A bench from ‘Forrest Gump’ survived the Palisades fire

Good homes have good souls, just as beloved movies do. Rick Carter knows both.

On Jan. 7, the renowned production designer — for “Jurassic Park,” “Avatar” and more — had just settled in for the night with half an Ambien and his wife, Adele, when a concerned friend called their Paris hotel. A raging wildfire was threatening the Carters’ Pacific Palisades home, she said.

At stake: the three-bedroom house where the Carters had raised their two kids, wiped their noses, helped with history homework, prepped for proms, while he designed $12 billion worth of blockbusters.

Modest by Hollywood standards, the handsome little home also contained a treasure trove of Carter’s own paintings and sketches, 1,000 pieces in all, as well as his most mystical keepsake: a bench.

Not just any bench, of course, just as the legendary Carter isn’t just any moviemaker.

For, in Carter’s backyard, shellacked by California sunlight, stood an iconic bench from “Forrest Gump.”

Rick Carter kept one of the benches made for “Forrest Gump,” and it had been in the backyard of his Pacific Palisades home since 1994.

(Carter family photo)

In the 1994 classic, Tom Hanks ruminates about fate, resilience and providence, from a park bench that has become a part of movie lore in the way of Judy Garland’s ruby slippers.

The bench’s lineage is open to debate, perhaps, with its own share of cinematic intrigue and minor plot twists. Beyond question, though, Carter’s wood-and-concrete bench — a pew, a piece of American iconography — somehow withstood the ferocious fires that leveled Carter’s longtime home.

Charred, sure. Broken, a little. Yet the bench survives, in the spirit of Gothic fables and improbable Hollywood endings everywhere.

Life is like a box of chocolates indeed.

Movie magic is an elusive soup, a mind-altering drug. It can be summoned by the writer, director, actors and the production team.

When Carter needed more soup, he wandered over to the bluffs less than a block from his house to gaze out to sea, bathe in its breezes, imagine incredible new worlds. Re-juiced and reborn, he would return to his backyard studio to work on his paintings or the latest Hollywood epic.

Smash cut to Jan. 7, when Carter’s two Oscars for “Avatar” and “Lincoln” melted like candles. A stone Buddha survives, as does some of Carter’s books on John Lennon, his hero. Except for the bench, all else is lost.

The bench, used in “Forrest Gump,” was scorched in the Palisades fire but is largely intact.

(Chris Erskine)

The tally is still coming in on the cinematic touchstones lost in the January fires. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences says several members have reached out to replace missing Oscars, and a stash of overstock stands ready.

The bench did not come out completely unscathed. There are scorch marks and some bottom slats are damaged and loose. The three concrete supports remain mostly intact, though two have peeled a bit, so that the underlying fiberglass peeks through. Somehow, the three slats across the back were untouched by flames that melted steel beams and cookware.

“Just as Forrest seemed to exist in some sort of protective bubble, so did this bench,” Carter says.

“To me, the whole movie is a miracle,” says Eric Roth, who penned the Oscar-winning screenplay. “That the bench survived doesn’t surprise me at all.”

As production designer for 21 films, Carter oversaw the artists, carpenters, effects wizards, set designers — nearly every visual aspect, from velociraptors to runaway polar trains.

He takes a wisp of an idea, a what-if, and turns it into a viable aesthetic. His creative resourcefulness has placed him at the elbow of the industry’s mad geniuses: Steven Spielberg, James Cameron, J.J. Abrams and Robert Zemeckis, who directed “Forrest Gump.”

At 74, he still boasts a boyish mop of hair and a poet’s hearty outlook. Between sips of cappuccino, his creative spirit sparkles as he discusses Chronos and the Greek concept of emotional time. It’s easy to see how he could serve as a muse to other muses.

“On set, I would say to Steven, ‘I can tell that you’re about to have a good idea,’” Carter says. “Spielberg would ask me what I meant. And a minute later, there it was.”

Early in his career, he realized, “I would’ve loved this job when I was 10. I’m getting paid to be a swashbuckler. … This is the joyousness of youth.”

For Zemeckis’ masterpiece, Carter and set decorator Nancy Haigh crafted three park benches — one for Hanks, the other two as background. (At 11 feet long, they are slightly different from the one pictured in movie posters.) Forrest used the bench as a pulpit from which to tell strangers about his improbable life.

Questions remain whether this is The Bench, for the three interchangeable perches were treated equally as they were carted about.

As the 1994 movie became a worldwide sensation, winning best picture and five other Oscars, Paramount also produced 10 souvenir benches for Hanks, Roth and others, including one that sits prominently on the studio lot. (Fans have sought out the bench at a square in Savannah, Ga., where Hanks’ scenes were filmed, only to be disappointed.)

As a connoisseur of movie magic, Carter is convinced his bench is the centerpiece bench. To confirm it beyond doubt, Carter considered testing for Hanks’ DNA. But that proved impossible, given the bench’s outdoor life, where it was used as a jungle gym for neighborhood kids, or a couch for friends to sit and philosophize about this piece of movie history.

“Over the years, we’ve had a lot of very interesting conversations on that bench,” he says.

Whether it’s the exact bench seems secondary to Carter. For a fact, he knows the bench appeared in the movie. In his heart, it’s the one. Even its fire survival is “Gumpian,” to use one of his favorite expressions.

“Certain symbols allow themselves to be seen,” Carter explains. “That’s why that bench still exists.

“It means something for it to survive.”

Here’s an elevator pitch for “Forrest Gump” ($678 million worldwide):

A numpty misfit falls for a beautiful and broken woman whose eyes are like a flock of doves. In the course of a lifelong courtship, he becomes a Vietnam War hero, seafood tycoon, pingpong champ and famed runner who finally wins and repairs his broken girl, loses the girl, eventually finding peace and solace in raising their son.

Never in a million years would it get made today. As its screenwriter says, it’s a miracle it was made even back then, when Hollywood still had a big appetite for mainstream family features.

“I think that movie casts a spell,” he says.

It exists today on a higher plane, just as it did in 1994. Mirthfully nostalgic and inspirational, it shuns the post-modern cynicism of the era.

Forrest may have a subpar IQ, but in every difficult circumstance, he exhibits exceptional character. He saves not just his fellow soldiers but the lives of troubled friends, fellow runners, the love of his life.

“He always leads with his heart,” Carter says.

Which is what movie heroes used to do.

“Steven used to say, ‘What’s the establishing shot of your idea?’” Carter recalls, when Spielberg wanted to turn a concept into reality.

Carter is looking for that establishing shot in his life right now, for some firm idea of what lies ahead. For now, he’s in a kind of purgatory.

“This is a major test of the resiliency of the human spirit,” he says. “You can get very sad and very bitter, which is never good for anyone.”

Will he and Adele rebuild? Move on? Like many in the Palisades and Altadena, they are waiting for final verdicts on insurance, rebuilding costs, permitting, debris removal. At that point, they’ll make their Gumpian, life-altering call.

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On a recent Sunday, Carter’s son Jim backs a truck up to the ash-filled lot, site of where he grew up with his sister, Amee.

For weeks, the bench has stood in open view amid the chimneys, water heaters and husks of cars, the remnants of this nightmare. Now, it is time to take it to an East Los Angeles gallery for others to ponder and appreciate, like some ancient shroud.

“The hook is: What does it take to last,” Carter says, “at a time when everything is so ephemeral?

“What does authenticity mean?” Carter continues. “It means to survive, to go deep. Maybe that’s what that movie meant.”

In the final scene of “Forrest Gump,” a white feather dances from Forrest’s feet, into the air, representing one of the movie’s major threads: Are life’s joys and agonies predestined, or are they indiscriminate? Do faith and good behavior even matter?

Hard questions like those are now front and center in Carter’s life — including that weathered bench, where Forrest once conveyed his belief in decent outcomes.

The lifelong artist believes that “creativity is the antidote to destruction.” As is his way, Carter is giving serious thought to how to handle his grief over his lost artwork and treasured home. If given the chance, he says, he and his wife would rebuild it just as it was.

“You’ve got to keep moving,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t sit and contemplate.”

Perhaps from a comfortable perch, ideally a bench, whether from a movie or not.

Carter’s bench will be on display March 8-29, at Berrics Art Society, 609 S. Anderson St., Los Angeles. The event features movie design elements and costumes. Admission is free.