Illustrated by Philip Burke and Illustrated by Drew Friedman
Illustrated by Philip Burke and Illustrated by Drew Friedman
SEPTEMBER 16, 1996: BY JIM WINDOLF
To Neurotic New York, Seinfeld Is News at 11
EACH WEEKNIGHT AT 11, BEFORE a shrunken audience, Chuck and Sue are still doing their old routine on Channel 4. But in the last year, these anchors have lost a good number of viewers, and even some of their authority, to a mere rerun.
That is because the rerun in question is Seinfeld, and Seinfeld delivers the real news for a city marked by cutthroat ambition and the accompanying fear of success.
In the gamey warmth of good old brown-hued Channel 11, WPIX-TV, Seinfeld gives the city the same nightly dose of clarity and community that an ideal newscast would provide. Since Seinfeld debuted as a rerun last September in the old Cheers slot, it has made local television history as the station’s first 11 p.m. show to beat all three newscasts in the ratings, pulling off this feat more than once.
SEPTEMBER 23, 1996 BY NIKKI FINKE
Poof! From Sorcerer to Shmo
Now he’s Eisner’s No. 2, a mere employee who can’t hold media in his spell; His old power base—that mini galaxy of C.A.A. stars—can’t help him now
THE WALL STREET JOURNAL USUALLY GETS IT RIGHT. Nevertheless, there was a glaring error in a Sept. 12 story about the turmoil at Sony Pictures, in which the newspaper noted how Michael Ovitz, the “powerful president” of Walt Disney Company, has had the ear of Sony Corporation president Nobuyuki Idei. For weeks, rumors have been circulating that Ovitz, who could conceivably escape his contract at Disney, might be the next chief executive of Sony Corporation of America.
At issue wasn’t the accuracy of the reporting. Instead, Hollywood executives were baffled by the business journal’s continued use of the word “powerful” to describe the No. 2 Disney executive. “Seeing that in print brought home, as nothing else could, what everybody knew,” said a former Sony executive, “that calling him ‘powerful’ could only be attributed to sentimentalism.”
Mr. Ovitz still intimidates enough people—except for maybe David Geffen—that almost no one will speak on the record about him. But in the last few weeks, there’s been a fundamental sea change in Ovitzology, and it is this: People are beginning to trash him and the press is beginning to write about it.
Suddenly, Mr. Ovitz has become Merlin without his spells, the Wizard of Oz without his curtain. Worse yet, he’s no longer the sorcerer; just the sorcerer’s apprentice. It’s been almost a year since Mr. Ovitz gave up the chairmanship of Creative Artists Agency to become, literally, Michael No. 2 (his nickname around the Disney lot) to Walt Disney Company chairman Michael Eisner’s Michael No. 1. Mr. Ovitz, the most powerful man in Hollywood, has become just another executive (albeit a well-placed, well-paid one) with less clearly defined areas of responsibility than even Al Gore.
Call it hubris, but Mike Ovitz made the same mistake many former agents make in assuming that his power would follow him out the door of Creative Artists Agency. Stripped of his superstar client roster—Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Demi Moore, Tom Hanks, etc.—his “good cop” partner Ron Meyer; his “Young Turk” foot soldiers; his I.M. Pei office replete with mood lighting; even his affectation for Asian mysticism, Mr. Ovitz is standing naked and vulnerable for everyone to see. “He doesn’t have a buffer zone around him anymore,” explained one close colleague. “So every day he takes a walk, he bumps into a door.”
He can no longer control the media, much less Hollywood moguls. Which is why the Disney president, beleaguered by bad press and bracing for still more, spent 20 minutes haranguing the company’s elite at an Aspen retreat in early September about the dangers of leaking to the media.
Mr. Ovitz’s concern is justified; the sharks know blood when they smell it. For instance, the recent resignation of the senior vice president at ABC Entertainment, Mike Rosenfeld Jr., would hardly rate a second glance. But Mr. Rosenfeld, a former C.A.A. TV agent and son of one of the agency’s five founding partners, was no ordinary executive. He’d been brought to the network personally by Mr. Ovitz, who had promised him privately that he was heir apparent to ABC Entertainment president Ted Harbert whenever Mr. Harbert moved up or out. But then, much to Mr. Rosenfeld’s dismay, Disney, after sending out a feeler to television producers Marcy Carsey and Tom Werner, hired NBC prime-time wunderkind Jamie Tarses as Mr. Harbert’s second in command. Adding insult to injury, Mr. Rosenfeld was inexplicably left off the invitation list for the Aspen retreat.
On Sept. 9, Mr. Rosenfeld walked into Mr. Ovitz’s office and announced that he was quitting. The Disney president erupted: “You can’t quit, because it would be personally embarrassing to me,” according to a source familiar with the conversation.
There are as many anecdotes about the two Mikes bickering as there are of Michael No. 2 claiming credit for things he had little to do with. For instance, earlier this month at an animation meeting involving a sequel to The Lion King, Mr. Eisner and Mr. Ovitz disagreed in front of the participants over how a plot problem should be solved. When Mr. Ovitz wouldn’t let it go, Mr. Eisner growled, “Don’t even try to win a creative battle against me.”
It’s little wonder that speculation now centers on Mr. Ovitz possibly looking to Sony Corporation as a life preserver to escape the sinking situation he finds himself in at Disney. However, questions remain about whether he can extract himself from his contract there. On the other hand, the betting on the Disney lot is that Mr. Eisner might be more than happy to help him abandon ship.
After a recent sleepover with a group of grade-school boys from the John Thomas Dye School, which Eric Ovitz attends, a playmate of Eric surprised even his business-savvy parents with his up-to-date knowledge of Mr. Ovitz’s situation. “Yeah, Eric’s father used to be powerful,” the boy told his parents. “But now he’s the No. 2 guy over half of Disney.”
Illustrated by Drew Friedman
OCTOBER 7, 1996: EDITORIAL
BOB DOLE, THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR ’96! A VOTE FOR CHARACTER OVER SLEAZE
YES, BOB DOLE IS A TERRIBLE CAMPAIGNER.
Yes, the Republican Party is filled with neo-Puritans who would like nothing better than to codify their notions of morality into civil law.
Yes, the religious right and the right-to-lifers are wild-eyed fanatics who threaten our hard-won liberties. None of these concerns, however, argues against a Dole presidency. Bill Clinton’s party, after all, is not without its radicals and crackpots, and Mr. Clinton’s skill on the campaign trail points to everything that is wrong about his performance as president.
In this election year, character is not merely one of several issues demanding our attention. It is the only issue. That makes our decision easier. Bob Dole has character, and Bill Clinton has none. So Bob Dole is our choice.
The president has spent much of the last year or so cultivating the image of First Father, the man to whom we would gladly entrust our children. The notion, of course, is ridiculous.
If the president wishes us to think of him as a member of the family, two comparisons come to mind. There’s Mr. Clinton as the scarred and terribly insecure child who will do or say anything to get in good with the cool kids in the schoolyard. Then there’s Mr. Clinton as a salacious, middle-aged uncle who disrupts the holidays by passing lewd remarks in front of his teenage nieces and talking smugly about his days in Canada during the Vietnam War. While both spectacles are embarrassing for different reasons, Mr. Clinton’s presidency has been embarrassing for many reasons.
There have been administrations worse than Mr. Clinton’s, but rarely, if ever, has there been one that so often inspires shame. We have been embarrassed for nearly four years. We have suffered too long the sins of those yahoos Mr. Clinton transported from Arkansas, so many of whom seem to have spent the entire term answering prosecutors’ questions. There was a time when the nation looked at the White House as a symbol of leadership, of resolve and of character. The pre
sident served not only as an elected leader, but as a bastion of the qualities we liked best in ourselves, qualities that we liked best about America.
In turning the White House into a better-dressed version of Animal House, Mr. Clinton has managed to squander the respect that the American people always have had for the office of the presidency, even when they disagreed with the person who held the title. Instead of a role model, we have a floozy who will consort with anyone if it means a bump in the popularity polls. Instead of a man of character, we have a bunch of characters, most of them acting with all the discretion and sophistication of the denizens of Dogpatch, U.S.A.
Mr. Clinton has damaged the office to which he was entrusted and the nation over which he presides. There actually once was a time when the president of the United States was thought to be the leader of the free world. After four years of Mr. Clinton, the president is now just another figure on tabloid television. We used to ask our presidents about the great issues of war and peace. We ask Mr. Clinton about his underwear. Worse, he gives us an answer. In the end, he is nothing more than a flâneur and a poseur, “at best mistaking the shadow of courage for the substance of wisdom,” as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote.
Mr. Clinton’s wife, Hillary, has been a full partner in this sickening spectacle. Her self-righteousness and transparent piety have not averted our eyes to her slimy dealmaking and fanciful fiction-telling. She once thought of herself as the scourge of Richard Nixon. Nowadays, as a practitioner of the politics of paranoia and self-pity, all she lacks are hunched shoulders and a five o’clock shadow. She virtually ran as Mr. Clinton’s running mate in 1992. Now we have a chance to rid ourselves of both. A perfect twofer.
The Republican Party has provided a flawed but highly acceptable antidote to the dumbing-down of the White House and the trivialization of the nation’s highest office. Bob Dole is everything Bill Clinton isn’t. (The same could be said of Elizabeth Dole and Hillary Clinton.) After more than 40 years of service to his country, Mr. Dole has shown himself to be a man of character, a man who has put the nation ahead of self. So, too, is he a man who has no need to consult pollsters and swamis to figure out what he thinks. He is a decent man, and decency is what he will bring to the White House.
We believe Bob Dole can return the Presidency to its now-shattered sense of majesty and importance. His sacrifice in honorable pursuit of a better world represents the best of America.
Our history is filled, unfortunately, with contests in which ill-fated candidates fell to victors who had neither their character nor their abilities. Several spring to mind: Adlai Stevenson, Barry Goldwater, Walter Mondale, Wendell Willkie and Al Smith.
On Election Day, Bob Dole may well join this list of honorable losers, for the American public has long been a sucker for the “Slick Willies” of the world. It’s a cliché, but it’s true: Sometimes lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for. Given a choice between a man who has displayed nothing but contempt for the traditions of his office and a man who so clearly reveres his country’s institutions and is humbled by his service to them, we will choose honor over expediency.
* * *
After more than 40 years of service to his country, Mr. Dole has shown himself to be a man of character, a man who has put the nation ahead of self…. He is a decent man, and decency is what he will bring to the White House.
* * *
It is hard not to remark upon the paths these two men have taken and the choices they have made. Both Mr. Dole and Mr. Clinton hail from small-town America, that mystical place whose natives are blessed with common sense, decency, patriotism and, yes, character. Mr. Dole’s life, service and sacrifice sum up all that the American imagination associates with places like Russell, Kansas. Mr. Dole understands that freedom is dearly won and forcefully defended, that the life of a nation matters more than the life of an individual, and that hard work and sacrifice (and not indulgence and quick-buck scamming) are the nation’s bricks and mortar.
He is a small-town man New Yorkers can embrace because he also happens to be blunt, sardonic and utterly immune to the hooey that is second nature to Mr. Clinton.
Mr. Clinton, coming from a similarly underprivileged background and rooted, you would think, in traditional values, is but a caricature of a generation that decided it was bigger than the nation, the system and the dreaded Establishment. His governing style is a product of his generation’s self-indulgence and Little Rock’s loose political morals. He knows nothing of sacrifice and little of the real world, for he has been talking, and talking, and talking, for the last quarter-century. Historians will one day note that in 1996, the oldest presidential nominee in U.S. history was a man of action, while one of the youngest incumbents was a sedentary yapper.
Mr. Dole entered politics to do something. Mr. Clinton did so to be something.
The president’s supporters haul out the threadbare argument that a Dole presidency would be a disaster for the Supreme Court. What makes them so sure Mr. Clinton, the hypocrite who signed a welfare reform bill so fundamentally abhorrent to his alleged values, would appoint liberal justices? Besides, the track record of Republican Supreme Court appointees isn’t so bad: Sandra Day O’Connor, Anthony Kennedy and David Souter are fine thinkers and political moderates.
Mr. Clinton and his surrogates have expended much energy snickering at Mr. Dole’s proposal to cut income taxes by 15 percent. They, of course, are much more comfortable with soaking the rich to pay for their constituency’s favorite social programs. Mr. Dole’s proposal could be fundamentally sound, provided he cuts the fat out of the bureaucracy’s bloated payroll. We think he will do just that.
Ultimately, though, all these issues are so much background noise. Character is all that matters. If granted another four years, Mr. Clinton will continue to embarrass himself, the presidency and the country.
The American Century’s signature generation has been Bob Dole’s—born in an age of muscle and sweat, tested by unknowable sacrifice and, in its maturity, providing an example of lives well lived, of causes well fought and of victories well earned.
Not for himself but for America and for the presidency, Bob Dole deserves one more victory.
You say D’Amato: Senator Al, solo again
Illustrated by Drew Friedman
OCTOBER 14, 1996 BY CANDACE BUSHNELL
SEX AND THE CITY: GOODBYE, MR. BIG! THE END OF THE AFFAIRJUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS—THAT TOAST AT ‘21’ COULDN’T SAVE A LOVE GONE SOUR; ENTER THE FEMALE GOLF PRO; WELCOME BACK, DISGUST, MISERY AND SELF-LOATHING
MR. BIG CAME INTO THE villa. “Get off the phone,” he said. “I want to go into town.” She hadn’t particularly wanted to go into town, but she didn’t particularly want to stay at the villa. She didn’t particularly want to be there at all; or, she wanted to be there, but not with him.
It was coming home from the St. Barts week that Carrie allowed herself to acknowledge the fact that the relationship with Mr. Big would probably not last the summer.
What happened between April and the middle of July was nothing. A few incidents stand out: the explosion of TWA Flight 800. The hurricane. The fights.
The fights were: She wanted to talk, he didn’t. She wanted more attention; he didn’t want to make the effort. “Now you sound like all of my ex-wives,” he’d say. “Always demanding something. Don’t ask for anything and maybe you’ll get it. Don’t tell me what to do.”
One day at the beginning of July, on another lousy gray day in the house in East Hampton where Carrie had stayed out for the week, some friends dropped by.
“I’d break up with him tomorrow if I could. I’m dying to get out of here,” she said, slamming cupboard doors. She’d just hung up from yet another remote conversation on the phone, all about logistics.
Why not end it then?
That would be inconvenient.
Instead, she was doing laundry (why? They had a maid), she was making sure the kitchen was stocked with food (with things they would never eat, like
packages of yellow rice), and she was watering the vegetable garden. The relationship was over before they had any vegetables, but the garden was useful because it gave her something to talk about with him and his friends. Everything was growing but nothing was ripening. No sun.
In the evenings on the weekends in the Hamptons, they’d have dinners, or go to dinners. Everyone got drunk, very fast and very early, and went to bed by 11.
Carrie found herself complaining about how the guy at the Red Horse Market never sliced the smoked salmon thin enough. Then Mr. Big would tell a story about how he’d refused to buy a six-dollar pound of butter at Thieves and Bitches.
Occasionally, she stopped herself from calling him “dad.” As in, “Yes, Dad, I will take out the garbage. Yes, Dad, I will drive carefully.”
On Fourth of July weekend, Mr. Big kept disappearing in Mr. Marvelous’ Hummer. They claimed they were going to the store. They claimed they were going to the store six times in two days. They came back with pickles. Then they claimed they were going rollerblading. Carrie wasn’t paying attention.
As soon as Mr. Big left, she’d turn the stereo all the way up and dance around the house. K.C. and the Sunshine Band.
“You’re Out of Control.”
“What are you going to do with your life?” he’d ask.
“I’m going to become famous.”
“That is so sad. You won’t like it when you get there.”
“Get off our planet.”
Then he’d go and smoke a cigar and sulk, or go to the store again with Mr. Marvelous.
In the middle of July: “Is there somebody else?”
“This is not about anyone else. This is about us.”
“That’s not answering the question.”
“This is about us.”
“It’s a yes or no question. Is there somebody else?”
“No.”
“Liar. You’ve been coached, haven’t you?”
The Kingdom of New York: Knights, Knaves, Billionaires, and Beauties in the City of Big Shots Page 23
