belamy20
patreon
1488-1490
🕑 Added 2025-06-06 17:24:14 +0000 UTCChapter 1488: A Hidden Gem
Children of Men is based on a novel published in 1992. The story jumps forward thirty years to 2021, where humanity faces an existential crisis: everyone has lost the ability to reproduce. It’s been over a decade since the last baby was born, and society is starting to crack under the strain.
Science and technology have stalled, economies are crumbling, and different regions around the world are sliding into lawless chaos.
Eastern Europe and Africa have splintered and are on the brink of collapse, sending waves of people fleeing toward the slightly more stable British Isles.
But even there, things are a mess. Immigrants are being treated like slaves, order and rules are breaking down, and the end of the world feels like it’s closing in.
Then, in the middle of all this, an illegal immigrant girl from Africa turns up pregnant—carrying a new life. It’s a spark that sets the underclass buzzing with unrest.
Enter the protagonist, Theodore, who decides to protect this girl at all costs, to get her out of there and preserve humanity’s last hope. And so begins their desperate escape.
The story itself, as Anson pointed out, has the potential to be a Saving Private Ryan. It’s a straightforward rescue mission set against a backdrop of war or a dying world, painting a vivid picture of humanity in all its shades. The plot isn’t complicated, but whether it leans into sci-fi apocalypse or war-torn disaster, this project could go in so many directions.
At its core, the film digs into the meaning of life, even touching on religious themes. It’s nothing like 2001: A Space Odyssey, but both movies get to the heart of what sci-fi can be—a reflection on existence. There’s real artistic depth here, room to stretch and grow.
No doubt about it, this is a project with both artistic merit and commercial appeal.
Anson couldn’t wrap his head around why it was gathering dust in the project vault. After all, Warner Bros. later greenlit I Am Legend, a movie with a similar vibe—but in terms of quality and substance, it doesn’t hold a candle to Children of Men.
That said, looking back from his past life, Warner Bros.’ decision wasn’t entirely off-base.
Children of Men didn’t end up with Warner Bros. anyway—it went to Universal Pictures. And Universal took it in a slightly different direction. They sank $76 million into it but didn’t package it like Saving Private Ryan. Instead, they slotted it for a Christmas release—
War. Sci-fi. Apocalypse.
Those words don’t exactly scream “family-friendly holiday flick.” You can already see Universal’s muddled vision here:
They were aiming for awards season, treating Children of Men like an artsy contender instead of a box-office play.
To be fair, Universal put some thought into it—just not enough.
Notoriously stingy, they dropped $76 million on production but targeted awards season rather than chasing ticket sales to break even. And because the budget was so high, they skimped on the kind of PR push you need for the Oscars. They said they were gunning for awards but wouldn’t pony up the cash to back it up—a total contradiction.
That blurry positioning and lackluster marketing set the wrong expectations, completely burying the film’s potential.
In the end, Children of Men grossed just $70 million worldwide, with a measly $35 million from North America. It flopped hard.
As for awards season, without serious PR, it still snagged nominations for Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, and Best Editing—
No surprise, it didn’t win anything.
Commercially and artistically, it fell flat on both fronts.
But did it really?
The director and writer of Children of Men was Alfonso Cuarón—one of the famed “Three Amigos” from Mexico, a tech geek who’d go on to make standout films like Gravity and Roma. He earned his place in Hollywood fair and square with sheer talent.
Oh, and he also directed Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban—widely considered the best in the Harry Potter series.
For the general public, Gravity is probably his most famous work. It won him an Oscar for Best Director and raked in a fortune at the box office. But true cinephiles and critics argue that Children of Men is his real masterpiece, striking the perfect balance between technique and storytelling.
Back in his past life, after its release, Children of Men earned heaps of praise from pros and movie buffs alike. That jaw-dropping long take? It got endless applause.
Among the “Three Amigos,” Alejandro González Iñárritu is usually seen as the tech wizard. He nabbed back-to-back Best Director Oscars for Birdman and The Revenant, and the one-shot wonder in Birdman is still a hot topic.
But in Anson’s eyes, Alejandro’s long take in Birdman felt like showing off. The director knew he was good, knew the shot was stunning, but it didn’t serve the story—it was just there to flex his skills and wow the Academy.
Alfonso’s approach was different. The long takes in Children of Men flowed naturally, seamlessly blending with the setting. They weren’t for bragging—they were part of the narrative, serving the story and the film. That’s how it should be.
Purely on artistic merit, Children of Men might not top Birdman or The Revenant, but it deserves way more recognition than it got.
To Anson, the movie’s artistic value and commercial potential were never fully tapped—
A real shame.
So, picture this: Anson’s digging through that dim storage room and stumbles across this project. The rush of excitement? Overwhelming.
If he could, he’d love to get this film in front of more people, let them feel its magic.
To him, Children of Men outshines I Am Legend by the length of a Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban plus half a Saving Private Ryan.
But reality?
Children of Men pulled in $70 million worldwide, while I Am Legend cleared over $200 million in North America alone.
From that angle, Warner Bros. made the right call.
Still, Anson believed that with the right positioning and marketing, Children of Men could’ve won over more fans. It did, after all, get rave reviews in the DVD rental and sales market later on. Even if it couldn’t outgross I Am Legend, it didn’t deserve to tank that badly.
Of course, that’s just Anson’s take. He might think that, but it doesn’t mean he can rewrite the movie’s fate.
In Hollywood, this kind of thing happens all the time. Projects everyone’s sure will soar end up crashing, while ones no one cares about take off out of nowhere.
Children of Men isn’t the only one—far from it.
Chapter 1489: Seven Hours
In Hollywood, hidden gems are a dime a dozen.
It’s not just the projects buried in storage rooms, gathering dust in obscurity. Even works that make it through investment, filming, production, and release—finally meeting audiences—can still fade into oblivion, ignored and forgotten. The list is endless.
Look back a bit further: Once Upon a Time in America, Blade Runner. More recent? Fight Club, Memento. These films flopped on release, only rising from the sea of countless works after time had polished them into classics, earning their place in history.
That’s exactly why Hollywood revolves around producers, not directors like in Europe. Producers here are product managers—their job is to package and launch a sellable hit the right way. No matter how brilliant the director, actors, or writers are, without that, a project can still struggle to break through.
Clearly, in his past life, Children of Men didn’t find the right product manager.
Maybe production went smoothly enough. But once it was done? That’s where the trouble started.
Jeff took the script from Anson, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He didn’t speak right away, instead flipping through the first few pages to confirm his hunch:
He knew this project.
“But it’s too dark,” he said.
Anson blinked. “What?”
Jeff elaborated, “I mean, it’s too heavy, too grim. And this director isn’t Steven Spielberg. He doesn’t have a track record with commercial blockbusters. We weren’t sure this could be turned into a big hit. The script doesn’t scream ‘big scenes.’”
“Plus, the story isn’t compelling.”
“Take Saving Private Ryan—it’s about saving the last surviving son of a family. The brutality of war, the smallness of one person, a mission for justice. It clicks not just with Americans but overseas too. But this? We’re saving the last pregnant girl on Earth? Humanity’s on the brink, and all hope rests on a Virgin Mary figure, waiting for a Jesus Christ rebirth? Sorry, I’m not shedding tears for her.”
Cold, harsh, blunt.
It stung, but it was hard to argue. He’d hit the nail on the head.
Jeff raised his hands in a mock surrender. “Forgive my directness.”
Anson paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No.” Then he chuckled. “Actually, it’s only now that you’re sounding like a producer.”
“Besides, I’ve been throwing around some pretty brutal honesty all day under the guise of being upfront. It’s about time you took a turn. I totally get it.”
“Haha!” Jeff cracked up.
Anson tilted his head, studying Jeff. “What I’m more curious about is—you know this project?”
“I mean, there are thousands of projects here—eight thousand, ten thousand, who knows? I spend a whole day digging and finally pick one out, and you remember it like that? Be honest, there’s a hidden camera in here, right?”
“Hahaha!” Jeff’s grin widened, lighting up his face.
But instead of answering, he stood and gestured invitingly. “How about we head to a restaurant? Eat and talk?”
“I saw your lunch—same as mine, basically nothing. I’m starving now, and I bet you’re not far behind. Let’s get out of here before rush hour swallows Manhattan. What do you say?”
Anson nodded easily. “Sure, no problem.”
“But, uh, this mess?” He gestured at the cluttered desk.
Jeff’s eyes twinkled. “Leave it. Trust me, it’s fine. Who knows, maybe someone’ll swing by later to snap pics and gawk, documenting Anson Wood’s… seven hours and twenty-seven minutes here.”
Anson laughed heartily. “Haha, proof of my hard work? Though I didn’t exactly get any results. Not sure it’s worth commemorating.”
“Who says there were no results? Aren’t we about to dive deeper into this?” Jeff shot back, unfazed.
Their eyes met, and they both burst into laughter.
Before the evening rush flooded the streets at dusk, Anson Wood and Jeff Robinov strolled out of the Warner Bros. building side by side—calm, confident, and in full view of everyone.
By now, over seven hours had passed since Anson had stepped inside—
A stretch of time so long it was downright shocking!
That morning, when people saw Anson enter Warner Bros., Hollywood took notice. The old foxes sniffed out something fishy right away:
Why the high-profile entrance in broad daylight? Who was Anson’s “performance” meant for? Sony Columbia?
Speculation swirled, theories piled up—it was a frenzy. But in Hollywood, stuff like this was par for the course. No big deal, right?
Except now?
Things had veered way off script. No one knew what Anson had been up to in there. Seven hours of work could mean anything—too many possibilities to count. The initial assumption that he was just posturing to spook Sony Columbia? That got swept up in the storm too.
So, what—did Anson just clock a full workday at Warner Bros.? Why not stretch it to eight hours and really live the office life?
Seven hours felt like a dramatic peak, a flex of theatrical tension. But even if it was a performance, the purpose behind it was murky as hell.
No matter how hard people racked their brains, there wasn’t a single clear lead.
By now, half of Hollywood’s eyes were glued to the scene. Sony Columbia, who’d been sitting pretty that morning, finally started squirming.
And the wildest part? It wasn’t over. Anson and Jeff headed off to dinner together. Under countless watchful gazes, they hopped into Anson’s car and drove to Chinatown. No private room, no hiding—they sat right out in the open, casually ordering food like it was nothing.
Wait… hold up.
No way. Were they actually just grabbing dinner? This wasn’t part of the “act”? This wasn’t some staged PR move for Hollywood’s benefit?
In Hollywood, everyone was guessing, but no one could pin down what was real.
Meanwhile, Anson and Jeff? They couldn’t have been more serious—
They were starving. For real.
When you’re caught up in work, you don’t even notice the hunger creeping in. It gets shoved to the back of your mind. But now, with the smell of cooking oil wafting over, their stomachs roared in protest. A whole day’s worth of hunger hit like a tidal wave, making them feel like they could devour an entire cow.
After ordering, they had to distract themselves while waiting for the food—otherwise, they’d just be drooling over the next table’s plates.
So Jeff steered the conversation back.
“Alfonso Cuarón—I personally really admire him and think he’s got serious potential. Mexican director. Back in 1998, when he did Great Expectations, I noticed him.”
Anson’s eyes widened slightly. “Great Expectations? The Charles Dickens one?”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah, a classic.”
“Ethan Hawke and Gwyneth Paltrow starred in it. Twentieth Century Fox funded it, but sadly, the movie didn’t get much attention.”
Anson admitted he hadn’t seen that one from Cuarón either.
Chapter 1490: Shelved
“Back then, he was still a bit green.”
“You could tell he had some raw ideas, but the studio tied his hands. That youth and inexperience turned into hesitation—he wasn’t quite sure of himself, couldn’t fully figure out his own vision. That uncertainty bled into the film, making it feel… polished, but without an edge.”
“Plus, working with those big-name actors as a young newbie director fresh from Mexico? He was basically a hired gun with zero say. His personal stamp as a filmmaker was barely there—you could hardly spot any real expression of him in that movie.”
“But his next project? That’s when he found his groove.”
Jeff spoke at an easy pace, clearly enjoying the conversation.
You could tell from these little details that Jeff genuinely loved movies. That kind of passion and engagement wasn’t something you saw in most producers—
After all, producers are usually product managers at heart. To them, it’s all about profit, profit, and more profit. A movie’s no different from any other product.
But Jeff? He was different.
Anson felt like he was at the New York Film Festival or something. He jumped in smoothly, “Y tu mamá también.”
Jeff’s eyes lit up with surprise. “Oh, you know that one?”
Of course!
Y tu mamá también was the film that first put Alfonso Cuarón on the map for mainstream audiences. It landed in the main competition at Venice, racked up nominations for Best Foreign Language Film at the Golden Globes, BAFTAs, and the LA Film Festival, and even snagged an Oscar nod for Best Original Screenplay.
That movie was Alfonso’s real ticket into Hollywood—
Though now Anson knew that three years earlier, Alfonso had already dipped his toes in with Great Expectations. But like Jeff said, 20th Century Fox treated him like a hired hand back then. It was just a job, not a creation. Swap in another director, and no one would’ve noticed the difference.
After Y tu mamá también, though, everything changed.
Jeff tapped his forehead with a grin. “Of course you’d know. How could you not? Everyone in Hollywood knows Anson Wood’s a movie buff.”
Anson laughed. “Guess my PR team’s been earning their keep.” That got a chuckle out of Jeff too. “That film’s what landed Alfonso the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban gig, right?”
Jeff nodded. “Not my call, but yeah, that’s how it went.”
“We were still figuring out where to take Harry Potter. The first couple of films leaned into the fairy-tale vibe—Chris Columbus did a solid job—but we couldn’t keep aiming just at kids. We weren’t going to out-Disney Disney. We needed to set ourselves apart. Azkaban was darker, with the Dementors showing up for the first time. We started wondering if we should shake things up, break away from the old style and try something new.”
And that’s how Alfonso ended up in the director’s chair.
“Too bad it didn’t hit the mark we hoped for.”
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is widely seen as the standout of the series. Critics raved, and die-hard film fans showered it with praise. But it didn’t meet the market’s expectations. Family audiences complained it was “too scary,” and the box office hit a series low.
What a shame—it was Alfonso’s only crack at Harry Potter. After that, the series went back to safer, more conservative director choices.
It wasn’t until twenty years later, when Azkaban’s reputation kept climbing, that people started to realize how special Alfonso’s auteur touch was. It stood out as the series’ crown jewel.
Anson nodded. “Still, the film’s reputation proves how much effort the director put into the visual language.”
Jeff gave a small shrug. “Sadly, that doesn’t translate to ticket sales. I know, it’s harsh and ugly, but that’s Hollywood.”
Anson tilted his chin up slightly. “Is that why Warner Bros. shelved Children of Men?”
Jeff shook his head. “No, Children of Men was earlier. I don’t recall the exact timing, but definitely before Azkaban. Though, in a way, you’re not wrong—we didn’t think the project would make money.”
“How do I explain it?”
“It’s like Blade Runner. Twenty-two years later, we all know it’s a classic. There’s even been some chatter inside the company about whether we should revive the franchise—remake, sequel, or reboot. It feels like a project worth exploring.”
“But here’s the thing: back then, even with Harrison Ford attached, it tanked at the box office and got torn apart by critics. It was so bad that Ford swore off sci-fi films for a long, long time.”
“That’s the reality of sci-fi movies.”
“Genre films always have their place, and there are tons of successes out there. Did you know they’re planning another Terminator sequel?”
“But sci-fi’s positioning is always tricky. You’ve got hard sci-fi, soft sci-fi. Honestly, James Cameron treated Aliens and Terminator 2 like disaster flicks, not straight-up sci-fi. When you go hardcore sci-fi, diving into philosophical questions, audiences don’t always bite.”
“Children of Men is like that. It’s got potential—Saving Private Ryan is a great comparison—but its core is soft sci-fi, exploring human existence and religious faith. The tone’s so dark, so heavy, we just didn’t think the market would give a movie like that a shot.”
“And yeah, later on, Azkaban’s results kind of backed up our hunch. Even a Harry Potter film couldn’t turn that tide.”
Jeff spoke calmly, no pretension, like he was just chatting with a friend.
Anson listened closely, and he had to admit—Jeff had a point. “But what about The Passion of the Christ?”
This year’s big controversy, The Passion of the Christ, had already smashed past $600 million globally, shattering every record for an R-rated film with unstoppable force.
Jeff burst out laughing. “So, you’re looking to push people’s buttons even more?”
Anson threw up his hands. “Me? Never. I’m just trying to be everybody’s favorite actor—God’s my witness.”
Jeff cracked up, then shifted gears. “We did think about going the awards-season route, but… whew, you know how those old Academy folks are.”
Anson got it—
Sci-fi films get pigeonholed as commercial fluff.
It’s ridiculous, but in the Academy’s eyes, sci-fi’s just a money-maker. The high-and-mighty Oscars refuse to take it seriously. Films like Blade Runner, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Alien, Terminator, The Matrix, Twelve Monkeys—none of them got any awards-season love.
Fact is, sci-fi has never won Best Picture at the Oscars. It’s treated even worse than comedies.
In the future, Avatar and Gravity would come closest to Oscar gold, but both fell just short of the finish line.
Then Jeff’s tone shifted. “Unless…”
