Oh, and the kicker: the little movie grosses over $30 million to date even though the story does not unfold in a forest haunted by a violent witch nor does it breathlessly probe sex, lies and videotape. Rather, the film is a searing slow dance through the stages of grief, it features characters who quote William Blake while playing poker, and its lead roles are played by a fiftysomething actress best-known for decades-old performances and a British character actor known for even less than that.
So, you ask, how did “In the Bedroom” become one of the year’s most profitable and talked about films? Simple. Its director knew what he wanted to achieve and he went for it, never stopping to think about his shoestring budget or whether his movie would succeed commercially.
“I believed in the film, you know?” Field says. “From the very beginning, my only goal in terms of the picture performing out in the theaters was that we make a penny over what the movie cost. If we did that, I said to the people who financed the film, then it was worth doing.”
Field’s small film—made exactly the way he wanted—struck a chord with filmgoers. “In the Bedroom” is an exercise in subtlety, the kind of picture in which pages of dialogue are replaced by a fleeting expression on an actor’s face. His movie, which has been nominated for best picture, paralyzes audiences with its detail rich rendering of a marriage buckling under the weight of grief. But it’s not just about anguish; in fact, the director aimed to mimic the emotional trajectory of mourning, something much more ambitious.
“You become a prisoner to grief until you can figure out a way, one way or another, to walk into another room,” says the 38-year-old. “That was really the point of the film. What is grief? It needs to meander to have any kind of resonance…and by the end of the film’s middle section, if the audience isn’t physically and mentally exhausted and squirming in their seats and wanting to get out of the theater, then really the film has achieved nothing.”
Agnes Mentre, who acquired the film for Miramax, knew that “In The Bedroom” might be tough to sell because of these very . But she also saw Field’s dark tale as a work of art that was striking for its realism as its slow pace.
“It was screening at the worst theater in Sundance,” says Mentre. “We were in terrible seats. Yet this movie felt so real. I loved the fact that each scene played in real time. I felt there. I felt inside of each character. It’s very rare that you feel this way about a movie. I was amazed by the maturity of the direction. I was crying so much I was trying to hide [because] I was embarrassed.”
Mentre left the screening and immediately called her boss, Harvey Weinstein. The Miramax chief also worried about how it would play in the marketplace, but figured it was moving enough to make the gamble worthwhile, Mentre said. “It was a risk because you’re never sure upfront. You can’t count on four star reviews across the board.”
Of course, now we know that “In the Bedroom” was received extremely well. Field likens his new craft to parenting, an analogy that is especially powerful given that his film is dedicated to examining the bond between parents and children. “You just want [your actors] to go out and play and climb as high as they can fearlessly and never see you standing below with your arms stretched up,” said Field. “You’re quietly there sort of hiding behind the bushes as they’re walking to school for the first time in these characters’s lives, and trying them out with their new tennis shoes on, and not letting them see that you’re the worried parent.”
The director has plenty of opportunities in front of him, but for the next few weeks, at least, he will not move forward. Instead, he will nervously await Oscar night, when three of his actors—Sissy Spacek, Tom Wilkinson and Marisa Tomei—and his film will be up for awards, including best picture.
In the meantime, he’ll keep telling stories, even if it’s only to his real-life children at bedtime. Whenever he goes home to Oregon, Field is reminded of how he was “always in the back of the bus spinning tall tales.” Now, of course, the maverick is in the very front row.
title: “Field Of Dreams” ShowToc: true date: “2022-12-13” author: “Judy Mcintosh”
It may not sound like much, but Liu’s supermarket chain is a revelation in China’s vast, underdeveloped interior. Today, the very migrants who have fueled an eye-popping manufacturing boom in factories along the Chinese coast are fomenting a quiet revolution. They’re returning home and investing money. They’re introducing modern know-how. And they’re proving that peasants can turn profits. “Their injection of capital into the hinterland helps raise rural income and ease social tensions,” says economist Fan Gang of the National Economic Research Institute. In a nation where poor peasants and laid-off workers have resorted to violence to protest falling wages, this new wave of entrepreneurship is a vital safety valve.
A decade ago many predicted that the massive influx of farmers into Chinese cities would spawn nightmare slums and urban crime. Not only have these dire predictions not come to pass, but China’s “floating population” is proving to be the hinterland’s salvation. According to a recent analysis of official statistics, each migrant who worked away from home for more than six months sent home roughly $545 in 2000, says labor economist Cai Fang. Even if the number of migrant laborers was less than 80 million–most estimates run higher–that would total a mind-boggling $43.6 billion in remittances. The numbers of those who physically return home are less clear–perhaps around 10 percent. But they bring with them newly acquired business savvy as well as cash, which are having a ripple effect on the rural economy.
In the verdant Sichuan county of Santai, for instance, a little expertise can go a long way. With a population of nearly 1.5 million, Santai–China’s most populous agricultural county–suffers from a tremendous shortage of arable land. Local farmers have an average of about one tenth of an acre to grow their crops, “and we don’t have any other natural resources,” laments Qiu Mingjun, Santai County Communist Party secretary. So why is the party encouraging former peasants to return home to set up shop? “People are building new homes and factories,” says Liao Xuemei, a local party representative. “It’s all thanks to peasants who’ve worked on the coast and come back to invest.” And Santai County has plenty of people to call. Seventy percent of its households have at least one member working in a distant city.
Local authorities are eagerly devising ways to woo even more established businessmen back home. “For those who invest, we offer lower land prices, lower fees and shortcuts to reduce red tape,” says Qiu. The preferential treatment–specifically, land leases at half price–was enticing enough to lure back Jia Mingzhong. One of the first Sichuanese to obtain an M.B.A., in the mid-1990s, Jia ran a thriving business in the massive metropolis of Chengdu when Santai local officials finally persuaded him to open Hongbei Technology in his old hometown. He and his 21-member staff–most of them returnees as well–provide improved hybrid seeds and advise farmers on modern farming techniques, such as the proper temperature for storing fruit. Zhao Yi, a 27-year-old Hongbei employee, sees a bright future down on the farm: “As Chairman Mao Zedong once said, the countryside is vast, and you can achieve a lot here.” After 10 years of flocking to the cities, maybe China’s peasants have found a new field of dreams.
