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Oscars, take note: 'Poor Things' built its weird, unforgettable world from scratch

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Oscars, take note: 'Poor Things' built its weird, unforgettable world from scratch

Oddsmakers say Barbie will win this year’s Oscar for production design. But here’s the case for Poor Things.

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Oddsmakers say Barbie will win this year’s Oscar for production design. But here’s the case for Poor Things.

Searchlight Pictures

Stepping out of Yorgos Lanthimos’ grotesquely gorgeous Poor Things, I found myself frowning at the world around me, struggling to take in the sheer, thudding, somehow plaintive dullness of it all. At the way the buildings just sort of … sat there sullenly, like a series of well-ordered lumps, risking nothing. The way the inert, featureless sky seemed perfectly content to simply hang in the air, instead of swirling furiously with drama and menace. At the drab, leached out colors of the cars and sidewalks.

I’d spent the previous two hours deep inside a film that was thrilling to look at – that offered a visual tasting menu, serving up its rich and detailed story with inventiveness and style, scene by intoxicating scene. For its sheer craft and invention, I felt certain Poor Things would get nominated for the production design Oscar this year – and win.

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But then I remembered that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences – which hands out the Oscars each year – has developed a few pernicious habits over the decades. You can count on ’em:

  1. If a movie’s considered too weird to win best picture, it’ll take home a screenplay award.
  2. The best costume award goes to period films; if your movie’s got bustles and bonnets, corsets and corsages, you’re gonna have a good night.
  3. You know how folks say the acting awards never recognize the year’s best acting, but the year’s most acting? Same thing for production design.

When it comes to production design, the Academy likes a big swing. It wants to see the work (read: the budget) onscreen. This is why, year in and year out, the best production design Oscar goes to films that spend millions to painstakingly recreate historical eras (All Quiet on the Western Front, Mank, Lincoln), films that sink the GNP of small countries into bringing the fantastic to life (Dune, Black Panther, Avatar), or films that do a bit of both at once (The Shape of Water, Hugo, Pan’s Labyrinth).

Jerrod Carmichael on the set of Poor Things.

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Jerrod Carmichael on the set of Poor Things.

Yorgos Lanthimos/Searchlight Pictures

This year’s contenders fit the mold. There’s your historical epics like Oppenheimer, Killers of the Flower Moon and Napoleon, which flood the screen with thousands of tiny, period details to situate us in a specific time and place. There’s Barbie’s fantasy world of shiny, retina-sizzling pink plastic. And there’s the visionary, pseudo-historical alt-reality of Poor Things.

Barbie‘s the odds-on favorite to take home the production design award this year, and it’s easy to see why. The filmmakers had a very specific, and thus very difficult, job to do: Distill the mutable design aesthetic of a toy that’s weathered six decades of change into a single clear vision that’s specific and instantly, universally recognizable as Barbie. It’s a lot, no question; I doff my wide-brimmed pink gingham beach hat to them.

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But I’d argue that what Poor Things accomplishes is something more, something that strikes me as the essence of truly great production design – it supplies us with a bespoke visual language that reveals what the film’s truly about.

And what Poor Thing‘s about is Bella, played by Emma Stone, who is brought into the world by a brilliant surgeon (Willem Defoe) who reanimates the corpse of a pregnant woman after replacing her brain with that of her unborn child. But director Yorgos Lanthimos and screenwriter Tony McNamara are less interested in Bella as one man’s scientific creation and more concerned with Bella as a woman who creates herself. As Bella grows into herself sexually, intellectually and politically, her curiosity and confidence allow her to embrace her individuality, on her own terms.

Emma Stone in Poor Things.

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Emma Stone in Poor Things.

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Throughout, Lanthimos and production designers James Price and Shona Heath help us chart Bella’s development by creating a sealed-off world, a kind of cinematic terrarium, for us to watch her grow inside – a world that resembles our own only in passing.

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Poor Things takes that world building seriously – and literally. The streets of its sort-of Victorian London, Lisbon, Alexandria and Paris were built on vast soundstages. The fantastical architecture of these pseudo-cities combine familiar references – Belle Epoque, Gaudi’s Modernisme, Art Deco, Neo-Gothic – to create a singular aesthetic that reflects who Bella is: She, like the world around her, is a thing that has been obviously, painstakingly wrought. She and it are constructs, made with deliberate purpose, from scratch. They belong to themselves.

Part one: London

The film’s opening scenes take place in a fanciful, quasi-Victorian London, in and around Bella’s birthplace — the home of Dafoe’s Godwin Baxter. Airships hang in the gray skies above its roof, and Baxter’s motorized carriage sports a superfluous horse-head to more easily blend in with the other horse-drawn vehicles on the narrow, curvilinear cobblestone streets.

Ramy Youssef and Willem Dafoe.

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Ramy Youssef and Willem Dafoe.

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The interiors of the surgeon’s home echo the man’s profession – its rooms and hallways seem as if they have been carved out of the walls with a scalpel and hastily rearranged. These early scenes are shot in black and white to underscore the fact that Bella is still in her developmental infancy, and her status as Godric’s sheltered plaything is established by the house’s low ceilings, which loom into every shot and lend a claustrophobic sense of oppressiveness.

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Part two: Lisbon

Bella absconds to Portugal with the smarmy lawyer Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) and experiences her sexual awakening. This is the point at which color surges into the film, splayed across the sun-dazzled, Marshmallow-Peeps-yellow streets of Lisbon. Everything about the look of these scenes seems deliberately artificial, even fantastical; we’re reminded that this is Bella’s first step into the wider world, and these oversaturated, canary-colored walls and rich vermillion terra-cotta rooftops help us see things as she does, with wonder edging into disbelief.

Alt-Lisbon in Poor Things.

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Alt-Lisbon in Poor Things.

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Part three: Ocean liner

As Bella’s worldliness increases, she begins to see Wedderburn as the weak, simpering fool he is. He responds by kidnapping her and forcing her to accompany him on a cruise to Alexandria. The cruise ship itself is a sleek, richly appointed teak-and-glass marvel; their stateroom is a dark space of rich browns and lurid reds – a kind of tufted Jules Verne sex capsule.

Emma Stone in Poor Things.

Yorgos Lanthimos/Searchlight Pictures

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Emma Stone in Poor Things.

Yorgos Lanthimos/Searchlight Pictures

But Bella and Wedderburn never take advantage of it. They’ve stopped having sex and instead quarrel often; Wedderburn even goes so far as to threaten violence. As if in response to these heightening stakes, and to signal Bella’s growing wariness, the skies around the ship begin to roil with low clouds of purples and yellows – the colors of an aging bruise.

Part five: Alexandria

When the ship reaches Egypt, Bella goes ashore with Jerrod Carmichael’s Harry, a cynic determined to prove to her that the world is a miserable place. To do this, he need only get her to gaze from the balcony of the swank hotel bar they’re visiting. There, far below, the poor and downtrodden suffer and die.

Jerrod Carmichael and Emma Stone in Poor Things.
Jerrod Carmichael and Emma Stone in Poor Things.

The production designers pull out all the visual stops here, by showing us what Bella sees as she sees it: an ancient, ruined structure covered in sand, where wailing men and women bury their infant children. The gulf separating her from them is made garishly physical: A staircase leads down from the balcony she’s standing on; once, it descended all the way to the plaza where the poor now lay moaning and dying. Long ago, however, the bottom of the staircase crumbled away. She cannot reach them; they are stranded, lost, alone.

This scene takes place under the kind of bright sunlight that, back at the start of her journey in Lisbon, seemed like a cheery, warm and inviting confection. Now that same quality of light has become blistering, ruthless – and deadly.

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Part six: Paris

Bella leaves Wedderburn for good and takes a job as a sex worker in a wintry Paris. The narrow streets she navigates recall the winding alleys and squares of London, as does the snow, which evokes the film’s monochromatic early scenes. But Bella is a fundamentally different person than she was in London, and her work allows her to complete her sexual education and embark upon a political one.

The baroque lobby of the brothel in Poor Things.

Atsushi Nishijima/ Searchlight Pictures

The baroque lobby of the brothel in which she works features sections of floor lit from below, which put the women who work there on display, under their cold white glare. It’s a stark and deliberate contrast to the plush velvet sofas and settees on which the women lounge as they await their next client. It’s as if the filmmakers are visually referencing Bella’s current state of mind – she’s a sex worker (the velvet) who is ruthlessly pragmatic, even scientific, in her duties (that harsh, clinical lighting).

As for Bella’s bedroom, it, too, seems remarkably practical. The visual language of the film’s production design grows more muted, here – downright realistic. That’s because Bella no longer sees the world through the eyes of a naive, delighted child; her perspective has coalesced into something logical, hard-earned, mature.

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Part seven: Back to London

Emma Stone in Poor Things.

Yorgos Lanthimos/Searchlight Pictures

Emma Stone in Poor Things.

Yorgos Lanthimos/Searchlight Pictures

The film concludes with Bella’s return to London to tie up loose ends: Baxter’s final fate, her relationship with the sad-eyed, long-suffering Max (Ramy Youssef) and her unresolved business with a man from her past (Christopher Abbot).

Baxter’s house is the same as ever, but Lanthimos now doesn’t include its low ceilings in scenes taking place there – the 0ppressiveness is gone, and Bella’s asserting her independent personhood, moving on. In fact, the film’s final scene takes place in the house’s back garden, under a wide open sky – in full color. But now those colors are milder, closer to the more moderate hues seen in “our” world. Bella is planning her future, and it’s one that she could only arrive at after taking the journey she has. She sees the world as it is. (There will still be plenty of room for the weird and grotesque in her life, we are assured – Baxter’s duck-pig and other unholy animal hybrids aren’t going anywhere.)

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Poor Things does what all the other nominated films this year do, but it goes even further. It’s not content to recreate one single, specific historical moment, or to concoct a bright bubble-gum fantasy world that contrasts with ours. Instead it lays out a discrete series of visual cues and design choices that bring us along with its main character; they underscore, and comment on, the hard choices she makes throughout the story.

The design team behind Poor Things blends familiar styles and points of historical reference to produce a new aesthetic, one that’s unique to the film and its characters. It plays with layers of artifice and textures to instill in us a deliberate sense of the uncanny, of strangeness and untapped possibility. And it does all this for a very good and necessary narrative reason – we get to crawl inside Bella’s head and be there with her as her dawning self-awareness proceeds to change how she sees the world.

And in the process, because it’s just that great of a film, it changes how we see the world, too.

Emma Stone in Poor Things.
Emma Stone in Poor Things.

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Her 1951 walkout helped end school segregation. Now her statue is in the U.S. Capitol

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Her 1951 walkout helped end school segregation. Now her statue is in the U.S. Capitol

A model of the statue of Barbara Rose Johns pictured in 2023, two years before the real thing was unveiled at the U.S. Capitol.

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In 1951, a Black teenager led a walkout of her segregated Virginia high school. On Tuesday, her statue replaced that of a Confederate general in the U.S. Capitol.

Barbara Rose Johns was 16 when she mobilized hundreds of students to walk out of Farmville’s Robert Russa Moton High School to protest its overcrowded conditions and inferior facilities compared to those of the town’s white high school.

That fight was taken up by the NAACP and eventually became one of the five cases that the U.S. Supreme Court reviewed in Brown v. Board of Education, whose landmark 1954 ruling declared school segregation unconstitutional.

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“Before the sit-ins in Greensboro, before the Montgomery bus boycott, there was the student strike here in 1951, led by Barbara Johns,” Cameron Patterson told NPR in 2020, when he led the Robert Russa Moton Museum, located on the former school grounds.

Johns’ bronze statue is the latest addition to Emancipation Hall, a gathering place in the U.S. Capitol Visitor Center that houses many of the 100 statues representing each state.

Every state legislature gets to honor two notable individuals from its history with statues in the Capitol. For over a century, Virginia was represented by George Washington and, until a few years ago, Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee.

Lee’s statue was hoisted out of the Capitol — at the request of then-Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam, a Democrat — in December 2020, the year that a nationwide racial reckoning spurred the removal of over 100 Confederate symbols across the U.S.

The same month, Virginia’s Commission on Historical Statues in the United States Capitol voted unanimously to select a statue of Johns to replace it. Johns, who died in 1991, was chosen from a list of 100 names and five finalists, including Pocahontas and Maggie Lena Walker, the first Black woman to serve as president of a U.S. bank.

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Exactly five years and a multi-step approval process later, the 11-foot statue — created by Maryland artist Steven Weitzman — has finally moved in. It shows a teenage Johns standing at a podium, raising a book overhead mid-rallying cry.

Its pedestal is engraved with the words: “Are we going to just accept these conditions, or are we going to do something about it?”

Johns is credited with helping end school segregation

Johns was born in New York City in March 1935, and moved to Virginia’s Prince Edward County during World War II to live on her grandmother’s — and later, father’s — farm.

According to the Moton Museum, Johns — the niece of civil rights pioneer the Rev. Vernon Johns — grew increasingly frustrated by the lack of resources at her school. Classrooms were located in free-standing tar-paper shacks that lacked proper plumbing, with no science laboratories, cafeteria or gymnasium at all.

She later wrote in an unpublished memoir that when she finally took her concerns to a teacher, they responded, “Why don’t you do something about it?” She felt dismissed at first, but gave the idea more thought and decided to unite the student council members to coordinate a strike.

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“We would make signs and I would give a speech stating our dissatisfaction and we would march out [of] the school and people would hear us and see us and understand our difficulty and would sympathize with our plight and would grant us our new school building and our teachers would be proud and the students would learn more and it would be grand,” Johns wrote, according to the museum.

On April 23, 1951, Johns gathered all 450 students in the auditorium and convinced them to walk out, to protest their school’s conditions and campaign for a new building. The strike lasted roughly two weeks and caught the attention of the NAACP.

NAACP lawyers Spottswood Robinson and Oliver Hill filed a lawsuit (Davis et al. v. County School Board of Prince Edward County, Virginia) in federal court, challenging the constitutionality of segregated education in the county’s schools.

The court ultimately sided with the county, but did order that its Black schools be made physically equal to white schools. A new Black Moton High School — known as “Moton 2” — was built in 1953 to avoid integration.

The following year, the Supreme Court declared school segregation unconstitutional in Brown v. Board of Ed, based on the Farmville case and four others from across the country. But it took years for the ruling to actually be enforced throughout the U.S., especially in Virginia, which enacted a set of anti-integration laws that came to be known as “Massive Resistance.”

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Prince Edward County schools were officially integrated in 1964, after being closed for five years in an attempt to avoid it. Moton 2 was reopened as the Prince Edward County High School and remained in use until 1993.

As for Johns, she was sent after the walkout to live with relatives and finish her schooling in Alabama due to safety concerns. She attended Spelman College and graduated from Drexel University before working as a librarian for Philadelphia Public Schools. She married the Rev. William Powell, with whom she raised five children before her death at age 56.

Johns has been recognized in Virginia over the years. Her story is now a required part of lessons in the public school curricula. In 2017, the Virginia Attorney General’s Offices were renamed in her honor. And the following year, the Virginia General Assembly designated April 23 — the anniversary of the walkout — as Barbara Johns Day statewide.

Johns’ sister, Joan Johns Cobbs, told member station VPM last year that their family is honored by this newest tribute in the nation’s capital.

“I think Virginia is trying to correct some of its inequities,” Johns Cobbs said. “I think the fact that they chose her was one way they are trying to rectify what happened in the past.”

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Bucking a trend in 2025

Plans for Johns’ statue have been in motion since well before President Trump’s second term, which has been marked by a rollback in diversity initiatives and the reinstallment of Confederate monuments.

One of Trump’s executive orders along those lines, aimed at “restoring truth and sanity to American history,” calls on the secretary of the Interior to restore public monuments and markers on federal lands that have been changed or removed since 2020.

In October, a statue of Confederate Gen. Albert Pike was reinstalled in a D.C. park, five years after protesters tore it down and set it ablaze.

As is customary, state leaders and members of Congress will be in attendance at Tuesday’s statue unveiling. Among them will be House Speaker Mike Johnson as well as Virginia Gov. Glenn Youngkin, a Republican who campaigned in part against critical race theory and has eliminated DEI initiatives in office.

Sen. Tim Kaine, D-Va., who also plans to attend the ceremony, issued a statement beforehand praising Johns’ “incredible bravery and leadership she displayed when she walked out of Moton High School.”

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“I’m thrilled that millions of visitors to the U.S. Capitol, including many young people, will now walk by her statue and learn about her story,” he added. “May she continue to inspire generations to stand up for equality and justice.”

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Noah Schnapp Says There Were Tears on ‘Stranger Things’ Set After Filming Finale

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Noah Schnapp Says There Were Tears on ‘Stranger Things’ Set After Filming Finale

‘Stranger Things’ Noah Schnapp
Tears Flowed After Filming Wrapped …
Finale Is Super Sad!!!

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Rob Reiner said he was ‘never, ever too busy’ for his son

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Rob Reiner said he was ‘never, ever too busy’ for his son

Rob Reiner at the Cannes film festival in 2022.

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When Rob Reiner spoke with Fresh Air in September to promote Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, Terry Gross asked him about Being Charlie, a 2015 film he collaborated on with his son Nick Reiner. The film was a semiautobiographical story of addiction and homelessness, based on Nick’s own experiences.

Nick Reiner was arrested Sunday evening after Rob and Michele Reiner were found dead inside their California home.

The father character in Being Charlie feels a lot of tension between his own career aspirations and his son’s addiction — but Reiner said that wasn’t how it was for him and Nick.

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“I was never, ever too busy,” Reiner told Fresh Air. “I mean, if anything, I was the other way, you know, I was more hands-on and trying to do whatever I thought I could do to help. I’m sure I made mistakes and, you know, I’ve talked about that with him since.”

At the time, Reiner said he believed Nick was doing well. “He’s been great … hasn’t been doing drugs for over six years,” Reiner said. “He’s in a really good place.”

Reiner starred in the 1970s sitcom, All in the Family and directed Stand By Me, The Princess Bride, When Harry Met Sally and A Few Good Men. Spinal Tap II: The End Continues is a sequel to his groundbreaking 1984 mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap.

“After 15 years of not working together, we came back and started looking at this and seeing if we could come up with an idea, and we started schnadling right away,” Reiner recalled. “It was like falling right back in with friends that you hadn’t talked to in a long time. It’s like jazz musicians, you just fall in and do what you do.”

Below are some more highlights from that interview.

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Interview Highlights

Carl Reiner (left) and Rob Reiner together in 2017.

Carl Reiner (left) and Rob Reiner together in 2017.

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On looking up to his dad, director Carl Reiner, and growing up surrounded by comedy legends 

When I was a little boy, my parents said that I came up to them and I said, “I want to change my name.” I was about 8 years old … They were all, “My god, this poor kid. He’s worried about being in the shadow of this famous guy and living up to all this.” And they say, “Well, what do you want to change your name to?” And I said, “Carl.” I loved him so much, I just wanted to be like him and I wanted to do what he did and I just looked up to him so much. …

[When] I was 19 … I was sitting with him in the backyard and he said to me, “I’m not worried about you. You’re gonna be great at whatever you do.” He lives in my head all the time. I had two great guides in my life. I had my dad, and then Norman Lear was like a second father. They’re both gone, but they’re with me always. …

There’s a picture in my office of all the writers who wrote for Sid Caesar and [Your] Show of Shows over the nine years, I guess, that they were on. And, when you look at that picture, you’re basically looking at everything you ever laughed at in the first half of the 20th century. I mean there’s Mel Brooks, there’s my dad, there is Neil Simon, there is Woody Allen, there is Larry Gelbart, Joe Stein who wrote Fiddler on the Roof, Aaron Ruben who created The Andy Griffith Show. Anything you ever laughed at is represented by those people. So these are the people I look up to, and these are people that were around me as a kid growing up.

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On directing the famous diner scene in When Harry Met Sally

We knew we were gonna do a scene where Meg [Ryan] was gonna fake an orgasm in an incongruous place like a deli, and Billy [Crystal] came up with the line, “I’ll have what she’s having.” … I said, we need to find somebody, an older Jewish woman, who could deliver that line, which would seem incongruous. I thought of my mother because my mother had done a couple of little [movie] things … So I asked her if she wanted to do it and she said sure. I said, “Now listen mom, hopefully that’ll be the topper of the scene. It’ll get the big laugh, and if it doesn’t, I may have to cut it out.” … She said, “That’s fine. I just want to spend the day with you. I’ll go to Katz’s. I’ll get a hot dog.” …

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When we did the scene the first couple of times through Meg was kind of tepid about it. She didn’t give it her all. … She was nervous. She’s in front of the crew and there’s extras and people. … And at one point, I get in there and I said, “Meg, let me show you what I meant.” And I sat opposite Billy, and I’m acting it out, and I’m pounding the table and I’m going, “Yes, yes, yes!” … I turned to Billy and I say, “This is embarrassing … I just had an orgasm in front of my mother.” But then Meg came in and she did it obviously way better than I could do it.

On differentiating himself from his father with Stand By Me (1986) 

I never said specifically I want to be a film director. I never said that. And I never really thought that way. I just knew I wanted to act, direct, and do things, be in the world that he was in. And it wasn’t until I did Stand By Me that I really started to feel very separate and apart from my father. Because the first film I did was, This Is Spinal Tap, which is a satire. And my father had trafficked in satire with Sid Caesar for many years. And then the second film I did was a film called The Sure Thing, which was a romantic comedy for young people, and my father had done romantic comedy. The [Dick] Van Dyke Show is a romantic comedy, a series.

But when I did Stand By Me, it was the one that was closest to me because … I felt that my father didn’t love me or understand me, and it was the character of Gordie that expressed those things. And the film was a combination of nostalgia, emotion and a lot of humor. And it was a real reflection of my personality. It was an extension, really, of my sensibility. And when it became successful, I said, oh, OK. I can go in the direction that I want to go in and not feel like I have to mirror everything my father’s done up till then.

On starting his own production company (Castle Rock) and how the business has changed

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We started it so I could have some kind of autonomy because I knew that the kinds of films I wanted to make people didn’t wanna make. I mean, I very famously went and talked to Dawn Steel, who was the head of Paramount at the time. … And she says to me, “What do you wanna make? What’s your next film?” And I said, “Well, you know, I got a film, but I don’t think you’re going to want to do it.” … I’m going to make a movie out of The Princess Bride. And she said, “Anything but that.” So I knew that I needed to have some way of financing my own films, which I did for the longest time. …

It’s tough now. And it’s beyond corporate. I mean, it used to be there was “show” and “business.” They were equal — the size of the word “show” and “business.” Now, you can barely see the word “show,” and it’s all “business.” And the only things that they look at [are] how many followers, how many likes, what the algorithms are. They’re not thinking about telling a story. … I still wanna tell stories. And I’m sure there’s a lot of young filmmakers — even Scorsese is still doing it, older ones too — that wanna tell a story. And I think people still wanna hear stories and they wanna see stories.

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