Steven Spielberg

I turned away, and my dad was half in the street with his window rolled down, gesturing frantically for me to come over.

And I ran over to the car, and he just looked like the Grim Reaper, and he just handed me this letter from Selective Service.

And I opened it up, and it just basically was the letter from the draft board asking me to report for my first physical.

And I was shocked.

It was a death sentence.

I couldn't believe what was happening.

My dad opened the door, assuming I was going to leave the line and drive home with him.

And I said, no, I want to see the movie.

And I took the letter, though, with me, and I went back in line.

And all I could think about was going to Vietnam.

And then the movie, I got my seat.

Lights went down.

Dr. Strangelove began.

And about five minutes into Strangelove, I forgot my dad had ever pulled up in the car.

And the movie completely swarmed all of my five senses.

I didn't even think about the letter that was in my pocket until I was halfway home on a bus.

The way that that movie overwhelmed you, made you forget for however long it was that what was going on in the outside world, I think it's fair to say that that is something that you have tried to recreate as a filmmaker, if I'm not mistaken.

And I want to talk about you as a filmmaker more broadly.

When we were preparing here at The Daily to talk to you, we got into a very spirited debate about what makes a Spielberg film a Spielberg film.

Is it awe and wonder?