The next day, Sophia entered the studio looking tired, carrying coffee that Ophelia had prepared.
"Did you go out again after we parted last night?" Julie asked, handing her the location scouting materials.
"No, I stayed at Irene’s after taking her home. But she asked questions until dawn," Sophia said with a sigh.
When she was younger, she had been equally inquisitive, but she had not wanted to trouble her father, so she interned on various sets to learn. Irene had the advantage of direct access to information.
"She is exactly as you were at that age," Julie said, laughing.
It was true. In appearance and temperament, Irene resembled a younger Sophia. That was part of why Sophia was so tolerant of her sister. It was like observing her former self.
In the following days, Irene requested Sophia’s proposal for The Virgin Suicides to use as a reference and began drafting her own script proposal.
With a template, her progress accelerated.
The story was straightforward: a blonde woman named Elle, attempting to regain her former boyfriend, works to gain admission to Harvard Law School. She overcomes prejudice through her distinctive approach, earns respect, and ultimately finds genuine connection.
Such premises were not rare in Hollywood. To distinguish the project, the focus would be on challenging stereotypes, affirming self-worth, and critiquing superficial judgment.
The script required sharp, efficient dialogue, measured humor, and strong character presence.
The protagonist, Elle Woods, needed optimism, resilience, kindness, and confidence. Those qualities were essential.
The narrative required drama, but the core had to remain stable: a young woman’s path to self-awareness and growth. It could not be didactic. It had to engage teenagers through authentic emotion.
If Irene had developed the script entirely from scratch, the process would have been difficult.
But she had an advantage. She recorded the original film’s plot incrementally and then adjusted it to appear less polished.
Editing would occur later, and she needed to allow space for that process.
She therefore added campus conflicts to complicate Elle’s trajectory, ensuring the character’s development did not appear effortless.
Before the academic term began, Irene spent most of her time in her small apartment.
Aside from Britney, she had few close peers. Her classmates discussed fashion brands, compared athletes, or recounted social milestones. None of those topics interested her.
Although she occasionally received premiere invitations and had no shortage of acquaintances, she did not confide in many people.
With her sister occupied by production and her parents not suited to discussions of "campus dynamics," she eventually spoke to Ophelia.
At the dining table, Ophelia placed the plates and smiled. "My dear Miss Irene, I apologize. I am in my forties, and my memories of youth are indistinct. Even if I recalled them, they would not enhance your script."
"Sigh, Ophelia. It seems screenwriting is not simple."
No profession was.
One week before school started, Irene returned to the Napa Valley estate with the completed script and gave it to her mother, Eleanor, for review.
She did not show it to her father immediately, assuming that a major director might not be interested in material aimed at teenage audiences.
"I am surprised," her mother said at dinner that evening. "Strictly speaking, you have not yet turned seventeen, yet you can write dialogue this precise and vivid."
There were no formal rules at their table. They considered mealtime an opportunity for conversation.
Her father finished his food, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and asked, "What dialogue?"
"Irene gave me a script this afternoon. She wrote it independently." Her mother retrieved the script from the kitchen island.
"Mom thinks it’s acceptable?" Irene ate slowly, maintaining composure.
"Yes, I think it’s good. The characters may lack depth, but the structure is sound, the plot is efficient, and it has market potential."
Eleanor meant the commercial prospects were strong, though the artistic merit was limited. Irene was not particularly concerned with artistry.
"Let me see. I did not expect little Irene to complete an original script already. Sophia is ten years older than you, and her first attempt was an adaptation."
Francis began reading. Irene and her mother continued their meal without interrupting. Irene whispered, "I assumed Dad wouldn’t be interested in material for young audiences."
Her mother squeezed her arm lightly. "You underestimate your father. Sophia’s scripts are refined with his assistance, and yours will be as well. He takes your work seriously."
Irene nodded. She could perceive her parents’ attention, evident in the fact that Sophia’s team consisted entirely of Coppola collaborators.
By the time her father finished reading, dinner had concluded. He instructed the staff to clear the table, then led Irene to the living room. Her mother followed.
"I understand your mother’s reaction now. To write a script of this quality at your age—I can state officially: I, Francis Coppola, have produced a prodigy."
His laughter, full of pride, filled the room.
"If you were twenty-seven, or if you had produced this after formal training, I would not be surprised.
But you have observed only a few sets, and your sole directorial credit is a music video. Under those conditions, to write a script that aligns so closely with Hollywood conventions, I can only conclude you are suited for this work."
"Father thinks the script is good?"
"If I did not know you wrote it and another writer had submitted it, I might have set it aside after a brief review. The plot is somewhat familiar, some transitions are abrupt, and it does not engage in social critique or examine human nature." Seeing his daughter’s expression change, he stopped. "It is light material. But I must admit, such scripts have market appeal."
The "abrupt transitions" were likely the sections she had added herself. At least those portions made her appear less precocious.
"But you are seventeen. No matter how skilled, a writer at that age rarely produces material so attuned to the Hollywood market. To me it may seem trivial, but Hollywood requires these accessible films."
Irene could not accept the praise entirely, knowing the script’s origin.
But her selection had not been incorrect.
Observing Irene’s calm demeanor, her father admired her modesty, considering his daughter exceptional.
Their thoughts were not aligned, yet the interaction was warm.
At that moment, her mother interrupted Francis’s reflection. "So, dear, do you intend to direct this film yourself?"
Irene remembered the storyboards. She ran upstairs, retrieved the sketchbook, and returned quickly to hand it to her parents.
Her father reviewed it first. As with the music video, the storyboards were detailed and demonstrated an early command of visual language. There were only a few pages due to time constraints, but he examined them and passed them to his wife.