These are still values held in Hollywood, even at a time when the authorized biopic is gaining ground. Though Wild memoirist Cheryl Strayed served as a consultant on Jean-Marc Vallée’s film, she was held at an arm’s length. “[Producers] Reese [Witherspoon] and Bruna [Papandrea] both felt that with a memoir the writer isn't the best person to make that adaptation because he or she is too close to the material and to that life,” she told Indiewire earlier this month when asked why she wasn’t involved in writing the screenplay. Distance was also the policy on 2010’s The Social Network, which did not consult Mark Zuckerberg, most likely because it was based on Ben Mezrich’s book The Accidental Billionaires (itself consulted by a plaintiff in Zuckerberg’s Facebook trial, Eduardo Saverin). Zuckerberg has taken issue with the film, particularly the way it portrayed the creation of Facebook as a way to simply “attract girls."

But what The Social Network’s creators understood is that you can’t make a great biopic without breaking a few relationships. The part Zuckerberg took most issue with—that his breakup with Erica Albright (Rooney Mara) motivated him to create a precursor to Facebook, Facemash—ended up inspiring one of the best scenes about technology and Zuckerberg’s plugged-in generation ever filmed. So the scene hurt Zuckerberg’s feelings—but it seized upon an opportunity to meditate on the broader condition illustrated by a real situation, and in doing so, resulted in zeitgeisty art. Hate or love David Fincher, the result is undeniably the work of him and his team—not Zuckerberg—and it’s compelling, daring stuff.

Fincher’s audacity to estrange famous people, and the artistic bravery of biopic filmmakers who have come before him, may be what’s missing from this year’s feel-good biopics. At the level of marketing, these friendships very effective: Endorsements from real people make potential viewers feel good about the integrity of the entertainment, as if the story had been sourced responsibly. But at the level of audience experience, it's a cheat: Biopics may not have the factual underpinnings of journalism, but they do have a responsibility to give viewers the artistic take. So when Angelina Jolie claims Zamperini’s stamp of approval on Unbroken is “the only review that matters,” I feel a sense of foreboding. Shouldn’t the audience give the reviews that matter the most?

They should, because the great irony of the biopic is that while it’s ostensibly about a single life, any one says more about our collective values. Biopics pick and choose cultural heroes from history based on their resonance to contemporary life—while it’s certainly easier to select from the roster of dead candidates, it can also be limiting in terms of audience numbers and scope of interest. The selection of biopic subjects from those still living is a heavy, emotionally charged process, filled with potential to rub someone famous the wrong way, to make powerful enemies, and challenge audience members with intense allegiances to true, larger-than-life stories. But that shouldn’t be a reason to play it safe—on the contrary, that sounds like art. Which is the type of thing the Oscars should be rewarding, anyway.