Death in Heaven

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It was a standing ovation nearly two decades in the making.

When the closing credits of “Death in Heaven” began to roll in the Lincoln Center on December 6, the audience rose to its feet in applause-an amazing accomplishment after three rather violent hours. Ron Lundquist, the film’s 73-year-old director, tried to prevent the audience from seeing his tears, but it was a doomed effort. Eventually, the white-haired filmmaker rose to his feet and mouthed “I love you” to his fans.

Everyone attending the premiere knew the long, tortuous journey “Death in Heaven” took to the big screen. Back in 1999, the acclaimed Swedish director read about the experiences of African-American soldiers stationed in Australia during World War II, and became so fascinated by the topic that he wrote a screenplay about a black soldier from Georgia named Thomas Griffin, stationed in Brisbane in 1942, who falls in love with a local woman named Alice Duffy and resolves to bring her back to America as his bride.

The success of “Titanic” and “Saving Private Ryan” convinced Lundquist that there would be a strong public appetite for a film that combined an ill-fated romance with a World War II epic. Unfortunately, Hollywood told Lundquist he was wrong: virtually every major studio and production company he pitched turned him down, telling him that an interracial gaziantep escort romance/war movie was the textbook definition of box-office poison. One investor sarcastically told him he’d be glad to finance the film, so long as it could obtain a PG rating in the United States.

Lundquist put his script aside and spent the next two decades cranking out generic Hollywood action thrillers, ones that sold plenty of tickets but failed to satisfy his creative desires. However, he never abandoned his dream of making “Death in Heaven.” He just needed the right names and the right moment.

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On a bitterly cold day in February of 2016, Lundquist walked into the Loews Lincoln Square to see the 2:30pm showing of “Hawkhunter.” He hated the superhero movies that clogged the multiplexes, but his friends convinced him that this was like no other superhero movie he had ever seen.

Before the film started, he looked at his fellow moviegoers. He was the oldest man in the theatre, and he wondered what the young, diverse crowd must have thought of this old foreign dude in the rumpled coat and brown tie.

Then, after twenty minutes of coming attractions for seemingly endless sequels, “Hawkhunter” began-and Lundquist was transfixed by the film’s star, Bobby Langston, a handsome, charismatic konya escort actor with impossibly smooth chocolate skin he had not heard of previously. He found the storyline fairly lame and derivative-a young man viciously attacked by a hawk who suddenly finds himself in possession of the animal’s powers-but he couldn’t take his eyes off Langston. He knew that this young man would be perfect to play Thomas Griffin.

Days later, Lundquist was invited to the US premiere of the Australian hit film “Nasturtiums,” about the painter and artist’s model Edith Susan Gerard Anderson. The film’s star, Darcy O’Donovan, had won an AACTA Best Actress award for her performance, an honor that Lundquist believed was richly deserved; the director was drawn to her sharp wit and vibrant personality, as well as her creamy pale skin, vibrant red hair and bright green eyes. That’s Alice Duffy, he thought.

“Hawkhunter” became the year’s biggest box-office hit, and “Nasturtiums” yielded O’Donovan another award-the Oscar for Best Actress. In a New York Times interview two days after her Oscar win, O’Donovan mentioned how much she loved “Hawkhunter,” and expressed her desire to work with Langston one day. As soon as Lundquist saw those words, he was on the phone to his agent.

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As he watched “Death in Heaven,” kayseri escort Lundquist thought back to the long hours of filming in Queensland, the nearly year-long editing process, the executives at Caledonia Pictures who kept pressuring him to cut at least thirty minutes, the years of frustration he had to endure before this picture could be made.

Then, he saw onscreen the love scene he had scripted all those years ago, just as he had envisioned it back in 1999: Thomas and Alice unable to restrain their passion any longer, stripping away each other’s clothing in frenzied arousal, his black hands frantic all over her pale white body, his lips on her cheeks, neck, shoulders, breasts and stomach, her delicate hands gripping his firm ass as he thrusted away in erotic enthusiasm, her voice quivering with lust in what would be her finest, and final, moment with her American lover prior to his demise in battle. Lundquist adored the scene and thought it was the finest moment of his career.

The film ended with an elderly Alice traveling to Georgia to visit Thomas’s grave. After telling Thomas she would always love him, she kissed his headstone, and the film dissolved to the final kiss Alice and Thomas shared after their passionate night of lovemaking. The closing credits appeared, the lights rose, and the audience applauded enthusiastically.

Before leaving the Lincoln Center, Lundquist walked over to Langston and O’Donovan and thanked them again for helping to make his dream real. He then left the Lincoln Center, hailed a cab, and headed back to his Fifth Avenue apartment. After two decades of restless sleep, he figured, he needed a good night’s rest.

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