At any major film festival — be it Cannes or Toronto — Andrew Karpen was easy to spot. Not just because of his stature in the industry, but because he was always in motion. Charging down the street with boundless energy, he’d boom out his signature greeting — “Hey, buddy!” — making even the most formal executive feel like a long-lost friend.

He had a knack for breaking stiffness. At parties, he’d sneak up behind friends and shake their shoulders like a baseball coach psyching up his star player. It was pure Andrew: unfiltered joy, always looking to connect.

A Force of Nature at the Table

Lunch with Andrew wasn’t a quiet affair. He’d burst into restaurants like a firecracker mid-fuse — asking questions before even sitting down, teasing you for not watching his latest film. “I know you hate to leave your apartment,” he’d joke, “but would it kill you to see one of my movies?”

Andrew’s energy wasn’t just infectious — it was magnetic. You didn’t just have lunch with him. You experienced it.

A Legacy Etched in Cinema

His passing on April 28 at the age of 59 from glioblastoma left the independent film world heartbroken. But what remains is a legacy as expansive as his personality. From his early days co-heading Focus Features to founding Bleecker Street, Andrew was behind some of the most powerful films of our generation — Brokeback Mountain, Captain Fantastic, The Kids Are All Right.

These weren’t just movies. They were statements. Movements. Human stories that challenged audiences and critics alike.

Integrity That Set Him Apart

What truly distinguished Andrew wasn’t just his cinematic taste — it was his character. In an industry filled with maneuvering and posturing, Andrew was a straight-shooter. If he said it, he meant it.

“He didn’t lie,” one colleague shared. “He was the kind of guy you could trust completely.” And perhaps most uniquely, he had perspective — valuing family over fame, truth over theatrics.

Family First, Always

Despite his influence in Hollywood, Andrew’s favorite stories weren’t about actors or directors. They were about his wife Pam and the local theater she ran, or his children — Joshua, Zack, and Sloan — whose successes brought him genuine pride.

“He never came to Sundance alone,” recalled Daniel Battsek of Film at Lincoln Center. “His family was always nearby — fresh off the slopes or stopping by between screenings.”

A Giant Among Giants (Literally)

His devotion to the New York Giants bordered on religious. His office was a shrine to the team, complete with memorabilia battling for wall space with film posters. “The only way to get on his bad side,” said Kent Sanderson, “was to praise the Philadelphia Eagles.”

A Leader Who Built With Love

Andrew wasn’t just a boss — he was a builder of people. He cultivated a family atmosphere wherever he worked. Sanderson, who now runs Bleecker Street, began as his assistant. Longtime collaborators like Jack Foley, Tyler DiNapoli, and Myles Bender stayed by his side for decades.

“He built his company out of love,” said producer David Linde. “Love for the craft. Love for his team. Love for the audience.”

The Anti-Gossip Executive

Hollywood thrives on whispers, yet Andrew remained untouched by that noise. “He wasn’t just bad at gossip,” said one reporter, “he refused to talk badly about anyone.”

Even his competitors admired him. Michael Barker of Sony Pictures Classics recalled how Andrew would be the first to call and cheer others’ victories. “We rooted for his success,” Barker said, “because he rooted for ours.”

Compassionate, Competitive — But Never Cruel

James Schamus, his longtime partner at Focus, summed him up with one unforgettable phrase: “A labrador puppy in the body of a Hollywood mogul.”

Andrew was competitive — but not at the expense of his humanity. He wanted to win, yes. But never by stepping on others.

A Final Farewell, Full of Grace

In October, during a celebration of Bleecker Street’s 10-year anniversary, Andrew appeared publicly for what would be the last time. Wheelchair-bound, with slurred speech, his physical change was undeniable. But as friends approached him, they found the same sparkle in his eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, squeezing a friend’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”

A Heart That Left a Mark

Andrew Karpen didn’t just make movies. He made people feel. He made them feel important, included, seen. In an industry that often forgets its soul in the race for relevance, Andrew reminded us that kindness, empathy, and genuine connection were not weaknesses — they were superpowers.

And maybe the most powerful thing he ever did was so simple — he made “Hey, buddy” feel like the warmest words in the world.