The Bigger Picture

PROLOGUE

Evening of the 70th Annual Academy Awards, 1998

I opened the gold statue–embossed envelope that had been hand delivered to my office and stared at the four tickets inside. It was at that moment that it finally sank in that I—Jonny the Jock, the average student (at best), the practical joker—was actually going to the Oscars as a nominee for Best Picture.

It was a long three days before we got into the limousine to make the forty-five-minute drive to the Shrine Auditorium for the big event. With me were my wife, Julie, our son Jamie (age nine), and my mother, Edie; we felt our other son, Jodie (age five), was too young to attend. The fact that I was about to share the evening with three generations of Landaus was very special and meaningful to me. It suggested a certain continuity. I had learned so much from my parents, personally and professionally—some lessons intentionally taught, some learned by the examples they set, all of which I hoped to impart to and model for my sons.

The red carpet was a blur, and we quickly found ourselves at our seats, right up front in row C of the center section. We arrived so early the section was empty. I felt so out of place. But then a few minutes later, Arnold Schwarzenegger came over to wish me good luck before taking his seat in the row right in front of us. There was Jack Nicholson, whom I had met when working on Dick Tracy, giving me a pleasant nod as he took his seat in the front row. I thought Cameron Diaz even looked my way and waved . . . but then I realized she was waving to Matt Damon, who was a few feet away. I was brought back to reality.

The year 1998 was one of the strongest for Best Picture nominees: Curtis Hanson’s masterpiece L.A. Confidential, three-time Oscar winner James L. Brooks’s As Good as It Gets, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck’s breakout film Good Will Hunting, and the acclaimed crowd-pleasing comedy The Full Monty. Titanic was in extraordinary company.

Billy Crystal opened the show by being lowered to the stage on the bow of the Titanic and launched into one of his classic musical opening numbers in which he riffed on the movies nominated for Best Picture. The lyrics compared Titanic to the television classic Gilligan’s Island (oh well) and moved on to suggest “L.A. Confidential, you could be the iceberg tonight.” I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be.

The first award of the evening, Best Supporting Actress, included Gloria Stuart—who played our older, present-day heroine, Rose—among a strong group of nominees. Born on July 4, 1910, Gloria had been one of the founding members of the Screen Actors Guild. Having left acting in 1945 to focus on her career as a fine artist, Gloria’s return to the silver screen made her somewhat of a darling of the acting community. With the actors’ branch of the Academy consisting of more voting members than any other branch, I thought this first award might serve as a good litmus test for how the evening was going to play out.

Cuba Gooding Jr., who had won Best Supporting Actor the year before for his role in Jerry Maguire, presented the award.

“And the Oscar goes to . . . Kim Basinger, L.A. Confidential.”

This could be a long night!
B
ut as the ceremony progressed, things got better. Several from our team, whose shoulders I stand upon, were recognized with Oscars for their incredible work: Deborah Scott for Best Costume Design; Russell Carpenter for Best Cinematography; James Horner for Best Original Dramatic Score and Best Original Song; Rob Legato, Mark Lasoff, Tom Fisher, and Michael Kanfer for Best Visual Effects; Peter Lamont and Michael Ford for Best Art Direction; Richard A. Harris, Conrad Buff, and James Cameron for Best Editing; and then Jim won his second Oscar of the evening for Best Director.

It was finally time for the Best Picture award. The indomitable Sean Connery walked onstage to present the award. Yes, the same Sean Connery I would race to see whenever a new James Bond movie came out when I was a kid. The audience hushed as Sean began to speak.

“The nominees are . . . As Good as It Gets. James L. Brooks, Bridget Johnson, and Kristi Zea, producers.”

I was holding Julie’s hand as the audience gave a round of applause. Was it too big a round?

“. . . The Full Monty. Uberto Pasolini, producer.”

The reaction from the Academy members was a little less effusive.

“. . . Good Will Hunting. Lawrence Bender, producer.”

There was an even greater response from the crowd than they had given to As Good as It Gets.

“. . . L.A. Confidential. Arnon Milchan, Curtis Hanson, and Michael Nathanson, producers.”

It was the biggest, most vocal reaction yet, just as it had been when Cuba Gooding Jr. read the names of the Supporting Actress nominees, the award Gloria Stuart lost.

“. . . Titanic. James Cameron and Jon Landau, producers.”

Yes, there was applause, but nowhere near the same level of support that the other films had received. Was I just imagining it? No, I later confirmed this when I watched a tape of the show.

Sitting there, waiting for James Bond to open the envelope, I couldn’t help but think back to the night in 1971 when my parents, Edie and Ely Landau, accompanied by Coretta Scott King (Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s widow), attended the Academy Awards as nominees for King: A Filmed Record . . . Montgomery to Memphis, a documentary they had produced. This monumental film, directed by Sidney Lumet and Joseph L. Mankiewicz, chronicles the life of Dr. King from 1955 to 1968 and his rise from regional activist to world-renowned leader of the Civil Rights Movement.
In the days leading up to those Academy Awards, every one of the other nominees for Best Documentary, and even some executives from rival studio Warner Bros., told Coretta and my parents that they were a lock for the Oscar. My dad insisted that Coretta be the one to accept the award. The night of the ceremony, my sisters and I stayed up late in New York glued to our TV as presenters Richard Benjamin and Paula Prentiss opened the envelope.

“And the winner is . . . Woodstock.”

I snapped back to the present just as Connery fumbled to open the envelope. Looking at the card inside, he did a double take and paused for a brief moment before announcing: “And the Oscar goes to . . .

“Titanic.”

In that moment, the pressure that had weighed down my shoulders and soul for the three years I’d been producing Titanic finally lifted. Only four months earlier, Time magazine had published a very negative story on the movie with a bold headline: “Down, Down to a Watery Grave.”

With “And the Oscar goes to Titanic” echoing in my head, I swept Julie up in a huge hug before embracing Rae Sanchini, our executive producer. Had it not been for Rae, I wouldn’t have been hired on the film.

I met Jim in the aisle. We threw our arms around each other’s shoulders as we made our way to the stage. Immediately before ascending the steps, I saw both Kate Winslet and Gloria in the front row. I stopped briefly to give them each a slight bow. Without their extraordinary performances, none of this would have been possible.

Onstage, Sean handed me my Oscar, and I made my way to the microphone. After all, if Jim was the first to speak, the music would come up after, and I wouldn’t get the chance to say anything. Before acknowledging what I have been told were fifty-three people by name, I shared with a global television audience that “I can’t act, and I can’t compose, and I can’t do visual effects, so I guess that’s why I’m producing.”