This weekend, tens of millions of people in the United States and tens of millions more around the world, in Columbus, Georgia, in Cardiff, Wales, in Chongqing, China, in Chennai, India will leave their homes, they'll get in their cars or they'll take public transportation or they will carry themselves by foot, and they'll step into a room and sit down next to someone they don't know or maybe someone they do, and the lights will go down and they'll watch a movie.
Ovog vikenda, na desetine miliona ljudi u SAD i na desetine miliona ljudi širom sveta, u Kolambusu, Džordžiji, u Kardifu, Velsu, u Čongkingu, Kini, u Čenajiju, Indiji će izaći iz svojih domova, ući u svoja kola ili javni prevoz ili će ići peške i ući će u prostoriju i sesti kraj nekog koga ne poznaju ili možda, pak, poznaju, i svetla će se ugasiti i oni će gledati film.
They'll watch movies about aliens or robots, or robot aliens or regular people. But they will all be movies about what it means to be human. Millions will feel awe or fear, millions will laugh and millions will cry. And then the lights will come back on, and they'll reemerge into the world they knew several hours prior. And millions of people will look at the world a little bit differently than they did when they went in.
Gledaće filmove o vanzemaljcima ili robotima, ili robotima vanzemaljcima ili običnim ljudima. Svi ti filmovi će, zapravo, biti na istu temu - šta znači biti čovek. Milioni će osetiti oduševljenje ili strah, milioni će se smejati, a milioni plakati. Svetla će se ponovo upaliti, a oni će se ponovo naći u svetu u kom su bili nekoliko sati ranije. Milioni ljudi će videti taj svet malo drugačije, nego kada su ušli.
Like going to temple or a mosque or a church, or any other religious institution, movie-going is, in many ways, a sacred ritual. Repeated week after week after week. I'll be there this weekend, just like I was on most weekends between the years of 1996 and 1990, at the multiplex, near the shopping mall about five miles from my childhood home in Columbus, Georgia. The funny thing is that somewhere between then and now, I accidentally changed part of the conversation about which of those movies get made.
Odlazak u bioskop je, kao i odlazak u hram ili džamiju ili crkvu ili bilo koju drugu religijsku instituciju, na mnogo načina, sveti ritual. Koji se ponavlja iz nedelje u nedelju. Ja ću biti tamo ovog vikenda, kao što sam bio većinu vikenda između 1996. i 1990. godine, u multipleksu, blizu šoping centra, na oko 8 kilometara od mog doma iz detinjstva, u Kolumbusu, Džordžiji. Ono što je stvarno zanimljivo je da sam u nekom trenutku od tada do danas, sasvim slučajno promenio deo razgovora koji se vodi na temu koji će se filmovi praviti.
So, the story actually begins in 2005, in an office high above Sunset Boulevard, where I was a junior executive at Leonardo DiCaprio's production company Appian Way. And for those of you who aren't familiar with how the film industry works, it basically means that I was one of a few people behind the person who produces the movie for the people behind and in front of the camera, whose names you will better recognize than mine. Essentially, you're an assistant movie producer who does the unglamorous work that goes into the creative aspect of producing a movie. You make lists of writers and directors and actors who might be right for movies that you want to will into existence; you meet with many of them and their representatives, hoping to curry favor for some future date. And you read, a lot. You read novels that might become movies, you read comic books that might become movies, you read articles that might become movies, you read scripts that might become movies. And you read scripts from writers that might write the adaptations of the novels, of the comic books, of the articles, and might rewrite the scripts that you're already working on. All this in the hope of finding the next big thing or the next big writer who can deliver something that can make you and your company the next big thing.
Priča počinje 2005. godine, u jednoj kancelariji visoko iznad Sanset bulevara, u kojoj sam radio kao mlađi izvršni producent u produkcijskoj kući Appian Way, Leonarda Di Kaprija. A za vas koji niste upoznati kako filmska industrija funkcioniše, to zapravo znači da sam bio jedan od nekoliko ljudi koji rade sa osobom koja se bavi produkcijom filmova za ljude iza i za ljude ispred kamere, čija ćete imena pre prepoznati nego moje. U suštini, pomoćnik ste filmskog producenta koji obavlja neglamurozni deo posla koji ide u kreativni aspekt produciranja filma. Pravite liste pisaca, režisera i glumaca koji bi mogli biti odgovarajući za filmove koji želite da budu snimljeni; srećete se sa mnogo njih i njihovih predstavnika, u nadi da ćete izmoliti uslugu za neki datum u budućnosti. I čitate, mnogo. Čitate romane koji mogu postati filmovi, čitate stripove koji mogu postati filmovi, čitate članke koji mogu postati filmovi, čitate scenarija koja mogu postati filmovi. I čitate scenarija pisaca koji bi mogli da napišu adaptacije tih romana, stripova, članaka, kao i da ponovo napišu scenarija na kojima vi već radite. Sve ovo u nadi da ćete pronaći sledeću veliku stvar ili sledećeg velikog pisca koji može da napravi nešto što bi vama i vašoj kompaniji stvorilo sledeću veliku stvar.
So in 2005, I was a development executive at Leonardo's production company. I got a phone call from the representative of a screenwriter that began pretty much the way all of those conversations did: "I've got Leo's next movie." Now in this movie, that his client had written, Leo would play an oil industry lobbyist whose girlfriend, a local meteorologist, threatens to leave him because his work contributes to global warming. And this is a situation that's been brought to a head by the fact that there's a hurricane forming in the Atlantic that's threatening to do Maria-like damage from Maine to Myrtle Beach. Leo, very sad about this impending break up, does a little more research about the hurricane and discovers that in its path across the Atlantic, it will pass over a long-dormant, though now active volcano that will spew toxic ash into its eye that will presumably be whipped into some sort of chemical weapon that will destroy the world.
Godine 2005. sam bio izvršni producent za razvoj u Leonardovoj produkcijskoj kući. Pozvao me je predstavnik jednog scenariste i poziv je počeo manje-više kao i svi drugi razgovori te vrste: "Imam Leov sledeći film." U ovom filmu, koji je njegov klijent napisao, Leo bi glumio lobistu naftne industrije čija devojka, lokalni meteorolog, preti da ga napusti, jer njegov rad doprinosi globalnom zagrevanju. Ova situacija je posledica vesti da se formira uragan u Atlantiku koji preti da nanese štetu poput Marije, od Mejna do Mirtl Biča. Leo, veoma tužan zbog raskida, istražuje uragan detaljnije i otkriva da na njegovom putu preko Atlantika, uragan prelazi preko odavno uspavanog, mada sada aktivnog vulkana koji će izbaciti toksični pepeo u njegov centar te će se on najverovatnije pretvoriti u neku vrstu hemijskog oružja koje će uništiti svet.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
It was at that point that I asked him, "So are you basically pitching me 'Leo versus the toxic superstorm that will destroy humanity?'" And he responded by saying, "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous." And I'm embarrassed to admit that I had the guy send me the script, and I read 30 pages before I was sure that it was as bad as I thought it was. Now, "Superstorm" is certainly an extreme example, but it's also not an unusual one. And unfortunately, most scripts aren't as easy to dismiss as that one.
U tom trenutku sam ga pitao: "Da li mi ti to nudiš: 'Leo protiv toksične superoluje koja će uništiti ljudsku vrstu?'" A on je odgovorio: "Pa, kad to tako sročiš zvuči smešno." Sramota me je da priznam da sam mu tražio da mi pošalje scenario i da sam pročitao 30 strana pre nego sam se uverio da je stvarno onoliko loš koliko sam i mislio. Sad, "Superoluja" je sasvim sigurno ekstremni primer, ali, takođe, nije neobičan. Nažalost, većinu scenarija nije tako lako odbaciti.
For example, a comedy about a high school senior, who, when faced with an unplanned pregnancy, makes an unusual decision regarding her unborn child. That's obviously "Juno." Two hundred and thirty million at the worldwide box office, four Oscar nominations, one win. How about a Mumbai teen who grew up in the slums wants to become a contestant on the Indian version of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?"? That's an easy one -- "Slumdog Millionaire." Three hundred seventy-seven million worldwide, 10 Oscar nominations and eight wins. A chimpanzee tells his story of living with the legendary pop star Michael Jackson. Anyone?
Na primer, komedija o maturantkinji gimnazije, koja, suočena sa neplaniranom trudnoćom, donosi neobičnu odluku u vezi sa svojim nerođenim detetom. To je očigledno "Džuno". Ukupno je zaradio 230 miliona od prodaje karata, imao 4 nominacije za Oskara, dobio jednog. Šta kažete na tinejdžera iz Mumbaja koji je odrastao u barakama, koji hoće da se takmiči u indijskoj verziji programa "Želite li da postanete milioner?"? Taj je lak - "Milioner iz blata". Ukupno je zaradio 377 miliona od prodaje karata, 10 nominacija za Oskara, dobio 8. Šimpanza priča svoju priču kako je živeti sa legendarnom pop zvezdom Majklom Džeksonom. Neko? Bilo ko?
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
It's a trick question. But it is a script called "Bubbles," that is going to be directed by Taika Waititi, the director of "Thor: Ragnarok."
To je trik pitanje. To je scenario koji se zove "Babls", koji će režirati Taika Vaititi, režiser filma "Tor: Ragnarok".
So, a large part of your job as a development executive is to separate the "Superstorms" from the "Slumdog Millionaires," and slightly more generally, the writers who write "Superstorm" from the writers who can write "Slumdog Millionaire." And the easiest way to do this, obviously, is to read all of the scripts, but that's, frankly, impossible. A good rule of thumb is that the Writers Guild of America registers about 50,000 new pieces of material every year, and most of them are screenplays. Of those, a reasonable estimate is about 5,000 of them make it through various filters, agencies, management companies, screenplay compositions and the like, and are read by someone at the production company or major studio level. And they're trying to decide whether they can become one of the 300-and-dropping movies that are released by the major studios or their sub-brands each year.
Dakle, veći deo posla izvršinog producenta za razvoj je da izdvaja "Superoluje" od "Milionera iz blata", i još malo opširnije, pisce koji pišu "Superoluje" od pisaca koji mogu da napišu "Milionera iz blata". A najlakši način da ovo uradite je, očigledno, da pročitate sva scenarija, ali je to, iskreno, nemoguće. Praksa je pokazala da Udruženje pisaca Amerike registruje oko 50.000 novih materijala svake godine, a najviše scenarija. Razumna procena bi bila da oko 5.000 tih scenarija uspe da prođe kroz razne filtere, agencije, upravne kompanije, komponovanje scenarija i slično i pročita ih neko u nekoj produkcijskoj kući ili nekom velikom studiju. Onda oni pokušavaju da odluče da li ta scenarija mogu da postanu jedan od 300 i manje filmova koje objave veliki studiji ili njima pripadajući brendovi svake godine.
I've described it before as being a little bit like walking into a members-only bookstore where the entire inventory is just organized haphazardly, and every book has the same, nondescript cover. Your job is to enter that bookstore and not come back until you've found the best and most profitable books there. It's anarchic and gleefully opaque.
Već sam ranije opisao da je to kao da ulazite u knjižaru za koju je potrebno članstvo, gde inventar nije organizovan, nego razbacan, a svaka knjiga ima istu bezličnu naslovnicu. Vaš posao je da uđete u tu knjižaru i ne izađete dok ne nađete najbolje i najprofitabilnije knjige koje ona ima. Anarhično je i neprozirno.
And everyone has their method to address these problems. You know, most rely on the major agencies and they just assume that if there's great talent in the world, they've already found their way to the agencies, regardless of the structural barriers that actually exist to get into the agencies in the first place. Others also constantly compare notes among themselves about what they've read and what's good, and they just hope that their cohort group is the best, most wired and has the best taste in town. And others try to read everything, but that's, again, impossible. If you're reading 500 screenplays in a year, you are reading a lot. And it's still only a small percentage of what's out there.
Svi imaju svoj način borbe sa ovim problemima. Znate, većina se oslanja na velike agencije i misle da je, ako postoji neko ko je zaista talentovan, ta osoba uspela da pronađe put do ovih agencija, zanemarujući strukturalne barijere koje postoje kako bi se uopšte moglo doći do tih agencija. Drugi, pak, stalno upoređuju beleške među sobom o tome šta su pročitali i šta je dobro i nadaju se da je njihova grupa prijatelja najbolja i najbolje povezana i da ima najbolji ukus u čitavom gradu. Dok drugi, pak, pokušavaju da pročitaju sve, što je, opet, nemoguće. Ako pročitaš 500 scenarija godišnje, mnogo čitaš. A to je opet samo mali procenat svega što je objavljeno.
Fundamentally, it's triage. And when you're in triage, you tend to default to conventional wisdom about what works and what doesn't. That a comedy about a young woman dealing with reproductive reality can't sell. That the story of an Indian teenager isn't viable in the domestic marketplace or anywhere else in the world outside of India. That the only source of viable movies is a very narrow groups of writers who have already found their way to living and working in Hollywood, who already have the best representation in the business, and are writing a very narrow band of stories.
U osnovi, to je trijaža. A kad primenjujete trijažu, uglavnom se držite ustaljenih pravila o tome šta funkcioniše, a šta ne. Da komedija o mladoj ženi koja se bori sa realnošću reprodukcije neće biti dobro prodata. Da priča o indijskom tinejdžeru neće biti isplativa na domaćem tržištu, niti bilo kom drugom u svetu, osim tržišta u Indiji. Da je jedini izvor isplativih filmova jedna veoma mala grupa pisaca koji su već našli način da žive i rade u Holivudu, koji već imaju najbolje predstavnike u poslu i koji pišu samo jedan žanr priča.
And I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit, that that's where I found myself in 2005. Sitting in that office above Sunset Boulevard, staring down that metaphorical anonymized bookstore, and having read nothing but bad scripts for months. And I took this to mean one of two things: either A: I was not very good at my job, which was, ostensibly, finding good scripts, or B: reading bad scripts was the job. In which case, my mother's weekly phone calls, asking me if my law school entrance exam scores were still valid was something I should probably pay more attention to. What I also knew was that I was about to go on vacation for two weeks, and as bad as reading bad scripts is when it is your job, it's even more painful on vacation. So I had to do something.
Mene je pomalo sramota da priznam da sam se u tome i ja nalazio 2005 godine. Sedeći u toj kancelariji iznad Sanset bulevara, zureći ka toj metaforičnoj, anonimnoj knižari, a da nisam pročitao nijedan dobar scenario mesecima. I zaključio sam da to znači da: ili ja nisam dobro radio svoj posao, koji je, makar prividno, bio pronalaženje dobrih scenarija, ili je čitanje loših scenarija bio moj posao. U tom slučaju, nedeljni pozivi moje majke kada me pita da li mi je prijemni za Pravni fakultet još uvek važeći su verovatno bili nešto na šta je trebalo da obratim više pažnje. Ono što sam takođe znao je da je trebalo da idem na dvonedeljni odmor, a ma koliko da je čitanje loših scenarija naporno kada si na poslu, još je napornije kada si na odmoru. Te sam morao nešto da učinim.
So late one night at my office, I made a list of everyone that I had had breakfast, lunch, dinner or drinks with that had jobs similar to mine, and I sent them an anonymous email. And I made a very simple request. Send me a list of up to 10 of your favorite screenplays that meet three criteria. One: you love the screenplay, two: the filmed version of that screenplay will not be in theaters by the end of that calendar year, and three: you found out about the screenplay this year. This was not an appeal for the scripts that would be the next great blockbuster, not an appeal for the scripts that will win the Academy Award, they didn't need to be scripts that their bosses loved or that their studio wanted to make. It was very simply an opportunity for people to speak their minds about what they loved, which, in this world, is increasingly rare.
Tako sam, jedne noći u mojoj kancelariji, napravio listu svih onih sa kojima sa doručkovao, ručao, večerao ili išao na piće, a koji su imali posao sličan mom i poslao sam im anonimni mejl. A imao sam veoma jednostavan zahtev. Pošalji mi listu od najviše 10 tvojih omiljenih scenarija koji ispunjavaju ova tri kriterijuma. Prvi: scenario ti se dopada, drugi: snimljena verzija tog scenarija neće biti prikazana u bioskopima do kraja te kalendarske godine, i treći: scenario je otkriven ove godine. Ovo nije bio zahtev za scenarija koja bi postala sledeći veliki blokbaster, nije bio zahtev za scenarija koja bi dobila Oskara, nisu morala da budu scenarija koja su se dopala njihovim šefovima ili koja je njihov studio želeo da snimi. To je samo bila prilika da iskažu svoje mišljenje o onome što im se dopalo, što je, u tom svetu, sve ređe.
Now, almost all of the 75 people I emailed anonymously responded. And then two dozen other people actually emailed to participate to this anonymous email address, but I confirmed that they did in fact have the jobs they claimed to have. And I then compiled the votes into a spreadsheet, ran a pivot table, output it to PowerPoint, and the night before I left for vacation, I slapped a quasi subversive name on it and emailed it back from that anonymous email address to everyone who voted. The Black List. A tribute to those who lost their careers during the anti-communist hysteria of the 1940s and 50s, and a conscious inversion of the notion that black somehow had a negative connotation.
Skoro svih 75 ljudi kojima sam poslao mejl anonimno je odgovorilo. A onda je još 20 drugih ljudi poslalo mejl na taj anonimni mejl, sa željom da učestvuje, a ja sam se uverio da oni zaista rade to što trvde da rade. Potom sam organizovao glasove u tabelu, izradio pivot tabelu, stavio je u prezentaciju, i veče pre nego što sam otišao na odmor, stavio neko kvazi subverzivno ime na nju i poslao je sa anonimne mejl adrese svima koji su glasali. Crna lista. Počast svima koji su izgubili karijere tokom antikomunističke histerije 1940-ih i '50-ih godina i svesno izvrtanje ideje da je crno nekako imalo negativnu konotaciju.
After arriving in Mexico, I pulled out a chair by the pool, started reading these scripts and found, to my shock and joy, that most of them were actually quite good. Mission accomplished. What I didn't and couldn't have expected was what happened next. About a week into my time on vacation, I stopped by the hotel's business center to check my email. This was a pre-iPhone world, after all. And found that this list that I had created anonymously had been forwarded back to me several dozen times, at my personal email address. Everyone was sharing this list of scripts that everyone had said that they loved, reading them and then loving them themselves. And my first reaction, that I can't actually say here, but will describe it as fear, the idea of surveying people about their scripts was certainly not a novel or a genius one. Surely, there was some unwritten Hollywood rule of omertà that had guided people away from doing that before that I was simply too naive to understand, it being so early in my career. I was sure I was going to get fired, and so I decided that day that A: I would never tell anybody that I had done this, and B: I would never do it again.
Nakon što sam stigao u Meksiko, seo sam u stolicu kraj bazena, počeo da čitam ova scenarija i otkrio, na moje iznenađenje i radost, da je većina njih zapravo bila veoma dobra. Misija ostvarena. Ono što se potom dogodilo nikako nisam očekivao. Nakon, otprilike, nedelju dana odmora, svratio sam do biznis centra u hotelu da pregledam svoje mejlove. To je bilo u vreme pre iPhone-a. Otkrio sam da je ona lista koju sam napravio, anonimno, upućena meni, na moju ličnu mejl adresu, nekoliko desetina puta. Svi su delili tu listu scenarija koji su se dopali drugima, čitali ih, a potom ih i sami zavoleli. Moja prva reakcija, koju ne mogu ovde da izgovorim, ali ću je opisati kao strah, je da ideja o ispitivanju ljudi o njihovim scenarijima definitivno nije bila nova ili genijalna. Naravno, postojalo je neko nepisano holivudsko pravilo da se o tome ćuti koje je sprečavalo ljude da to učine ranije, koje sam ja samo bio previše naivan da bih razumeo, jer sam bio na početku karijere. Bio sam siguran da ću biti otpušten, te sam tog dana odlučio da pod A: nikada nikome neću reći da sam ovo ja uradio, i pod B: da neću ovo ponovo uraditi.
Then, six months later, something even more bizarre happened. I was in my office, on Sunset, and got a phone call from another writer's agent. The call began very similarly to the call about "Superstorm": "I've got Leo's next movie." Now, that's not the interesting part. The interesting part was the way the call ended. Because this agent then told me, and I quote, "Don't tell anybody, but I have it on really good authority this is going to be the number one script on next year's Black List."
Onda se, 6 meseci kasnije, desilo nešto još bizarnije. Bio sam u mojoj kancelariji, na Sansetu, i primio sam poziv agenta jednog drugog pisca. Poziv je počeo veoma slično onom o "Superoluji": "Imam Leov sledeći film." To nije deo koji je zanimljiv. Zanimljivo je bilo kako se taj poziv završio. Jer mi je taj agent potom rekao, citiram: "Nemoj nikome da kažeš, ali znam iz prve ruke da će ovo biti scenario Broj jedan na Crnoj listi sledeće godine."
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Yeah. Suffice it to say, I was dumbfounded. Here was an agent, using the Black List, this thing that I had made anonymously and decided to never make again, to sell his client to me. To suggest that the script had merit, based solely on the possibility of being included on a list of beloved screenplays. After the call ended, I sat in my office, sort of staring out the window, alternating between shock and general giddiness.
Da. Malo je reći da sam bio zapanjen. Evo ga agent koji, koristeći Crnu listu, ono što sam ja napravio anonimno i odlučio da ne to ne uradim nikad više, pokušava da mi "proda" svog klijenta. Nagovestiti da scenario ima vrednost samo zato što bi mogao biti na listi omiljenih scenarija. Nakon tog poziva, sedeo sam u kancelariji, zureći kroz prozor, dok su se u meni smenjivali osećaj šoka i vrtoglavice.
And then I realized that this thing that I had created had a lot more value than just me finding good screenplays to read over the holidays. And so I did it again the next year -- and the "LA Times" had outed me as the person who had created it -- and the year after that, and the year after that -- I've done it every year since 2005. And the results have been fascinating, because, unapologetic lying aside, this agent was exactly right. This list was evidence, to many people, of a script's value, and that a great script had greater value that, I think, a lot of people had previously anticipated. Very quickly, the writers whose scripts were on that list started getting jobs, those scripts started getting made, and the scripts that got made were often the ones that violated the assumptions about what worked and what didn't. They were scripts like "Juno" and "Little Miss Sunshine" and "The Queen" and "The King's Speech" and "Spotlight." And yes, "Slumdog Millionaire." And even an upcoming movie about Michael Jackson's chimpanzee.
A potom sam shvatio da je ovo što sam napravio imalo mnogo veću vrednost od toga da meni pronađe dobra scenarija za čitanje na odmoru. I tako sam ga ponovio sledeće godine, a "LA Tajms" je otkrio da sam ja taj koji je to napravio, i godine nakon te, i godine nakon te, napravio sam je svake godine od 2005. Rezultati su bili zapanjujući, jer, ako ostavimo laganje bez pardona po strani, onaj agent je zapravo bio u pravu. Ova lista je bila dokaz mnogima o vrednosti nekog scenarija, a da sjajan scenario ima veću vrednost nego što je, ja mislim, mnogo ljudi prethodno očekivalo. Ubrzo su pisci, čija su scenarija bila na toj listi, počeli da dobijaju poslove, ta scenarija su počela da se snimaju, a scenarija koja su bila snimljena su najčešće bila ona koja su kršila pretpostavke o tome šta se prodavalo, a šta ne. To su bila scenarija kao "Džuno" i "Mala mis sanšajn" i "Kraljica" i "Kraljev govor" i "Pod lupom" I da, "Milioner iz blata". Čak i film o šimpanzi Majkla Džeksona koji tek treba da izađe.
Now, I think it's really important that I pause here for a second and say that I can't take credit for the success of any of those movies. I didn't write them, I didn't direct them, I didn't produce them, I didn't gaff them, I didn't make food and craft service -- we all know how important that is. The credit for those movies, the credit for that success, goes to the people who made the films. What I did was change the way people looked at them. Accidentally, I asked if the conventional wisdom was correct. And certainly, there are movies on that list that would have gotten made without the Black List, but there are many that definitely would not have. And at a minimum, we've catalyzed a lot of them into production, and I think that's worth noting.
Mislim da je veoma važno da se zaustavim ovde za trenutak i kažem da ja nisam zaslužan za uspeh bilo kog od ovih filmova. Nisam ih napisao, nisam ih režirao, nisam ih producirao, nisam radio osvetljenje nisam spremao, ni posluživao hranu, a svi znamo koliko je to važno. Zasluga za te filmove, zasluga za njihov uspeh, ide ljudima koji su ih napravili. Ono što jesam uradio, promenio sam način na koji su ih ljudi videli. Sasvim slučajno, pitao sam da li ustaljena pravila uvek treba primeniti. Naravno da je bilo filmova na toj listi koji bi bili snimljeni i bez Crne liste, ali je bilo i mnogo onih koji sasvim sigurno ne bi. U najmanju ruku, ubrzali smo produkciju mnogih od njih, a ja mislim da je to vredno pomena.
There have been about 1,000 screenplays on the Black List since its inception in 2005. About 325 have been produced. They've been nominated for 300 Academy Awards, they've won 50. Four of the last nine Best Pictures have gone to scripts from the Black List, and 10 of the last 20 screenplay Oscars have gone to scripts from the Black List. All told, they've made about 25 billion dollars in worldwide box office, which means that hundreds of millions of people have seen these films when they leave their homes, and sit next to someone they don't know and the lights go down. And that's to say nothing of post-theatrical environments like DVD, streaming and, let's be honest, illegal downloads.
Oko 1.000 scenarija se našlo na Crnoj listi od njenog začetka 2005. Oko 325 je snimljeno. Nominovani su za 300 Oskara, dobili su ih 50. Četiri od poslednjih 9 Oskara za Najbolji film dobila su scenarija sa Crne liste, a 10 od poslednjih 20 Oskara za scenarija su dodeljeni scenarijima sa Crne liste. Sve u svemu, zaradili su oko 25 milijardi dolara u bioskopima širom sveta, što znači da je stotine miliona ljudi videlo ove filmove, kada iz svojih domova dođu i sednu kraj nekog koga ne poznaju, a svetla se ugase. I to da ni ne spomenem sve ono što dolazi posle bioskopa, kao npr. DVD, gledanje filmova online i hajde da budemo iskreni, piraterija.
Five years ago today, October 15, my business partner and I doubled down on this notion that screenwriting talent was not where we expected to find it, and we launched a website that would allow anybody on earth who had written an English-language screenplay to upload their script, have it evaluated, and make it available to thousands of film-industry professionals. And I'm pleased to say, in the five years since its launch, we've largely proved that thesis. Hundreds of writers from across the world have found representation, have had their work optioned or sold. Seven have even seen their films made in the last three years, including the film "Nightingale," the story of a war veteran's psychological decline, in which David Oyelowo's face is the only one on screen for the film's 90-minute duration. It was nominated for a Golden Globe and two Emmy Awards.
Pre pet godina na današnji datum, 15. oktobar, moj poslovni partner i ja smo se još više fokusirali na ovu ideju da talentovani scenaristi nisu bili tamo gde smo mi očekivali da ih nađemo, te smo napravili veb sajt koji bi omogućio bilo kome na planeti, ko ima scenario na engleskom jeziku, da otpremi svoj scenario, da isti bude procenjen i dostupan hiljadama profesionalaca iz filmske industrije. Sa zadovoljstvom mogu da kažem da smo, za pet godina koliko postoji, uveliko uspeli da dokažemo poentu. Na stotine pisaca širom planete je uspelo da nađe agenta, da dobije predugovor ili proda scenario. Njih 7 je čak videlo snimanje svojih filmova u poslednje 3 godine, uključujući i film "Slavuj", priču o psihološkom posustanku jednog ratnog veterana, u kom je lice Dejvida Ojelova jedino na ekranu tokom svih 90 minuta koliko film traje. Nominovan je za Zlatni Globus i dve Emi nagrade.
It's also kind of cool that more than a dozen writers who were discovered on the website have ended up on this end-of-year annual list, including two of the last three number one writers. Simply put, the conventional wisdom about screenwriting merit -- where it was and where it could be found, was wrong. And this is notable, because as I mentioned before, in the triage of finding movies to make and making them, there's a lot of relying on conventional wisdom. And that conventional wisdom, maybe, just maybe, might be wrong to even greater consequence.
Takođe je nekako kul što je više od desetine autora koji su bili otkriveni na sajtu, završilo na ovogodišnjoj Listi, uključujući i dva od poslednja tri najbolja pisca. Jednostavno rečeno, ustaljena pravila o dobrim scenarijima, gde su bili i gde mogu biti nađeni, bila su pogrešna. Ovo se može primetiti jer, kao što sam rekao ranije, tokom trijaže pronalaženja filmova i snimanja istih, mnogo toga se oslanja na ustaljena pravila. A ta ustaljena pravila, možda, samo možda, mogu biti pogrešna sa velikim posledicama.
Films about black people don't sell overseas. Female-driven action movies don't work, because women will see themselves in men, but men won't see themselves in women. That no one wants to see movies about women over 40. That our onscreen heroes have to conform to a very narrow idea about beauty that we consider conventional. What does that mean when those images are projected 30 feet high and the lights go down, for a kid that looks like me in Columbus, Georgia? Or a Muslim girl in Cardiff, Wales? Or a gay kid in Chennai? What does it mean for how we see ourselves and how we see the world and for how the world sees us?
Filmovi o crncima se ne prodaju dobro sa druge strane okeana. Akcioni filmovi sa glavnom ženskom ulogom ne idu dobro, jer žene sebe vide u muškarcima, ali muškarci sebe ne vide u ženama. Da niko ne želi da gleda film o ženi koja ima više od 40 godina. Da naši heroji na ekranu moraju da potpadnu pod veoma usku ideju o lepoti koju mi smatramo konvencionalnom. Šta to znači kada su sve te slike projektovane na 10 metara i svetla se ugase, za dete koje liči na mene u Kolambusu, Džordžiji? Ili za muslimansku devojčicu u Kardifu, Velsu? Ili gej dete u Čenaju? Šta to znači za to kako mi vidimo sebe i kako vidimo svet i to kako svet vidi nas?
We live in very strange times. And I think for the most part, we all live in a state of constant triage. There's just too much information, too much stuff to contend with. And so as a rule, we tend to default to conventional wisdom. And I think it's important that we ask ourselves, constantly, how much of that conventional wisdom is all convention and no wisdom? And at what cost?
Živimo u veoma čudnom vremenu. I mislim da uglavnom, svi mi živimo u stanju konstantne trijaže. Prosto je previše informacija, previše toga s čim se treba takmičiti. Te tako po pravilu, imamo tendenciju da automatski koristimo ustaljena pravila. I smatram da je važno da sami sebe stalno pitamo, koliko je od tih ustaljenih pravila sve ustaljeno, ali bez logike? I po kojoj ceni?
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)