This year's Academy Awards nominees reflect a Hollywood truism: The margin between the dust bin and the Oscar red carpet is often razor thin.
The development process of any film can be lengthy and arduous, full of challenges in obtaining financing or a studio executive's stamp of approval. The biggest obstacle on the road to the Academy Awards is, for many films, simply getting a green light.
That's especially true nowadays, when studios have pulled back on their output and turned their focus almost exclusively to blockbusters. It makes for an annual Oscar irony: When Hollywood gathers to celebrate itself at the Academy Awards, it fetes not its standard business, but its oddities, its rarities, its freaks that somehow managed to squeeze through the cracks.
"The Wolf of Wall Street," for example, might seem like a no-brainer: Martin Scorsese, Leonardo DiCaprio, loads of sex and drugs. But even "The Wolf," nominated for five Oscars including best picture, came very close to never getting made. After developing the film, Warner Bros. dropped it in 2008. Scorsese would later lament having "wasted about five months of my life" waiting for the Warner Bros.' OK that never came.
It wasn't until years later (and after other directors were considered) that the project came together, with independent film company Red Granite Pictures financing the film's $100 million budget, and Paramount Pictures distributing.
"It's actually kind of a miracle that this movie happened, especially the fact that we were allowed to keep the tone that we wanted all the way to the end," says DiCaprio. "When was the last time you saw a film like this happen? I don't know. It doesn't fit into any specific category or box. It's an epic. It's a giant Hollywood epic. It's almost like a film you'd have to make 30 or 40 years ago when directors had free rein."
The bet paid off not only in accolades, but at the box office. "The Wolf of Wall Street" has made more than $335 million worldwide.
The case of "Dallas Buyers Club" (six nominations, including best picture) is even more remarkable. A film that's now counted among the nine best of the year by the Academy took nearly two decades to get made. Co-producer and co-screenwriter Craig Borten first sold the script in 1996 after meeting and interviewing Ron Woodroof, a Texan who combated AIDS with drugs smuggled from other countries.
At one time, Woody Harrelson was attached to star with Dennis Hopper directing. Later, after the script was sold to Universal Pictures, Brad Pitt was lined up to play Woodroof, with Marc Forster directing. Another iteration brought in Ryan Gosling and director Craig Gillespie.
It was only revived with Matthew McConaughey (the best actor front-runner) and director Jean-Marc Vallee after the rights to the screenplay went dormant and Borten and co-producer Melisa Wallack were able to buy them back. And still, just weeks before filming began, investors pulled their money.
The breach was filled partly because McConaughey gave it an air of inevitability. He had already begun losing weight for the role and discussed it on TV talk shows.
Made for just $5 million and shot in 25 days, "Dallas Buyers Club" finally got made, long after AIDS dwindled from the headlines. Specialty division Focus Features acquired the film, which has made $30.5 million worldwide.
Several of the Oscar nominees have relied on a single person to change their fate. When "12 Years a Slave" director Steve McQueen accepted the Golden Globe award for best drama, he thanked producer Brad Pitt: "Without you, this film would have never got made."
Similar kudos have gone to the young producer Megan Ellison, whose Annapurna Pictures bankrolled two best-picture nominees: David O. Russell's "American Hustle" (jointly with Sony Pictures) and Spike Jonze's "Her" (released by Warner Bros.). The 28-year-old Ellison, daughter of billionaire Larry Ellison, has been roundly hailed for backing the kind of edgy, auteur-oriented films that are struggling to find financing. (In recent years, she's produced "Zero Dark Thirty," ''The Master" and "True Grit.")
But such deep-pocketed, director-friendly financiers are few, and the route is exceptionally narrow for the kind of prestigious pictures honored at the Oscars.
With "Nebraska" (nominated for six Oscars, including best picture), filmmaker Alexander Payne managed a seemingly impossible feat: getting a studio (Paramount) to produce a black-and-white film. But it took lengthy negotiations, and had to survive a series of film division closings. "Nebraska" was first with Paramount Classics, then Paramount Vantage, and finally ended up with Paramount Pictures.
The domino-effect journey of "Nebraska" reflects a larger shift in the industry. Particularly over the last decade, studios have moved away from smaller and medium-sized dramas, instead concentrating resources on blockbuster and genre releases that can earn hundreds of millions globally.
Payne's mantra is advocating for the $20-25 million adult comedy or drama. Instead of always swinging for the fences, he believes in the more reliable double.
In the current climate, the handful of ambitious, adult-oriented films that do get produced are almost exclusively appraised through the prism of Hollywood's awards season. The strange effect is that these few films that have clawed their way onto screens are then set against each other for months of Oscar wrangling.
"The eight, 10, 12 good English-language films are all released in the last quarter of the year and expected to gird for battle for Oscars and Golden Globes and all that stuff," says Payne. "And they're just movies. They may be fragile movies, human movies. They just need to find an audience on their own without having comparative judgment made along with it."
