Holed up in the mountaintop villa outside Cannes, Simon gradually clarified his vision for Batman over these days.
The initial plan called for a solo Batman trilogy, retaining Nolan's titles: Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises. In content, however, Simon intended entirely different plots, interweaving them with the Superman series to lay the groundwork for a full DC cinematic universe.
To realize a shared-universe ambition, the opening Batman film was critical.
Simon actually had one near-guaranteed path to success: making the Joker the villain of the first installment.
Batman's archenemy and most popular foe, the Joker had anchored the peak entries in both Tim Burton's and Christopher Nolan's franchises in the original timeline. His status was irreplaceable in comics and reality alike.
After careful consideration, though, Simon abandoned the idea.
Introducing the Joker demanded an epic scope from the outset. Starting too high would make sequels struggle to satisfy audiences; repeatedly saving Gotham or the world risked aesthetic fatigue. Thus Simon decided to reserve the Joker as the trilogy's ultimate antagonist for the finale.
For the opener, he planned to skip an extended origin and begin after Bruce Wayne had become Batman, focusing on his uneasy integration with the city.
A vigilante suddenly appears in a city of sin—exploring reactions from public, media, authorities, and criminals. These subplots would orbit a high-concept tale of justice triumphing over evil. A villain emerges, Batman defeats him, the city begins to accept him. End of story.
While Simon worked on the Batman script in Cannes, the North American summer season officially kicked off in May.
On May 13, Paramount released the seventh Friday the 13th sequel on an enviable 1,796 screens, earning $9.8 million its opening weekend. Though below expectations, the figure recouped most of the film's meager $2.8 million budget plus marketing in week one.
The other two independent releases made no splash. Second place went to When Harry Met Sally, finally dethroned from the top spot eight weeks after wide release.
In its tenth week, When Harry Met Sally added $6.13 million, pushing its cumulative total to $90.12 million and marching confidently toward the hundred-million mark.
Hollywood envied Daenerys for producing 1988's first nine-figure grosser, yet Simon remained unsatisfied.
Paramount could secure nearly 1,800 screens for a $2.8 million slasher; When Harry Met Sally never broke 1,500 in its entire run, hovering just over 1,000 during the crucial early weeks. Simon felt acutely the entrenched wariness and restraint the old guard imposed on upstarts.
With adequate screens, the film would already have crossed a hundred million instead of stalling awkwardly at ninety. Reaching the milestone now was inevitable, but the impending summer onslaught would swiftly shrink its footprint and legs.
The following week.
On May 20, the season's first big-budget entry, Willow, arrived. This medieval fantasy drawn from Western mythology, jointly produced by MGM and Lucasfilm, showcased cutting-edge effects from Industrial Light & Magic.
Unfortunately, the $35 million production earned lukewarm notices. Variety called it "a medieval Star Wars stitched together from myriad myths—formulaic and lacking invention."
Pessimism led MGM to open on only 1,024 screens—fewer than Friday the 13th 7, let alone the upcoming Crocodile Dundee II and Rambo III, projected at 2,800 and 2,500 screens respectively. Such scales signaled the full arrival of wide-release dominance.
Regrettably, Pulp Fiction's anticipated opening count hovered around 1,500—Orion's absolute limit, and Simon was powerless to change it.
Moreover, critical sentiment had shifted in the weeks since the Cannes premiere, especially in North America. Prominent reviewers now decried excessive violence and overt homage bordering on plagiarism.
The reason was obvious: too many parties preferred the film fail.
Simon could not pinpoint who was orchestrating the campaign.
Pulp Fiction bowed June 3. The prior week brought Paramount's Crocodile Dundee II and Columbia/TriStar's Rambo III; the same weekend offered Fox's Big and Warner's Funny Farm; the week after featured Disney's Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Paramount's The Presidio, and MGM's Poltergeist III.
Over three weeks, six of the seven majors launched new titles. Even in peak seasons, weekly box-office totals had ceilings—more for one meant less for others.
Pulp Fiction, the most scrutinized newcomer, made an obvious target. Simon himself would have struck rivals without hesitation if possible.
Recognizing the landscape, he tempered expectations for festival awards. Neither he nor Orion could match the majors' connections; a single phone call might vanish a prize.
Thus matters stood until May 22, the day before closing, when the festival formally invited retained crews to stay. Only then did Simon fully relax.
Monday, May 23.
The festival's final day featured daytime re-screenings of all main-competition nominees. Local media also published the retained titles.
Of twenty-one competition entries, five crews were asked to remain: Simon's Pulp Fiction, Clint Eastwood's Bird, Kieślowski's A Short Film About Killing, Fernando Solanas's Sur, and Chris Menges's A World Apart.
Among them, A Short Film About Killing led Palme d'Or predictions. It had earned the highest press score—4.6—and the FIPRESCI prize, widely seen as a bellwether.
For Pulp Fiction, conventional wisdom ruled out the Palme, acting awards, and Best Director for a twenty-year-old. The likely outcome was the Grand Prix or Jury Prize.
Near seven in the evening.
Outside the Palais, the closing ceremony felt quieter than the glittering opening.
After yesterday's retention notice, John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, and Nicole Kidman had flown back from the States. Others De Niro, Redford, Madonna, Penn could not return for various reasons.
Such publicity-driven travel was naturally expensed to Orion; Simon's private jet bill would follow. The Le Cannet villa, however, remained beyond the studio's budget.
Arriving at the Palais, the red-carpet formalities were nearly over. The group passed quickly through the press line into the Lumière.
Perhaps deliberately, Pulp Fiction's seats neighbored Willow's—the Lucasfilm-driven effects spectacle closing the festival.
Simon noticed no George Lucas, only director Ron Howard and stars Val Kilmer and Joanne Whalley.
After opening the previous Friday to poor word-of-mouth, Willow took just $8.3 million its debut weekend well below hopes. Recovery would depend on ancillary markets.
Simon had followed the film closely; its state-of-the-art effects offered valuable reference for Batman.
He also found Ron Howard a versatile commercial director a tier below Spielberg. They chatted briefly before the ceremony and exchanged cards.
Seven o'clock.
The 41st Cannes Film Festival closing awards began.
Host Mathilda May returned, the atmosphere as solemn as the opening.
After her emotive speech, guests presented awards. First came the Technical Grand Prize—one of Cannes' rare technical honors.
Such a marginal prize offered no envelope or trophy, only a certificate. As actress Jane Birkin prepared to announce, Simon's pulse quickened.
A technical award for Pulp Fiction would be laughable—an unmistakable consolation signaling no further prizes.
Fortunately.
Birkin named Bird. Predictable, really. Watching the old cowboy force a smile onstage, Simon clapped vigorously with the crowd.
Caméra d'Or, Best Short Film, and others followed, interspersed with performances. Then Mathilda May introduced the jury for the main competition awards. Attention sharpened.
The jurors took the stage. Best Actress was a rare triple tie—shared by the three leads of A World Apart.
Best Actor went to Forest Whitaker for Bird. Simon recalled him as one of few Black Best Actor Oscar winners, though his Hollywood presence remained understated; despite superb skill, he often landed supporting roles.
Cannes showed no interest in pacing drama. After the acting prizes came Best Director—Fernando Solanas for Sur.
Only Palme d'Or, Grand Prix, and Jury Prize remained.
Of the five retained films, Bird and Sur were now out. The top three prizes would go to Pulp Fiction, A Short Film About Killing, or A World Apart.
Jury Prize presenter: French director Louis Malle.
Watching the elder statesman leisurely introduce the award, Simon felt a small hand settle on his. He turned it over, clasped Janet's, and whispered, "Not this one, right?"
Janet blinked innocently and shook her head. "I really don't know. Natasha didn't tell me."
By seniority, Kieślowski and Menges were established; their films strong. Pulp Fiction landing the lowest remaining prize would make perfect sense.
Onstage, Malle finally opened the envelope, glanced down, and announced to the expectant hall: "The Jury Prize goes to A Short Film About Killing. Congratulations!"
Applause swelled.
Simon distinctly felt numerous glances turn his way.
From the start, A Short Film About Killing had led Palme predictions highest press score, FIPRESCI prize.
Now Cannes had given it the lowest of the big three. Kieślowski was out of the Palme race.
A World Apart, chronicling South Africa's apartheid struggles, had reached this stage largely on unimpeachable politics.
Director Chris Menges held two Oscars for cinematography, but this was his debut feature. Beyond message, it could not compare to Pulp Fiction.
Yet Cannes, unlike Berlin or Venice, cared least about message.
Kieślowski delivered his speech. French César winner Sandrine Bonnaire took the stage for the Grand Prix. When A World Apart was named, the outcome became certain.
Menges still stood onstage as Simon noticed figures quietly slipping from seats toward exits.
Beside him, Janet's cheeks flushed pink; the others wore unmistakable joy. Leaving a mark on a Palme winner would boost any career.
Even John Travolta once a Grease-era heartthrob, now thirty-four and edging toward middle age—could finally shed the "dance king" label ill-suited to a maturing actor.
The final moment arrived.
Presenters: jury president Ettore Scola and Natasha Kinski.
The dreaded split award never materialized. Brief pleasantries, then Scola opened the envelope. Natasha read the now-certain result: "The Palme d'Or goes to Pulp Fiction."
Even expecting it, a brief, pause followed.
Then thunderous applause erupted.
In his previous life merely a silent spectator to others' triumphs. Now, feeling the ovation around him, despite two lifetimes' perspective and accumulated memories excitement coursed uncontrollably through him.
He stood, embraced Janet tightly, then hugged Travolta and the others, plus brief handshakes with the Willow team, before striding onstage amid continuing applause.
He shook Scola's hand, murmured thanks, and saw Natasha opening her arms. He obliged, pulling her into a hug.
Yet she seized the cheek-kiss moment to whisper, "Lend me the house."
Simon replied instantly, smiling, "No."
Natasha tightened her grip, switching sides. "Want to watch me self-destruct right now?"
He was tempted, but considering the fallout, he capitulated. "Fine."
Natasha gave a satisfied hum and released him. Their exchange drew no suspicion; anyone noticing likely assumed congratulations.
After the brief tangle with Natasha, Simon stepped to the microphone, paused, and began an impromptu acceptance speech.