Questões de Inglês

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.

THE INSIDE STORY

[1] I live in the storytelling capital of the world. I tell

stories for a living. You’re probably familiar with many

of my films, from Rain Man and Batman to Midnight

Express to Gorillas in the Mist to this year’s The Kids

[5] Are All Right.

But in four decades in the movie business, I’ve

come to see that stories are not only for the big

screen, Shakespearean plays, and John Grisham

novels. I’ve come to see that they are far more than

[10] entertainment. They are the most effective form of

human communication, more powerful than any other

way of packaging information. And telling purposeful

stories is certainly the most efficient means of

persuasion in everyday life, the most effective

[15] way of translating ideas into action, whether you’re

green-lighting a $90 million film project, motivating

employees to meet an important deadline, or getting

your kids through a crisis.

PowerPoint presentations may be powered by

[20] state-of-the-art technology. But reams of data rarely

engage people to move them to action. Stories, on

the other hand, are state-of-the-heart technology—

they connect us to others. They provide emotional

transportation, moving people to take action on

[25] your cause because they can very quickly come

to psychologically identify with the characters in a

narrative or share an experience—courtesy of the

images evoked in the telling.

Equally important, they turn the audience/

[30] listeners into viral advocates of the proposition,

whether in life or in business, by paying the story—not

just the information—forward.

Stories, unlike straight-up information, can

change our lives because they directly involve us,

[35] bringing us into the inner world of the protagonist. As I

tell the students in one of my UCLA graduate courses,

Navigating a Narrative World, without stories not only

would we not likely have survived as a species, we

couldn’t understand ourselves. They provoke our

[40] memory and give us the framework for much of our

understanding. They also reflect the way the brain

works. While we think of stories as fluff, accessories

to information, something extraneous to real work,

they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.

[45] Much of what I know about narrative and its

power I learned over the course of working in the

entertainment industry. In the early 1980s, I was

chairman of PolyGram Filmed Entertainment as well

as a producer at that studio. I was pitched a movie to

[50] finance and distribute based on a book then titled The

Execution of Charles Horman. It told the true story of

Ed Horman, Charles’s father, a politically conservative

American who goes to South America in search of his

missing journalist son. Ed joins with his daughter-

[55] inlaw Beth, who, like her husband, is politically polarized

from the father, in prying through bureaucracy and

dangerous government intrigue in search of their son

and husband. Gradually, the father comes to realize

his own government is concealing the truth.

[60] Although the project had enlisted a great

filmmaker—Oscar winner Costa Gavras (for the

thriller Z)—I didn’t find it compelling. A Latin American

revolution was a tough sell for a commercial American

film, along with the story of a father who had no

[65] relationship with his son and the fact that you already

knew the ending: the son is dead without the father

ever finding him. This story was dead on arrival as an

investment.

Out of courtesy, I met with the father, who knew

[70] I was not a fan. After a few polite introductions,

he nodded to some pictures of my then-teenage

daughters on my bookcase. “Do you really know your

children?” he asked. “Really know them?” He went on

to tell me a story—that the search for his son was

[75] more a search for who he was than where he was,

because he always suspected he was dead. But the

journey was a revelation, not least about the many

values father and son in fact shared. It was a love

story, not a death story.

[80] His telling engaged me in a unique personal

way, emotionally transporting me into the search for

his child, and it made me wonder whether I really

knew my daughters, their values and beliefs, their

hopes and dreams. If the writer could focus the film

[85] as a love story/thriller and an actor could engage

those emotions and pique those questions, and the

film could be executed to get critical acclaim, it really

might be worth backing.

By Peter Guber

Adapted from Psychology Today – March 15, 2011 http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/201103/the-inside-story Retrieved on August 15, 2011.