
The reviews were beyond-belief cruel. The studio sends you a packet of all the reviews from your movie across the country, and I started reading those reviews, and one after another was a below-the-belt punch. I was on the floor for

And then, about nine months later, a woman comes up to me at a party, and she says, "My husband died of cancer a year ago, and my son couldn't speak about it. He was twelve. He's now thirteen. I now have cancer, and I have six months to live."
I'm just kind of reeling as she's saying this.
She says, "About a week or two after your movie came out, my son and I went to see it. When the movie was over, we went back home, and he was sobbing. He crawled into my lap, and he and I had the dialogue that I needed to have to leave this world. It would not have happened without your movie, so thank you."
Something happened to me at that moment: I realized I made the movie for her. And it was enough.
Bruce Joel Rubin, as quoted in Tales from the Script: 50 Hollywood Screenwriters Share Their Stories
1 comment:
Great story. Thanks, Henry.
Post a Comment