The esquire Directed by Wes an­der­son

Esquire (Malaysia) - - A THOUSAND WORDS -

MON­TAGE: The words Esquire, spelled out in rib­bons, are pinned on a cork board. A harp­si­chord starts play­ing. “2011” fades in. Cam­era quick-pans to peo­ple set­ting up a pho­to­shoot. One guy is sit­ting on a lad­der. One of them is hold­ing stacked boxes of pies. A cam­era­man dusts his lens. Var­i­ous co­me­di­ans look­ing in the mir­ror and so on. The text “Part One: The Pho­to­shoot” slides in.

JEN­HAN (V.O.) At the first pho­to­shoot, I got to meet two of Esquire’s finest. First was the then-ed­i­tor, Sam Cole­man, who was ever-dapper and shook your hand with two of his, while his well-groomed salt and pep­per hair bounced up and down like a leaf on a spritely spring af­ter­noon tree branch. CUT TO Sam sail­ing on a yacht while wear­ing blue stripes. Sam hik­ing an icy moun­tain in a pur­ple beret. Sam at a din­ner func­tion with a white Owen Wil­son, Luke Wil­son and Ja­son Schwartz­man. All filmed with Sam in the mid­dle of the frame.

JEN­HAN (V.O.) (CONT’D) The sec­ond per­son I met was tiny and dressed in black, al­most in­ten­tion­ally, to ap­pear in­con­spic­u­ous or tinier. She spoke lit­tle louder than whis­pers and had soft hands like a Ja­panese souf­flé cheese­cake and shook yours gen­tler than a face mist — it felt like it was there one mo­ment and a mem­ory be­fore you know it. And that was the first time I met Re­becca. CUT TO Re­becca strokes a mo­tion­less black cat. FADE OUT

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