#The real enemy is the Harvey Weinstein types who might still be in Hollywood.
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I wasn't alive yet in 1959, but I am also thinking there were other ways to go about it for a well brought-up young man. Knox knows Chris is "practically engaged" but is still going to break them up—Not the most noble of intentions to begin with, but he can still maneuver that. How often does he get invited to dinner parties with the Danburys? All the boarding school brats' parents seem to know each other and want to keep up with one another's joneses. Chris asked Ginny about the play, Knox can remember that and audition himself in hopes that Chris will be at the after-show events, and/or beg Neil to pry Ginny about her brother's girlfriend. Annoying, too many degrees removed, but there was an alternative there. He could send an easily-compromised letter divulging his intentions to begin courting her, and hope the way is clear for a definite letter back saying yes or no.
Those scenarios weren't as good to Tom Schulman as the scenario that he wrote, based on his life and his friends and some of his own imagination...So I do think it's fair to notice that Chris wasn't shown to be interested in Knox at all and that fact should've been respected but wasn't. Compare that to Sally Wheeler from School Ties 1992, who was a flawed character but at least was obviously attracted to David; Connie Baker from Mona Lisa Smile whose relationship with Charlie gets actively sabotaged by Betty, because Connie would keep reciprocating Charlie's affections and pursuing a relationship with him otherwise; Meredith Dardenne from If We Were Villains who was obviously unhappy in her relationship with Richard.
Maybe none of those movies or books that "did it better" would even be as popular if it weren't for Dead Poets Society existing, but the Knox/Chris subplot went the way it went because that was the unexamined norm at the time. I think it's all right to notice that that's not okay now: Too many great-grandmothers reminiscing about how they met their husband going something like, "He wouldn't leave me alone and I didn't want to make a fuss by rejecting him. He wore me down by constantly asking me out on dates." Schulman wrote it that way, probably because that's the way it was in his real life. And it is bad—it's my least favorite storyline in the whole movie, and my least favorite type of movie plot of all time.
I guess the question is...is the way we assert "that was so not okay" now, genuinely constructive? I expect Knox fans in the 21st century to already know that what canon Knox did in the movie actually isn't okay in real life, back then or now. (Sorry to my grandaunt, but that was not romantic.) I think we can also try to understand why Schulman wrote that like it's normal, why Peter Weir who invited so much eleventh-hour collaboration did not change this thing, Knox's actor was happy to have that job, I don't know Alexandra Powers' opinion of it back then or more recently, and why audiences in 1989 didn't consider romanticized stalking a dealbreaker. Are we doing the best we really can with that information and thoughtfulness?
Every Hollywood movie in the 20th century had a shoehorned romantic subplot. I have heard rumors of people in film school discouraged by their professors from writing women characters that were not romantic interests, so there would be no demographic appeal calculated by studio executives, and no green-light to investors to pay for the making of that film. I did not hear about anyone in the industry speak out against this until Guillermo del Toro about Pacific Rim ("It's important for little girls to know not every story has to be a love story.") That was in 2013.
I do still think Knox and Chris were the weakest link in the writing of that movie, but knowing the cultural norms of the 1950's and that of the film industry in the 1980's means that I can't really hate on a random Knox fan who probably has a headcanon where he wasn't so badly-written.
okay I'm gonna need the dps fandom to put on their critical thinking hats for a second 👀
imagine you live in a time before social media. before mutual friends on apps and before being able to search up someone's instagram profile after you meet them to follow them and maybe say hi.
imagine you just met someone you REALLY LIKE and you don't know anything about them, except when you talk for a little you find out what school they go to. and you want to talk to this person again. what would you do?
if the answer is "well, I'd probably ask around people I know for their phone number, and go to their school in my free time hoping to run into them so we can talk", then I regret to inform you but that is actually a very normal and appropriate answer!!!
however for some reason some of y'all think knox doing that in the movie counts as "stalking" apparently!!!
like. this is not the modern day? just showing up to someone's school trying to talk to them is not "weird" because it is one of and if not the ONLY OPTION!
and if anyone here says "but he didn't even go talk to her! he just stared at her from far away which is creepy." my SIBLING IN FELLOW DPS ENGAGERY!!! SHE WAS GOING TO AN AWAY GAME!!! SHE IS A CHEERLEADER! THEY DO THAT! knox literally LIVES IN A BOARDING SCHOOL. he does NOT know much about the goings-on of the outside world because they seldom get free time and he literally has to SNEAK OUT of the grounds without an escort just to go socialize. he DIDN'T GO UP TO HER because she was GETTING ON A BUS!!!!!!! his ass does NOT know the schedule of ridgeway high's football game attendances 😭!!!!
and if people bring up why he went back after the party, that was to APOLOGIZE. imagine if he never even tried reaching out to say sorry??? like yeah I know he got flowers and a poem and that's not the most "correct" apology in that circumstance but I guess he was trying to clean up his image/reputation a bit which tbh not a bad thing to do after f#cking up THAT horribly.
I seriously don't want anyone calling (movie) knox a stalker or a creep in a non jokey way because as bad as you believe what he did in the party scene is, this one thing at least is just not true.
and yes he literally never sought out chris again after apologizing. I don't know what to tell you man like this is just the reality of what happened
#The real enemy is the Harvey Weinstein types who might still be in Hollywood.#The real problem is...like...real-life stalking and misogyny.#Dead Poets Society#I'm personally still trying to wrangle an essay about why Problematic Classics are still worth reading—and how I do that.#It's not good enough to say Jane Eyre's happy ever after sends a bad message or sets a bad example & that's why no mercy for Rochester.#Rochester's fictional so nothing's going to hurt him. He IS a major stinker though.#But I keep thinking there's more constructive ways to regard the book (and him) than “thing bad”.#The Last Man by Mary Shelley might be a better example. She writes with such compassion for the human condition...#...and then the baddies during the apocalypse are Irish people and Muslims and immigrants.#Shelley still describes them compassionately—but all they actually do in the book is be such a bother to wealthy English ex-royals#i think it's still worth reading#or Fledgling by Octavia Butler—why's she gotta be like that why is it like that why & is reading it worth THAT#spoiler: in my opinion yes
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How Saving Private Ryan’s Best Picture Loss Changed the Oscars Forever
https://ift.tt/3shvKln
Saving Private Ryan’s loss of the Best Picture Oscar in 1999 still hurts. It’s a sentiment shared by many, and not just because of the disappointment they experienced when Shakespeare in Love took home that night’s top prize. After all, there have been plenty of upsets before and since. Just ask Brokeback Mountain’s producers about Crash, or La La Land’s about Moonlight. If Orson Welles was still alive, the stories he’d surely have to tell about How Green is My Valley.
Yet when it comes to Steven Spielberg’s seminal World War II epic losing to an amusing (if somewhat lightweight) romantic comedy, never before had there been an upset so fundamentally unexpected that it changed the way awards were won; and never before had a generally celebrated studio hit with frontrunner status run into the political machinations of Harvey Weinstein. The Oscars would never be the same.
Released in July 1998, Saving Private Ryan opened during a peak of renewed interest in the generation of Americans who endured the Great Depression and then won World War II, transforming the U.S. into a superpower. Later in the same year as Saving Private Ryan, Tom Brokaw’s book The Greatest Generation would popularize the term used by its title to describe their sacrifice. But by the time that was published, Spielberg had already given the idea visual form for younger audiences.
With an intense commitment to realism and authenticity, the director’s use of shaky handheld photography and brutally unsentimental depictions of violence were shocking in 1998. The opening sequence, centered on the D-Day landing, especially evoked documentary filmmaking, creating horror so visceral it would soon change the way war movies were shot. In that specific moment, however, all this suffering made the sacrifice of the film’s heroes—eight American soldiers sent behind enemy lines to bring one paratrooper home—appear Herculean.
The film was a massive blockbuster hit, back when $482 million worldwide was considered massive and blockbusters could be about more than superheroes and space wizards. Going forward there was little doubt in most conventional Oscar watchers’ minds that Spielberg had his second Best Picture Oscar sewn up.
Come Oscar night though, Spielberg picked up the Best Director Oscar (his second after Schindler’s List) while John Madden’s Shakespeare in Love left audiences at home surprised by taking the top award, alongside its wins for Best Actress, Best Supporting Actress, Best Original Screenplay, and Best Score… the latter two also at Saving Private Ryan’s expense.
Unto itself Shakespeare in Love is a charming film, essentially a backstage dramedy with literary pedigree. Ostensibly a fictionalized origin story for how the Bard got the idea for Romeo and Juliet, the film inserts insider Hollywood humor into an Elizabethan setting while also offering a lush romance between old Will and his personal Juliet (or Twelfth Night’s Violet, depending on the scene). It can be a sweet movie, but until 1998, it was not the kind of film that won Best Picture. In fact, most of the biggest winners of the ‘90s had been widely popular studio blockbusters: Titanic dubiously beat L.A. Confidential the year before; Braveheart beat Sense and Sensibility in 1996; and the year prior to that saw Forrest Gump defeat the Quentin Tarantino trailblazer, Pulp Fiction.
That latter case of popularity beating indie credibility was perhaps the most important to 1999, since that year’s conventional, feel-good Tom Hanks vehicle not only beat out a critical darling, but it beat a film produced by Miramax Films, a then-speciality arm of Disney which was originally founded (and still run) as an indie distributor by Bob and Harvey Weinstein. You likely know the latter’s name.
Before Harvey Weinstein became the notoriously disgraced figure of our post-#MeToo era—which culminated with his sentence to 23 years in prison after being convicted on one count of sexual assault in the first degree and one count of rape in the third degree—he reigned in Hollywood with impunity. And his throne room was the Oscar stage. Unlike other studios, Weinstein’s made the accruement of Oscars the centerpiece of its release strategy, building prestige and attention off award wins, and transforming that into belated box office dollars. The process redefined what an “Oscar Movie” looked like: they generally became smaller budgeted, less seen, and often greenlit with (if not written for) Academy voters’ preconceived tastes in mind.
Shakespeare in Love beating Saving Private Ryan was the turning point that implemented this sea change.
When the Weinstein-produced comedy first screened for Academy voters in December 1998, the movie was met by a reportedly cool reception, signaling the film would have a small impact on the year’s Oscar race. However, as detailed by Rebecca Keegan and Nicole Sperling’s intricate reporting in Vanity Fair, Weinstein’s pioneering Oscar campaign for that movie would become his “bully masterpiece.”
Prior to Shakespeare in Love’s win, Oscar campaigns were generally a cordial, good old boys affair. There would be industry screenings for Academy voters and the guilds, of course, and promotions in trade newspapers that would provide “For Your Consideration” pullout ads. However, Weinstein more or less invented the relentless months-long Oscar campaign that ends in February, but can begin as early as September.
Previously, promoting a movie for a filmmaker or actor might include appearing on talk shows ahead of the week of release, and doing a weekend of junket interviews. But after Shakespeare in Love, if a film had Oscar prospects it became an almost weekly obligation of appearing at screenings, participating in countless Q&As, and glad-handing at parties with awards voters. In fact, Academy voters got in trouble in ’98 for attending Weinstein’s “Welcome to America” party at New York’s posh Elaine’s restaurant—it was in honor of British Shakespeare in Love director, John Madden.
“It all began with Harvey,” one publicist told Vanity Fair. “I don’t remember ever feeling pressure like that from other studios. He was like, ‘Can you do these radio call-ins all morning?’ He calls the clients directly and guilts them. He really is a beast.”
Former Miramax executive Mark Gill described it as the movie’s release as being only an opening salvo for the publicity requirements placed on actors at the studio. “That was just ‘Good morning,’” said Gill. “You’ve got three months of shaking hands and kissing babies in you.”
Back in 1999, there was of course some resistance to this style of aggressively brazen schmoozing. Chief among the skeptics was Spielberg, the director of Saving Private Ryan and a Hollywood legend who didn’t feel the need to essentially beg for trophies.
“I said [to Steven Spielberg], ‘Listen, this is what’s going on,’” recalled Terry Press, a marketer then working at Spielberg’s DreamWorks Pictures. “Steven said to me, ‘I do not want to get down in the mud with Harvey.’”
TCM host Ben Mankiewicz also recalled these events when Den of Geek spoke with him several years ago.
Said Mankiewicz, “Spielberg was urged to counter… and Spielberg being a normal, well-adjusted good person who believed in the process [said] ‘No, I’m not going to campaign for my movie. I’ll do promotions for my movie, but I’m not going to try and charm people and send them things so they vote for my movie.’”
Meanwhile Miramax started a whisper campaign saying everything good about Saving Private Ryan occurred within the first 15-20 minutes on the beaches of Normandy, and the rest was sentimental hokum. It worked. Spielberg did not campaign like it’s the Monday before election day, and Weinstein did.
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Saving Private Ryan: The Real History That Inspired the WW2 Movie
By David Crow
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How the Secret of Saving Private Ryan’s Power Lies in its Portrayal of the Enemy
By Mark Allison
While Weinstein is thankfully gone, the crude lessons learned by Shakespeare in Love’s win over Saving Private Ryan are not. Awards seasons generally begin in early September with the Venice Film Festival and the Toronto International Film Festival acting as unofficial clearinghouses for studios and distributors to showcase their most award-friendly wares. It then continues with each film being released between October and December, mounting months-long rollouts that never really end until Oscar night.
Coupled with corporate studio interests leaning evermore heavily on “four-quadrant” blockbusters that are built on franchises, this system has created an environment where Oscar movies are often little-seen limited releases, and mainstream populist films are more concerned with superpowers than prestige. While the actual type of movies nominated for Best Picture appear to be gradually changing—from more diversity among the winners like Moonlight and Parasite to even superhero movies like Black Panther and Joker now getting nods—the generally accepted wisdom that Oscar movies and popular movies are mutually exclusive remains intact.
In other words, the studios rarely make movies like Saving Private Ryan anymore, and what is making big money is not the type of film to end up on “Best of the Year” lists come December. But even when there are exceptions to the rule, and studios let auteurs make a Dunkirk or a 1917, the filmmakers will still be spending months in what Spielberg once called “the mud.”
“It ranks pretty low in the list of lousy things that Harvey Weinstein did, they’re terrible what Harvey Weinstein did,” Mankiewicz told us. “But it’s on the list.”
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