The memories are so vivid; snatches of conversations like pieces of movies –
instructive, adventurous and always humorous.
“Opera? Me? Never happen,” I said. “I just can’t do it. The last one I saw was La
Bohème with Pavarotti and it just didn’t work for me. Not that I’m
one to talk but, but how was I supposed to believe that Pavarotti was
starving?”
Anthony calmly reassured me. “No, this will not be like that. You are going to
like this opera. You are coming to see Madama Butterfly, which
Carolyn and I are directing. We are making it for the 21st century.”
Carolyn, of course, is Anthony’s wife, who choreographed their version of one
of Puccini’s most famous operas. How could I argue with that?
As it turned out, here was an opera that spoke to me in a way that Anthony’s
movies did. It was about real people who expressed their emotions in a
powerful and moving way. They were not there just to sing. I was transfixed.
That opera was a combination of all his passions rolled into one amazing
experience, and it defined our relationship – the brilliant intellectual
willing to take time to educate the kid from Queens.
I’m not sure when I can watch Truly, Madly, Deeply again, the
movie that introduced me to him. My acquisitions executives in England
passed on the film; two weeks later an assistant at Miramax named Anne
Greenhaul called me herself and said: “You must see this movie.” So I
screened it. I laughed and I wept. And celebrated. By the morning I tracked
down the director, Anthony Minghella, and called him.
“I must have your movie.” “You’re too late,” he said. “It’s gone.” He had
already made a deal with another company.
“I will never be late for you again,” I said.
We met in person soon after and I fell under his spell. Forever my teacher,
commanding a vocabulary as vast as any English professor, yet having the
modesty of the artisan, while forever the artist.
And thus my brother Bob and I began a partnership with Anthony and his agents,
Bryan Lourd and Kevin Huvane. From 1996 to 2008, from The English Patientto
The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, every movie, every decision,
they refereed, but mostly they moved and removed the obstacles. They were
our partners with the Academy Award-winning Sydney Pollack (Anthony’s
partner in Mirage, the production company) in Anthony’s career. There was
nothing written down, just trust and passion.
Bewitched on the set in Cinecittà, watching Anthony direct Juliette Binoche in
The English Patient, was like watching the maestro conduct the
orchestra. In the desert, in Tuscany, he composed his poetry.
Later, I was trying to talk Barbra Streisand into starring in a movie version
of Chicago. I was trying to talk Anthony into directing it. The three
of us went to dinner and Barbra told Anthony and me that The English
Patient was overlong and overpraised. When she left we felt like two
schoolboys scolded.
The movie ended up being nominated for 12 Academy Awards. On Oscar night,
Barbra sat behind Anthony and me at the Shrine Auditorium. “Is this a good
sign or a bad omen?” Anthony whispered to me. And then the parade began.
Nine Oscars, including Best Director for Anthony and Best Picture. And for
all nine wins, Barbra was pounding on our backs, laughing at the irony and
being a good sport. As Anthony said, “She ended up being our good luck
charm.”
“Ripley has to be extraordinary,” Anthony said about The
Talented Mr Ripley,his next movie, the adaptation of the Patricia
Highsmith novel. “Perhaps we should cast someone the audience doesn’t know.”
We showed up with a VHS rough cut of a movie Bob and I were making called Good
Will Hunting.
Anthony sat transfixed by Matt Damon and when it was over said: “He’s Ripley.”
Back to Rome. Back to Cinecittà. The Amalfi Coast. Pasta. Jude. Gwyneth. Italy
revived him, refreshed him. He was English in demeanour, but Italian in his
soul.
On Cold Mountain, the budget prevented filming in Canada or the
Carolinas for any more than six weeks. Shooting in Romania was half the
cost. So there was Anthony, a big smile on his face, with Nicole Kidman,
Renée Zellweger and Jude Law holed up in an off-season ski resort, two hours
from Bucharest. Charles Frazier had his doubts about Romania but he came to
the set and saw that Anthony and Dante Ferretti [the production designer]
created a Carolina more beautiful and more scenic than any of us could have
imagined.
All was good until we ran out of food. So Renée trekked into town to go
shopping. Nicole and Anthony cooked. Ant made a family of the cast and crew.
He was making an intimate movie with 10,000 soldiers – always calm, always
with a good word for everybody, just loving the process and the people. And
those people loved him back.
When Frazier saw a big portion of the film, he beamed. This, more than any
review or any award, made Anthony happy. Pleasing the author. Pleasing
Ondaatje, Frazier, Alexander McCall Smith. He knew, as a playwright, as a
poet, the loneliness and perseverance of the writer. He knew how to make
words and sentences become magic. And he knew when he was blocked and needed
to travel into the world to get refreshed.
I’ve always been jealous of my brother Bob. He gets to use numerals with his
movies and I don’t. He puts out Scream 19, and then does Scary
Movie 35. No one will let me make English Patient 3 or Cold
Mountain 2.
When we found The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, I leapt for joy
when Anthony and Sydney Pollack and the screenwriter Richard Curtis loved
it. Anthony and Richard wanted to show Botswana, as the loving beautiful
place it is, and the people as gorgeous, warm and welcoming. And there’s
Sydney – who made the greatest ever movie about Africa, Out of
Africa – on board to produce. I had my franchise. My numerals. Precious
Ramotswe, the Rubenesque heroine as my James Bond. Except Anthony said:
“It’s a TV series, not a movie.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “No, I’m afraid you are,” he replied.
Curtis was writing the script with Anthony. I had breakfast with Richard and
told him to tell Anthony how brilliant I was and to let me make it a movie.
The following are from the e-mails that Anthony and I later sent to each
other: “Dear Anthony, My meeting with Richard Curtis went as follows: He
said I was the most brilliant man he’d ever met, and if Anthony questions
you on doing No 1 Ladies as a feature film, he is surely misguided.
He said I have complete authority to use his talent as I wish, as well as
his half of the script.
All my best, Harvey.” Anthony’s reply: “He did think he’d actually said you
were the most brilliant man possibly in all of history. Because of this I
have banished him to Bali and he may never be seen again. Be careful of this
Richard Curtis person. He has no sense of humour. I am trying to teach him
jokes by correspondence course. Love, Ant.”
The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency had its premiere on BBC One to
a huge audience. HBO is partnering with us in America. So much for my powers
of persuasion.
Anthony had two partners – his wife, Carolyn, and Sydney. Anthony was Zen to
Sydney’s natural scepticism. He questioned, Anthony answered. They were an
intellectual powerhouse, a one-two punch and as good-hearted as anyone you
will ever meet.
I will miss being in hallways, watching Sydney pacing, thinking, probing –
Anthony listening, solving and salving the wounds of life and the various
movies they produced and directed. Two of our industry’s greats duelling
with words and the confluence of ideas. Their partnership was as heroic, as
it was unlikely. Sydney, my heart reaches out to you.
When I heard that Anthony had passed away, I was in Hong Kong. My first
thought was that it was a bad joke. The business side of what I do stopped
for me. I called my brother Bob. I needed to mourn. I needed to surround
myself with my wife, my children, actors, directors and artists.
When we boarded the plane from Hong Kong to England, to see Anthony’s friends
and family, Eric Robinson – my former assistant and now a brilliant
production executive – gave me an envelope. “I thought the ride would be
perfect for this,” he said.
And for the next hour I cried, laughed and celebrated as I read Anthony
Minghella’s last script, for Nine, the musical that Rob
Marshall will direct. It’s about a director, who’s Italian – part Fellini
and part Minghella – who loses his way, finds his way, and rediscovers the
joy of being; it’s sexy, funny, Italian, Cinecittà, life-affirming.
Forever the teacher, my teacher, he was my great friend, who was there for my
own dance with death when I was sick for three months. His tragic passing
has rekindled my love of making movies. Nine ends with the word
“Action.” I can’t wait until it begins with the same word.
Anthony so loved his time in Botswana on The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency.
He talked to me all the time about the incredible experience he was having
in Africa and his stories were as beautiful as the movie he made. As always,
no one could say it better than Anthony, here, in his own words: “[Being a
director is] probably the hardest thing to talk about because it’s
ridiculous in a way, but I think the job is to love everybody. Just to give
as much love as you can to everybody around you. Maybe my work will suffer
as a result of this, but I’m much more interested in process now. I want us
to leave a good trail behind us.” And he surely did.
I can never forget Anthony, never repay my debt to him. But I will celebrate
him every day for the rest of my life.
This is the fire breathing bastard, Harvey Weinstein? This is a picture "from life's other side", Harvey as a compassionate, appreciative lover of art and artists. Surprising. Sensitive. Satisfying. The guy must have more than chutzpah to amass such a winning track record. He has revealed his secret, love for the people and the projects he supports.
Simon Gribben, Emmaus, PA
Harvey, you make me weep. Eloquence from deep in the soul. Where to find the line between utter sadness and celebration? I too have been captivated since Truly Madly, Deeply. Everything he did was touched with magic. Who will do it now?
Lush on Bondi, Bondi Beach, Australia