Back in the day the people that ran Hollywood studios appeared to have egos and personalities like the products they ushered along that could both be described as larger than life. Collectively and individually Louis B. Mayer, Jack Warner, Sam Goldwyn, Darryl Zanuck, et al were colorful, profane and hands on about the movies that rolled out of their assembly lines. Ultimately they all had to confront New York bankers but by a combination of wit, guile and track record most weathered decades as stewards at the helm of companies that made movies.
The times (The Depression, the Second World War) certainly informed the manner in which they presented themselves to the world and also the fact that most were self-made in a business with few rules other than to entertain and make money. However, as each left this mortal coil, and the nature of studios changed, their successors became increasingly bland.
Lew Wasserman, while a legend and an industry lion, was loath to raise his voice publicly. As the studios became part of larger conglomerates or evolved into media behemoths, stockholders and financiers shortened the leash on senior executives. Today, with rare exception, the people at the reins of the Hollywood majors are pleasant, non-descript types at least when out in public. Harvey Weinstein and Ted Turner break that mold but neither runs a studio and there are always exceptions to the rules.
The other day a colleague was wrestling with the media's pleasure at giving Michael Eisner and Disney a lot of grief in ink. He attempted to put the situation in logical perspective and cited a decade of success, growth and innovation and how we love to see people and companies stumble and get their comeuppance, even if it's a temporary lapse as they regain their footing.
The argument was difficult to fault but viscerally it seemed too pat. I told him that Eisner had set himself up as an easy target with his decision to host The Wonderful World of Disney more than a decade back. Filling the shoes of the avuncular, sagacious Walt seemed like the consummate act of hubris and would ultimately result in a heavy toll.
Eisner, like his counterparts, periodically gets his mug plastered in the paper but these spotlights are temporary and, after all, he or Peter Chernin, Alan Horn and others emerge as interchangeable suits rather than corporate trailblazers or pirates. The difference is that on Sunday nights this captain of industry hobnobs with Mickey and Goofy in a faux genial manner that's at odds with his day job. He is not Walt nor is he Cronkite (another Walt literally) or the late Alistair Cooke.
It's likely true that for millions Eisner does a credible job as television shill for the world's greatest family brand name. However, for those covering the entertainment industry, this sideline is merely a performance that belies his true nature and is singularly unworthy of Emmy consideration. If reporters were in charge of casting, he'd be thrust into Fear Factor or marooned on Survivor.
During his two decade tenure at Disney, Eisner - television chores aside - has been content to keep his public profile to a bare minimum. His heart attack back in the early 1990s, the dismissal of Jeff Katzenberg, the hiring and firing of Mike Ovitz and the merger with ABC have elevated that stance from time to time. But of late he's been front and center no thanks to conspicuous theatrical failure (The Alamo, Home on the Range), the abysmal performance of the network, Disney stock holder revolt, an unfriendly takeover bid and clashes with Pixar and Harvey Weinstein over the distribution of Fahrenheit 9/11.
Whether Eisner is shown the door or not, he's been accorded the type of attention neither he nor his board favors. It's the sort of spilled ink that results in rolling heads, corporate restructuring or putting the company up for a potential buyer. Virtually every major has been confronted with such reversal of fortunes whether it was the Guber-Peters regime at Sony or the recent negative business reports that have stirred and shaken Viacom-Paramount.
In the present environment it is business as usual and therein lays the not so subtle change from colorful studio bosses to largely anonymous media honchos. The bygone overlords of Hollywood were no less obsessed with making money than their contemporary equivalents. But they also wanted other things. They had a need to make films that mattered and dealt with social and political issues. Some sought out political alliances and even harbored desires to hold office or be granted a high profile ambassadorial post.
Eisner recently came out and said how much he liked Fahrenheit 9/11 but added that he thought the timing of its theatrical release was inappropriate. The statement was totally in keeping with the steward of a company with a legacy of films that have commercial rather than social resonance. Disney has made flag waiver including Pearl Harbor and the odd social drama such as When a Man Loves a Woman but its standard bill of fare tends to run the gamut from A(nimation) to B(ruckheimer) as personified by The Lion King and Armageddon.
In that respect he is no different than any other contemporary studio chief. Business reporters will deride Sony's Amy Pascal for a string of unsuccessful teen comedies and then trumpet her savvy for shepherding Spider-Man to screen. Last year's slate of best picture nominees was comprised of three period pieces, a comedy and one contemporary drama. In general the studios steer away from controversial films and the result is that very few movies become part of our dialogue. They do not matter in any more than a vicarious fashion and have been reduced to a weekly tournament in which the one that attracts the greatest number of viewers becomes king or queen for a day.
Given that environment why would anyone care if Stacey Snider were to stamp her fist on the table and tell the world that The Bourne Supremacy exposed the nature of the CIA for good and ill even if the statement had a modicum of validity. The reason that Harvey Weinstein is about the only executive capable of that sort of behavior is the result of a well-honed braggadocio and the fact that he occasionally is involved with pictures worthy of national discussion.
The good news is that since the beginning of the year two films - Fahrenheit 9/11 and The Passion of the Christ - have fueled debate about things that matter in our lives and have attracted sizeable audiences. There have been a handful of other films that also dealt with serious subjects and have either approached hot button issues with humor (Super Size Me) or not at all (Monster). However, what all these films have in common is that they were produced outside a studio infrastructure. The majors inability to make a serious film with an undiluted statement has become all but impossible. When The Manchurian Candidate hits the screens this Friday, the debate is likely to center on what the film was trying to say rather than replicate the original's dire message of political subversion from within and outside our borders.
If one takes an Old Testament approach to the wares produced in the City of Angels, there's little question that the film industry would experience the cataclysm of Sodom and Gomorrah. There are not 10 good films on the Lot to justify the indulgence of the shop owners or their pursuit of money for the sake of things temporal and ethereal.
- by Leonard Klady
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