"While that wasn't first and foremost in my mind, you can't get into this without being struck, on one side, by how far we've come, and then the other side, by how little things have changed"
About this Quote
Condon’s line lands because it refuses the clean arc we love to impose on cultural history: progress as a straight line, redemption as a tidy third act. He opens with a modest disavowal - “wasn’t first and foremost in my mind” - the director’s way of insisting the work isn’t a sermon. But the sentence immediately undercuts that restraint. Once you “get into this,” he suggests, the material itself becomes an argument you can’t unsee.
The framing is cinematic: a split-screen of time. “On one side” is the comforting montage of advancement - broader rights, wider representation, better language, more visibility. “On the other side” is the smash cut to repetition: the same moral panics, the same gatekeeping, the same power structures learning new vocabulary without changing their instincts. The quote’s power is in that hinge between awe and disappointment; it captures the emotional whiplash of engaging seriously with social history, especially histories of marginalized people that Hollywood has often sanitized or delayed.
Condon, as a director, is also signaling craft. He’s describing what happens when research and storytelling collide: you start with character and plot, and you end up staring at the machinery around them. The subtext is a warning against complacency. If “how far we’ve come” is the line audiences want to hear, “how little things have changed” is the note that keeps the film from becoming a victory lap. It’s an invitation to watch with double vision: celebrate the gains, then interrogate the cost and the leftovers.
The framing is cinematic: a split-screen of time. “On one side” is the comforting montage of advancement - broader rights, wider representation, better language, more visibility. “On the other side” is the smash cut to repetition: the same moral panics, the same gatekeeping, the same power structures learning new vocabulary without changing their instincts. The quote’s power is in that hinge between awe and disappointment; it captures the emotional whiplash of engaging seriously with social history, especially histories of marginalized people that Hollywood has often sanitized or delayed.
Condon, as a director, is also signaling craft. He’s describing what happens when research and storytelling collide: you start with character and plot, and you end up staring at the machinery around them. The subtext is a warning against complacency. If “how far we’ve come” is the line audiences want to hear, “how little things have changed” is the note that keeps the film from becoming a victory lap. It’s an invitation to watch with double vision: celebrate the gains, then interrogate the cost and the leftovers.
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