo approval for promotional materials. Plus I got them to add a percentage of backend if the film performs well theatrically."
"Backend?"
"Profit participation. Small percentage. Wasn't in the original deal, but I pushed for it. If the film makes money, you make money."
"Is that standard?"
"For unknowns? No. But I argued you're the lead and the breakout. They agreed." Jeff checked his watch. "You've got a few more days here. Enjoy them. Once we're back in LA, things move fast."
"How fast?"
"Press starts in August. Release in October. Between now and then, you'll be doing interviews, photo shoots, and screenings. And you've got Zombieland shooting soon, right?"
"Final rehearsals start next week."
"Good. Stay busy. Stay focused. This is your moment."
Jeff left. Henry stood there for another minute. The mountains rose in the distance. Snow-covered. Indifferent.
He pulled out his phone. Texted Andrew.
Got the deal. Fox Searchlight. Wide release.
He responded almost immediately.
Told you. Congratulations.
Henry pocketed his phone. Started walking.
The rest of Sundance passed in a blur of screenings and conversations.
The morning after the premiere, there was some buzz. Not overwhelming. Just... present. A few people mentioned the film when Henry passed them on Main Street. One guy at the coffee shop said he'd liked it. Another asked if Henry was the lead. He said yes. They nodded. Moved on.
Not quite what Henry expected. But maybe that was normal. One premiere out of dozens. One film among many.
Marc seemed cautiously optimistic when they met for lunch.
"Good screening," Marc said.
"Yeah."
"Now we wait. See if it builds."
"How long does that take?"
Marc shrugged. "Sometimes it happens fast. Sometimes it doesn't happen at all. We'll know more in a few days."
Fair enough.
Henry saw Precious that afternoon. Heavy. Brutal. Mo'Nique's performance was devastating. The audience sat in stunned silence through most of it. When it ended, the applause felt almost obligatory. Too raw to celebrate.
The next day he caught Sin Nombre. Gritty. Unflinching. The directing was sharp. The cinematography gorgeous in a harsh way. A film about migrants and gang violence that didn't pull punches.
He saw The Cove too. Documentary about dolphin hunting in Japan. Disturbing. The audience seemed genuinely shaken. Henry left the theater feeling heavy.
Between films, there were parties. More industry events. More networking.
Henry met a producer who wanted to talk about a project. A director who said she'd followed his work—though Henry wasn't sure what work she meant since he'd only done one film. An actor who recognized him from the (500) Days premiere and wanted to know about his process.
"How do you approach a role like Tom?" the actor asked.
"I try to find the truth in the character. Even when they're wrong. Well especially when they're wrong."
"That's good. That's really good."
Henry wasn't sure if he meant it or was just being polite. But they exchanged information anyway. That was how this worked. Connections. Possibilities.
One night Henry ended up at a small gathering in someone's rented house. Filmmakers mostly. People whose work he'd seen that week. They talked about their projects. About the struggle of independent film. About the strange position of being at Sundance—celebrated one moment, uncertain the next.
"It's like being in limbo," one director said. "You premiere. People clap. Critics write things. And then you go home and wait to see if anyone actually cares."
"That's the industry," someone else said. "Hurry up and wait."
Henry mostly listened. He was still figuring out his place in these conversations.
Around midnight, he left. Walked back to his hotel. The streets were quieter now. The festival energy was winding down.
In his room, Henry sat by the window. Looked out at the mountains.
His phone buzzed. Email from Jeff. Subject: Schedule.
Henry opened it. A detailed breakdown of the next six months. Press dates. Promotional appearances. Zombieland shooting schedule. Everything mapped out.
He closed the laptop. Got ready for bed. Tomorrow was the last full day of the festival. Then back to LA.
The flight back was quiet.
Henry sat by the window. Watched Utah disappear below. Then Nevada. Then the sprawl of Los Angeles coming into view. The city stretched endlessly. Gray and brown and green, depending on where you looked.
He'd left LA a week ago as an unknown actor with a finished film. He was returning as someone with a distribution deal and industry buzz. The same person. But different trajectory.
The plane landed. Henry grabbed his bag. Made his way through the terminal.
Outside, LA was warm. Almost hot compared to Park City. The air smelled like exhaust and something faintly sweet.
He caught a cab back to his apartment. The driver didn't make conversation. Henry was grateful.
When he got home, his apartment felt smaller than he remembered. Studio. Minimal furniture.
He unpacked. Checked his phone. Message from Ruben Fleischer, the Zombieland director.
Welcome back. Rehearsal tomorrow at 10. See you then.
Henry typed back.
I'll be there.
He set his phone down. Sat on the couch.
He needed to shift gears. Tom Hansen to Columbus. Romantic lead to neurotic survivor.
Henry pulled out the Zombieland script. He'd read it dozens of times already. During pre-production. During screen tests. But he read it again now.
Columbus was anxious. Rule-oriented. Survived the zombie apocalypse through careful planning and complete avoidance of risk. The opposite of Tom in a lot of ways. Tom was romantic. Impulsive. Columbus was pragmatic. Controlled.
He made notes in the margins. Thought about physicality. Columbus would move differently than Tom. More careful. More contained.
The comedy would come from the contrast. Columbus's desperate need for control in a world that had lost all control. The rules. The paranoia. The vulnerability underneath.
Henry made more notes. Read until midnight. Then slept.
The next morning, Henry arrived at the rehearsal space early. Large warehouse in Culver City. A few cars already in the parking lot.
Inside, the space was set up with tape marks on the floor indicating set boundaries. A few tables. Chairs. Coffee station.
Ruben Fleischer was there already. Early thirties. Casual clothes.
"Henry." Ruben shook his hand. "How was Sundance?"
"Good. Really good."
"I heard. Congratulations on the Fox deal. That's huge."
"Thanks."
"Ready to get back to it?"
Henry smiled. "Ready."
The rest of the cast arrived over the next twenty minutes. Woody Harrelson—Tallahassee. They'd been working together since October. Woody was easygoing. Funny without trying. Emma Stone—Wichita. They'd done screen tests together back in the fall. Sharp energy. Quick wit. Abigail Breslin—Little Rock. Quiet but professional.
They'd all been rehearsing on and off for months now. The dynamic was familiar. Comfortable.
"Welcome back, superstar," Woody said, clapping Henry on the shoulder.
"Hardly."
"Standing ovation at Sundance? That's superstar territory."
Emma joined them. "I saw some of the coverage. People are really excited about it."
"We'll see," Henry said. "It hasn't released yet."
"Still. Big deal." She grabbed coffee. "So, ready to kill zombies again?"
"Always."
They gathered around the table. Ruben laid out the plan for the day.
"We've been working on this for months," Ruben Fleischer said. "You all know your characters. Today we're focusing on the comedic timing. Getting the rhythm right. Zombie comedy only works if the comedy doesn't undercut the stakes."
They dove in. Started with the opening sequence. Columbus's narration. The rules.
Henry had been working on Columbus since October. The neurotic energy. The careful physicality. But there was still room to refine.
"Rule number one," Henry read. "Cardio. When the virus struck, the first ones to go were the fatties."
Woody laughed. "Still dark."
"That's the tone," Ruben said. "Columbus is judging everyone because judging keeps him alive."
They worked through the scene. Henry played it deadpan. Let the absurdity speak for itself.
"Good," Ruben said. "But remember—he's confident in his rules but terrified of everything else. That contrast is key."
Henry adjusted. Added a tremor to certain lines. Made Columbus's confidence more defensive than assured.
They moved to the scene where Columbus meets Tallahassee. The dynamic they'd been building for months. Tallahassee was chaos. Columbus was control.
Woody played Tallahassee big. Loud. Aggressive. Henry played Columbus small. Cautious.
"This is good," Ruben said. "You two have chemistry. The contrast works."
During a break, Henry and Woody talked about their approaches.
"How do you prepare for something like this?" Henry asked. "Playing someone so... extreme?"
Woody shrugged. "I don't overthink it. Tallahassee is pure id. No filter. He does what feels good in the moment. I just let that impulse drive everything."
"You don't plan it?"
"I plan the big moments. The rest I let happen." Woody sipped his coffee. "What about you? Columbus is so controlled. That seems harder to sustain."
"It is. I have to track everything. Every rule. Every fear. He's always calculating. Always thinking three steps ahead."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is. But that's Columbus. Exhausted and holding it together by a thread."
Emma joined them. "Are we talking acting process?"
"Yeah," Woody said. "Henry's explaining how he plays neurotic."
"Method neurotic," Emma said with a smile.
Henry laughed. "Something like that."
"What about you?" Henry asked Emma. "How do you approach Wichita?"
"I think about survival," Emma said. "Everything she does is about protecting Little Rock. The con artist stuff, the walls she puts up—it's all armor. So I try to find moments where the armor cracks. Where you see she's just as scared as everyone else."
"That's good," Henry said. "The vulnerability underneath."
"Exactly. Otherwise she's just cold. I need people to understand why she's cold."
Abigail wandered over. "Are you guys talking about character stuff?"
"Yeah," Emma said. "Want to join?"
"Sure." Abigail sat. "Little Rock is interesting because she's a kid but she's also been through the apocalypse. She's seen things. So I'm trying to balance that. She's still young but she's not naive."
"How do you find that balance?" Henry asked.
"I think about what would actually stay the same. Like, she'd still care about normal kid things. Being bored. Wanting to have fun. But she'd also be tough. Practical. So I try to let both exist at once."
"That's smart," Woody said.
They talked for another ten minutes. About choices. About instincts. About what worked and what didn't.
Henry appreciated this—the collaborative part. Everyone is bringing their perspective. Building something together.
After lunch, they worked on physical comedy. Zombie kills. The gore would be CGI mostly, but they needed to sell the reactions.
"Columbus doesn't enjoy killing zombies," Ruben explained. "He does it because he has to. But he's not Tallahassee. He's not having fun."
Henry practiced the movements. Hesitant strikes. Reluctant violence. Columbus as someone who'd rather run than fight.
"More fear," Ruben said. "Even when he's doing it, he's scared."
Henry adjusted. Let the fear show. Made every kill desperate rather than confident.
Woody watched. "You're good at the physical stuff. Very precise."
"Thanks. I think about it a lot. Where Columbus would put his weight. How he'd move."
"It shows."
They worked through the day. Scene by scene. The rhythm was familiar now after months of rehearsals. But there was still refining to do. Small adjustments that made everything sharper.
By five, they were done.
"Good work," Ruben said. "We'll do this for another week. Costume and makeup tests next Wednesday. Then we shoot."
Everyone dispersed. Henry grabbed his bag.
"Henry." Emma caught up to him in the parking lot. "You were really good today. The nervous energy feels even more grounded now."
"Thanks. Sundance helped. Playing Tom reminded me how to access vulnerability."
"It's funny how characters inform each other like that."
"Yeah. Tom's romantic. Columbus is anxious. But they're both afraid of getting hurt. Just different contexts."
Emma nodded. "That's smart. Finding the thread between them."
"See you tomorrow."
Henry drove home. Traffic was terrible.
Back at his apartment, he ordered food. Sat on the couch. Thought about Columbus. About the rules.
He finished his food. Pulled out the Zombieland script again. Kept reading. Kept thinking. Kept preparing.