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Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials (2015)
In this week’s edition of the Variety Movie Commercial Tracker, powered by iSpot.tv, Twentieth Century Fox’s “Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials” debuted as the movie backed by the most ad dollars this week, replacing last week’s top spot earner “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.,” which fell from the list entirely.
With an estimated $5.35 million spent on national TV ads, “Maze Runner,” the second film in the post-apocalyptic, young adult franchise, claimed the top spot with 621 national airings across 28 networks, led by MTV2 and VH1. Coming in at a close second was The Weinstein Company’s “No Escape,” with an estimated $5.2 million spent, bringing its lifetime total through Sunday to the $12.3 million mark. The Owen Wilson drama made a strong jump from the week prior, where it previously occupied the list’s bottom position.
Returning to the list in the third and fourth positions were “Hitman: Agent 47” and “Sinister 2,” respectively. This week, “Hitman” saw an estimated $4.59 million spent on TV ads for 1,195 national airings across 37 networks led by MTV and BET. Meanwhile, the horror sequel “Sinister 2” saw $4.26 million spent, bring its total to date to $13.44 million.
Much like the top spot, the week’s bottom spot was host to a film making its debut on the list, in this case Warner Bros. “Black Mass,” with $3.38 million spent on 240 national airings across 25 networks, led by MTV and FX.
Overall, the movie industry spent an estimated $44.7 million on TV advertising this week, just little over a million more than the week prior. Twentieth Century Fox led the spending with 24% of that total, followed by Warner Bros at 15.8% and The Weinstein Company at an approximate 12%. Comedy Central was the network that saw the most overall advertising dollars, with an estimated $4.4 million pushed its way, while the ratings-record debut of AMC’s zombie spin-off “Fear the Walking Dead” was the individual program that saw the most TV advertising dollars, with nearly $2.9 million in ads spent. Original Source
Everest (2015)
Universal has released a new trailer for Jake Gyllenhaal’s mountain climbing thriller “Everest,” three months ahead of its September 18 release.
The trailer offers spectacular footage of the world’s highest mountain before showing climbers stuck in snow during brutal blizzard conditions.
Directed by Baltasar Kormákur, the movie recaps the 1996 multi-expedition assault on Everest that left eight climbers dead. Gyllenhaal plays Scott Fischer, with Jason Clarke as Rob Hall, Josh Brolin as Beck Weathers and John Hawkes as Doug Hansen.
Producers are Working Title’s Tim Bevan and Eric Fellner, Cross Creek’s Brian Oliver and Tyler Thompson, as well as Nicky Kentish Barnes.
Jon Krakauer’s bestseller “Into Thin Air” chronicled the commercial expeditions that were caught in a blizzard on the mountain, but is not the basis for the film. “Everest” had been adapted for the screen by Mark Medoff (“Children of a Lesser God”) and Simon Beaufoy (“Slumdog Millionaire”). Original Source
Time Out of Mind (2014)
Richard Gere goes slumming in the streets of Manhattan and emerges with one of his more remarkable performances in “Time Out of Mind,” a haunting piece of urban poetry that further confirms Oren Moverman as a socially conscious filmmaker of rare conviction and authority. Executed in a plot-free observational mode that relatively few American independent filmmakers have attempted this side of early Ramin Bahrani, this simple story of a vagrant slowly grasping the depths of his despair is New York neorealism par excellence, bearing patient, resonant witness to the everyday trials and indignities suffered by America’s homeless population. Unfolding deliberately over the course of two hours, Moverman’s spare, soulful character study will prove a challenging sit for non-festival audiences, but couldn’t be more deserving of careful handling by an equally brave and uncompromising distributor.
In his 2009 debut, “The Messenger,” Moverman found a raw, mournful power in the plight of Middle American families who had lost servicemen to the Iraq War; he followed it in 2011 with “Rampart,” a gritty and visceral thriller about a corrupt Los Angeles cop. Joining its predecessors to form a loose trilogy on social woes across the U.S., “Time Out of Mind” represents a radical formal shift for the writer-director, conceived in a rigorous, unyielding style that feels closer to certain strains of European realist/minimalist cinema than to anything currently occupying American arthouse screens. For that reason, the film also represents a rare step backward in terms of commercial appeal, though it could attract viewers on the basis of Gere’s involvement alone (he also produced).
Although we don’t learn his name until later in the proceedings, the homeless man who’s onscreen for almost every minute is George Hammond (Gere), whom we first see awakening in a bathtub in an empty and dilapidated apartment, where he’s promptly thrown out by the building manager (Steve Buscemi, one of several pros, like Kyra Sedgwick, Michael K. Williams and Jeremy Strong, who blend seamlessly into these nondescript environs). Emerging into the harsh New York daylight sporting several days’ worth of scruff and a few unexplained forehead scratches, George has nowhere to go in particular, except in search of his next meal and place to sleep. He wanders the streets, rides the subway and lingers on park benches, occasionally popping into a nearby bar or laundromat to see a young woman named Maggie (Jena Malone). From the way she rebuffs his attempts, we almost immediately grasp that she’s his estranged daughter.
We will return to Maggie in due course, but not until after George is left with no choice but to spend a couple of nights at Bellevue, the largest homeless shelter for men in Manhattan, where the film begins to simulate the look and texture of a Wiseman documentary. Moverman guides us through every step of the tediously long process of checking in and acquiring a bed for the night: the endless wait for George’s number to get called; the barrage of questions about his personal history in exchange for a meal voucher; and the noisy, disruptive altercations that frequently break out among the center’s mostly black population, some of whom don’t take too kindly to the presence of white men like George in their midst. Everyone here seems both isolated and imprisoned, not just the men looking for a place to shower and sleep, but also the jaded workers forced to shuttle people around in a clearly broken system.
“I’m just a fuck-up. Probably always was,” George says at one point, which is about as much as he’s able or willing to divulge about himself to his interrogators or the audience. In a manner that will seem uncannily accurate to anyone who’s spent time interacting with the homeless, George has a habit of either repeating himself absent-mindedly or seeming not to understand the simplest questions — a tic that doesn’t suggest memory loss so much as a curious form of evasion and denial. It’s the lie behind that “probably always was” that seems to fascinate Moverman, and it’s not until George finds himself in the company of an endlessly talkative fellow wanderer (wonderfully played by the stage and screen veteran Ben Vereen), who will neither shut up nor let his new comrade go, that he finds the courage to open up, briefly, about the life he once had and lost.
In that regard, the fact that we never fully forget we’re watching Richard Gere as a homeless man is no more problematic than the fact that we never quite forgot we were watching Robert Redford as a sailor in “All Is Lost,” to cite another recent feat of movie-star acting at its most stripped-to-the-bone. Indeed, that we’re so accustomed to perceiving Gere as the sleek, silver-haired man of business and privilege only serves to reinforce the idea that poverty is not strictly the realm of those who are born into it; watching George onscreen, you can’t help but imagine if this could be the future fate of the white-collar crook the actor played in “Arbitrage.” You also can’t help but wonder how many New Yorkers barged past the old guy begging for spare change, not realizing it was Gere underneath the black beanie and old coat, while Moverman and his crew secretly filmed from afar.
There is the occasional sly wink at the fact that this particular transient was once, in another life, America’s most potent male sex symbol (one social worker can’t resist referring to George as “Handsome”). Yet that good-looking face is now tired and careworn, attached to a body that has seen better, slimmer days. Gere gives a beautifully judged performance, plain and true, and one for which he appears to have purged every trace of actorly vanity or self-consciousness.
At once non-didactic and intensely political in its intimate snapshot of American poverty, “Time Out of Mind” is also a fascinating exercise in form, one that achieves its immersive effect by alternating between visual deprivation and aural overload. Bobby Bukowski, the versatile d.p. who lensed Moverman’s first two features, here favors purposefully disorienting, limited-vantage compositions that keep us from getting our bearings, and he’s fond of shooting Gere through windows and screens, conveying a sense of the character’s trapped state and the city’s many invisible layers. The soundtrack, meanwhile, continually seethes with the natural sounds of urban life, with traffic, fire-engine sirens and other people’s conversations forever spilling in from outside the frame; few recent films have so convincingly depicted the hell of not being able to sleep in silence.
The film is named after Bob Dylan’s 30th studio album — a fitting choice, considering Moverman and Gere met while working on Todd Haynes’ Dylan extravaganza “I’m Not There.” Which, come to think of it, would have made no less suitable a title. Original Source
Sleeping with Other People (2015)
At a time when audiences are more friendly to raunch-coms than to rom-coms, writer-director Leslye Headland tries to split the difference in “Sleeping With Other People.” Essentially an updated “When Harry Met Sally … ” with texting (or, as Headland described the characters at the Sundance preem, “with a–holes”), two quippy New Yorkers spend more than 90 minutes trying to answer whether a man and a woman can be friends without romance entering the picture. Adhering pretty strictly to romantic-comedy conventions, the pic feels too broad for the arthouse and too small for the multiplex, leaving it in an uncomfortable commercial gray area.
Headland gets the meet-cute out of the way in the first scene, as Lainey (Alison Brie) makes a spectacle in a college dorm yelling at the top of her lungs and banging on the door of the unseen object of her affection. Jake (Jason Sudeikis) pulls her away to cool off in his room and proceeds to smoothly seduce her with smart-aleck humor and putdowns of the mystery man who stood her up (“he’s the Pontiac Aztec of people”). Naturally, they wind up sleeping together on the roof of the dorm.
Twelve years later, Jake has been dumped by the latest in a string of girlfriends for his chronic infidelity, while Lainey confesses to her b.f. (Adam Brody, stealing his single scene) that she’s been sleeping with someone else. That leads them both to the same sex-addiction meeting, where they walk out and strike up the platonic friendship that eluded them in college. (Lainey simply disappeared after their night together.) Turns out they’re both stuck in time: Lainey still carries a torch for her college crush, Matthew Sobvechik (Adam Scott, deliberately ditching his usual charm), now a married OB-GYN with a creepy moustache who doesn’t mind indulging Lainey’s occasional booty calls, and Jake hasn’t been able to find a woman who satisfies him emotionally since college.
As Jake and Lainey banter endlessly, and sometimes amusingly, it never occurs to them that being in a relationship with each other might actually solve their problems. Their obliviousness feels more like a romantic-comedy convention than anything that arises organically from the characters, try as Headland might to give her leads more layers than the genre norm.
The attempt works better for Lainey, since Brie is an actress capable of shifting on a dime from broad physical comedy (her ecstasy-spiked dance to David Bowie’s “Modern Life” at a kiddie birthday party is a comic high point, choreographed by Mandy Moore) to subtle drama (Lainey’s tortured affair with Matthew could constitute its own, potentially more interesting, film). Sudeikis seems most at ease in wisecracking mode and perhaps consequently, Jake never feels as deeply developed, despite the script’s insistence that multiple characters try to psychoanalyze why he can’t commit to another person.
Among the supporting cast, Jason Mantzoukas is funny in a stock best-friend role; Amanda Peet develops a natural chemistry with Sudeikis in the role of Secondary Love Interest Who Never Has a Chance (somewhat awkwardly upstaging the lesser sparks generated when the leads are together); and Natasha Lyonne is underused as Brie’s own stock best pal. Andrea Savage pairs nicely with Mantzoukas in a mini-portrait of a functional marriage — the duo generate some of the biggest laughs in an improv sequence over the end credits.
Headland demonstrated little interest in playing it safe with her previous film, “Bachelorette,” a sour-and-sweet concoction that at times went overboard in grappling with the dark sides and psychological damage of its main characters. But here she reins in that impulse almost too much, and “Sleeping With Other People” winds up both looking (with its adequate but unremarkable tech package) and often feeling like a run-of-the-mill studio comedy — albeit one with a killer scene in which Jake advises Lainey on the art of vaginal stimulation, using an empty green-tea bottle as a visual aid. A little more where that came from would have kept “Sleeping” from feeling so snoozy. Original Source
Despite its magnificent natural vistas and some pulse-pounding action in stunning 3D, “Wolf Totem” boils down to a familiar environmentalist allegory that doesn’t move or provoke too deeply. A wildlife drama centered on a Chinese man who embraces the spirit of the Mongolian wolf, the Sino-Gallic co-production is helmed by Jean-Jacques Annaud (“Enemy at the Gates,” “Seven Years in Tibet”), whose adaptation of Jiang Rong’s semi-autobiographical novel offers a simplistic interpretation of the author’s Blakean political visions. With a reportedly $38 million budget, the pic boasts outstanding production values that will represent its biggest draw, but the rural setting and arthouse trappings may alienate mainland viewers in the mood for glossy urban romances during Chinese New Year.
A former editor of the political magazine Beijing Spring who was imprisoned for three years following the student movement of June 4, 1989, Jiang (real name Lu Jiamin) spent 11 years in Inner Mongolia as a herder at the height of the Cultural Revolution. Published in 2004, the novel became a national hit and sold 20 million copies domestically (second only to Mao Zedong’s “Little Red Book”) and has been translated into 10 languages. It has also courted much controversy, derided as “fascist” or “Han Chinese bashing,” as well as prescribed as a gangster manual in parts of China. Yet, it’s easy to see why Annaud would see a kindred spirit in the author, whose literary themes of Darwinian survival, nature vs. civilization, and humans learning from animals mirror the elemental motifs of the director’s “The Bears” and “Two Brothers.”
In 1967, Beijing intellectuals Chen Zhen (William Feng Shaofeng) and Yang Ke (Shawn Dou) join a party-led “production team” in Inner Mongolia to improve the livelihood of the nomads, as well as droves of Han Chinese migrating to the area. Among the first generation of urban youths to volunteer to move to the countryside to learn from the peasants, Chen ends up receiving a startling higher education from the wolves that roam the vast plains. He barely escapes, but the hair-raising encounter arouses his fascination with these creatures. He befriends the sagacious Mongolian chief Bilig (Basen Zhabu), who imparts his knowledge about lupine behavior and explains their importance in balancing the ecosystem.
Bilig takes Chen to watch a pack of wolves ambush a herd of gazelles, and the cinematography by Jean-Marie Dreujou, who lensed Annaud’s “Two Brothers,” rivetingly conveys a palpable sense of the animals’ killer instinct. In the film’s most compelling chase sequence, the camera soars over the snow-blanketed grassland to capturing the startling speed and superior intelligence of the wolves as they advance on the gazelles and force them onto a frozen lake.
Chen, Yang and Bilig’s son Batar are entrusted by production-unit cadre Bao Shungui (Yin Zhusheng) to tend a stable of horses bred for the PLA cavalry. To protect the horses and other livestock, Bao gives orders to raid the wolves’ lairs and kill all their cubs, but Chen rescues a cub and secretly raises it. The Chinese greed and disregard for the laws of the grassland provoke the beasts into vicious retaliation, in another pulsating setpiece that trounces many an action scene in war or martial-arts films: an unflinchingly brutal struggle involving wolves, horses, sheep, dogs and humans.
Elsewhere, however, the tension falters as “Wolf Totem” gets bogged down by its dull dramatization of the friction between human society and the animal kingdom. Lamenting the destruction of the Mongolians’ traditional way of life by Bao’s ignorant, hardline party policies and the Chinese settlers’ plundering of natural resources, Annaud brings no new perspective to environmental themes long expounded on in the West. He also swerves from what really stirs interest here — the dynamics of the wolves, explored in his usual penetrating ethnographic detail. Moreover, since the screenplay has considerably softened the devastation described by the author with such hand-wringing alarm, the final confrontation between man and beast doesn’t attain the level of tragic grandeur intended.
In Jiang’s novel, the protag develops a life-long obsession with wolves, which makes him ponder questions of racial character and historical destiny. As Bilig explained, Genghis Khan devised his battle strategies by studying wolves’ hunting tactics, and like these lone rangers, the Mongolians would rather have died fighting than be fettered or sedated. This maverick spirit is hailed by Chen, the author’s alter ego, in contrast with the docile “sheep” mentality of the Chinese, who evolved from an agrarian society. But this thought-provoking cultural-political subtext largely fades from the film, which depicts Chen’s intellectual research on wolves as mere doting affection for a pet a la “Born Free.”
Character development has never been Annaud’s forte; humans pale in the company of such majestic beasts. Feng, a seasoned actor, turns in a convincing performance as the naive but warm-hearted Chen, but even he fails to develop much emotion heft. The possibility of romance between Chen and Bilig’s daughter-in-law, Gasma (Ankhnyam Ragchaa), arrives late in the film and is too muted to engage, while there’s little sense of camaraderie or rapport between Chen and Yang, who is pushed so far to the story’s periphery as to seem almost gratuitous by his presence at all.
The production reportedly took three years so that the wolves could be trained from the cub stage, and they exert a mysterious, hypnotic collective presence. However, unlike the tigers in “Two Brothers” or the cub and the grizzly in “The Bear,” they display no distinct traits individually; even the cub Chen raises is no more than a cuddly, furry bundle.
Craft contributions are superb, especially CG effects of the animals in motion, thanks to the fleet of VFX companies deployed (including Piximondo). The spectacular locations are brought to life by Dreujou’s meticulous widescreen compositions, while James Horner’s score, which provides strong emotional sweep in the non-dialogue scenes, risks being overwrought elsewhere. Original Source
Filmmaking doesn’t get more traditional or timeless than Chinese master Zhang Yimou’s “Coming Home,” a family drama of guilt, love and reconciliation set during the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution. Heartbreaking in its depiction of ordinary lives affected by political upheaval, this ode to the fundamental values that survive even under such dire circumstances has an epic gravity that recalls another great historical romance, “Doctor Zhivago.” While younger viewers may find Zhang’s classical style and grungy period backdrop too unfashionable to engage, the film’s rich melodramatic thrust has opened the floodgates for domestic audiences, grossing nearly $19.6 million in five days. Sony Classics will release the film Stateside.
“Coming Home” is adapted from the novel “The Criminal Lu Yanshi” by American-based novelist Yan Geling, whose “The 13 Flowers of Nanjing” was adapted into Zhang’s “The Flowers of War.” While Yan’s fiction traced Lu’s life from his youth as a rich Shanghainese dandy and American educated intellectual, the screenplay by Zou Jingzhi (‘The Grandmaster,” Zhang’s “Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles”) focuses only on the final stages of his life, thus allowing Zhang to eschew the heavy-handed bombast of “Flowers” in favor of the august simplicity of his other works set in the same milieu, “Under the Hawthorne Tree” and “The Road Home.”
It’s China in the early ’70s. Middle-school teacher Feng Wanyu (Gong Li, who last collaborated with Zhang in 2006’s “Curse of the Golden Flower”) is married to college professor Lu Yanshi (Chen Daoming, “Back to 1942”), who was branded a rightist and sent away for “re-education.” Her teenage daughter, Dandan (newcomer Zhang Huiwen), who’s grown up with no memories of her father, is a promising dancer in a propaganda ballet troupe. One day, mother and daughter receive news of Lu’s escape; they’re warned by the district party officials to “draw a clear line” and report him if necessary. Lu sneaks back home and runs into Dandan, who, hankering after the role of first ballerina, falls for the bait of a party spy and turns her father in.
Zhang’s directing chops can be seen in the choreography of Lu’s secret return home, a nail-biting balancing act confined to one compact location. Dandan’s betrayal of Lu, which unfolds at lightning speed across a busy train station, fuses the thrill of a classic chase with the agony of Feng’s frantic attempt and failure to save him from capture.
The story proper begins after the end of the Cultural Revolution years later, when Lu is exonerated and discharged from a labor camp in the northwest. He returns to find Feng suffering from amnesia, probably caused by a head injury on the day of his re-arrest. With the assistance of Dandan, who has quit ballet to work in a factory, Lu tries every way he can to make Feng recognize him. As both undergo their own rehabilitation, the couple’s romantic history is partly resuscitated through souvenirs of the past — an old photo, unsent letters, a piano tune Lu plays. Feng’s fractured memory holds unimaginable pain, culminating in the disclosure of a terrible sacrifice she made in exchange for Lu’s safety.
Chen Qigang’s score, drawn from vintage Chinese revolutionary symphonies performed by concert pianist Lang Lang, is unabashedly sentimental, accentuating Lu’s hopes and disappointments with each endeavor to jog Feng’s memory, like the rise and fall of musical movements. Although the protags’ devotion to each other takes opposing forms — one dwells in the past, while the other tries to undo it — they both exemplify enduring love and loyalty.
The social context of Lu and Feng’s relationship may seem dated to some contempo audiences, but the course of Dandan’s fall and redemption is particularly relevant to China’s current one-child generation. Dandan may have been indoctrinated to put party above family, but the overriding motive of her betrayal is a self-centered one, which explains her bafflement when Feng tells her, “I’ve cared about no one but you all your life. It’s time I think about your father.” The moment when Dandan musters enough courage and humility to confess her treachery reps one of the most tear-inducing scenes in mainland cinema since the mother-daughter reunion in Feng Xiaogang’s “Aftershock” (which also starred Chen Daoming).
Those who accuse the film of skirting around its political context by not directly recounting events of the Cultural Revolution might well be reminded that Feng’s amnesia can be read as the collective denial of a past too painful to recall — the film’s political implication being that even if history is forgotten, the trauma continues. The poignant ending, which evokes compromised happiness in an imperfect world, nonetheless extols forgiveness and acceptance as the only way to move on.
In a film that focuses exclusively on three characters, with a few cameos by popular thesps like Guo Tao and Yan Ni, Chen Daoming shoulders the brunt of the drama, exuding dignity and tenderness; by contrast, Gong can be uneven, overplaying her character’s mental infirmity and acting very stiff when she ages in the later reels. True to the helmer’s gift for scouting new talent, bright-eyed Zhang Huiwen is a discovery, meeting the role’s demands with flying colors as she grows from spoiled, headstrong girl into humbled, responsible adult.
Craft contributions are excellent, as befits a film by Zhang Yimou. The action is mostly set around the authentically constructed and gloomily lit housing block where the Lu family lives, and the train station where Feng goes ritually to wait for Lu’s return. The concentration of location never feels monotonous; instead, it makes room for the enthralling human drama to unfold. While the music may be quite old-school, the Dolby Atmos sound mix renders key audio elements in certain scenes bright and clear, such as a torrential rain. Original Source
EXCLUSIVE AND UPDATED, 10:22 AM: Samuel Goldwyn Films, which released the former faith-based film Fireproof to phenomenal box office success, has just acquired Giving Films’ 90 Minutes in Heaven and will distribute the film on September 11 in 800 theaters. Based on Don Piper’s New York Times best-selling autobiography of the same name, the Giving Films feature stars Christensen (Star Wars II and III) and Kate Bosworth (Superman Returns) as Don and Eva Piper. Michael Polish (The Astronaut Farmer) directs from his own script about Piper’s near-death experience after a horrific car crash.
90 Minutes in Heaven is the latest entry in a string of faith-based films in recent years. On a $500,000 budget raised by the Sherwood church, Goldwyn’s Fireproof ended up grossing $33.4M when they released the film in 2008. It was considered an anomaly at the time. However, Sherwood did it again in 2011, when on a $2M budget, TriStar released Courageous which opened to $9.1M and went onto make $34.5M. Since then, a number of faith-based films have found profit with God’s Not Dead from Freestyle releasing and Son of God from Fox. Where Hollywood sees money, it will go. Lionsgate is also gearing up for their own faith-based film — The Shack, based on the best selling Christian novel by William Paul Young.
Like 90 Minutes in Heaven, another faith-based film Heaven is for Real was based on a bestselling book. It was made into a movie with Randall Wallace co-scripting and directing and became one of the most profitable films for Sony when they released it last year; on a modest budget of $12M net after rebate the film grossed over $100M worldwide. Samuel Goldwyn also released Walden Media’s Amazing Grace with Benedict Cumberbatch, Albert Finney and Michael Gambon in 2006, which I heard was a pretty darn good film.
Rick Jackson, Randall Emmett, Dawn Olmstead, Michael Polish and George Furla produced 90 Minutes in Heaven. Executive producers are Wayne Marc Godfrey, Ted Fox, Trevor Drinkwater and Jason Netter. The book was actually written by Piper and Cecil Murphey.
Piper’s story begins on January 18, 1989, when a semi-tractor truck crushed him in his car. Declared dead by the first rescue workers to arrive on the scene of the collision, his body lay under a tarp for the next 90 minutes. At the moment he was hit, simultaneously, he was surrounded by a host of people who had preceded him in death (including his grandfather). He was also encompassed by white light, the most beautiful aromas and colors he had ever encountered, love, and joy beyond the human experience. “I was embraced by God. I felt His presence. I saw His angels,” Piper told Deadline. He was afraid to tell people what he experienced at first for fear he would be judged. “When you put yourself out there and start to talk about the experience you had, you become very vulnerable. And people will make fun of you, and ridicule you. I get that, but it did happen. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if it didn’t happen to me.”
As he tells Deadline, “I waited 14 years to write the book. It was a sacred secret,” said Piper. “I reluctantly put it down on paper with the hope that I would be able to move on with the remainder of my life on earth. I was 38 when the truck hit me. I had 13 months of laying in a hospital bed.” When Piper eventually was revived, he experienced excruciating, debilitating pain and emotional turmoil.
“They told me I would never walk again. I was in a wheelchair for some time after that,” he said. He can walk again but one leg is longer than the other.
“I was so confused as I was on my way to church to Bible study when this happened. I thought, I came back (from death) to this?” said Piper. “But then I realized that after something like this (that which brings you to your knees), it’s about learning to embrace the new normal and that’s where people get hung up. People have to realize that you must turn your test into a testimony, and turn the pain into purpose.” He said that one point he was so angry at God that he made a fist and shook it at Him. He said he heard God at one point tell him “to take the fist you are shaking at Me and open it to extend as a hand to others.”
With the support and prayers of his wife Eva (Bosworth), their three children and friends near and far, Piper clung to his faith in God and fought to regain a semblance of his previous life.
“We formed Giving Films to tell quality faith-friendly stories with top production values,” said Giving Films founder Rick Jackson, one of the movie’s producers. “Samuel Goldwyn Films on distribution is a welcome extension of our drive for quality.” Giving Films funnels 100 percent of profits to charities.
“90 Minutes In Heaven is the story of a man holding on to what he knows to be true in the midst of great physical and emotional trials,” Meyer Gottlieb, president of Samuel Goldwyn Films, said. “This is exactly the type of story Goldwyn wants to help tell.”Original Source
