SOME years ago, when I was producing films at Columbia Pictures, I learned up close how hard it was to make Hollywood get religion. It was in the mid-1990s, and a good writer, earlier nominated for an Oscar, had an earnest modern-day Christ story about a damaged man in Los Angeles who might or might not be the Messiah. “The Greatest Story Ever Told” meets “Falling Down,” more or less.
We tried it out on Columbia executives, but four minutes into the pitch the studio’s production president ran out to take calls. A remaining vice president nodded off in his seat. “At least I’ve got an anecdote,” the writer muttered.
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