Chapter 95: The Weight of the Law (7)
It's currently the summer of 1992.
Schindler’s List hadn’t even finished casting yet, let alone begun filming. Thanks to that, Director Spielberg still looked relatively sane.
That’s precisely why I came early. If I’d shown up in the middle of filming, he might’ve lost his temper and kicked me out.
“It’s been a while. Did you come after seeing the news too?”
Spielberg looked at me with eyes that said, Aren’t we not even close? I gave him a serious piece of advice.
“Yes. Honestly speaking, yes. I believe this film is going to be a tremendous success.”
There are hardly any directors who dislike successful films. Not because of money alone, but because success—measured by profits more than anything—usually signifies widespread public satisfaction.
“Haha, well, thanks for saying so. Other folks and I—none of us think this movie will sell. Kids these days don’t like black-and-white films, so I’ve been pretty worried... But since a young person’s saying it, I suppose I should trust it.”
A not-even-50 Spielberg chuckled in response. I continued, carefully.
“I understand your intent, and... I won’t be so rude as to ask you to revoke your donation. However, you’ll likely end up donating far more than you originally anticipated.”
He looked at me with a smile.
“That’s fine. I’m already financially free. Even if it were Jurassic Park’s profits and not Schindler’s List, I’d willingly give it up for the sake of my convictions.”