by Art Davie
After Lulu left our meeting at the academy, I told Rorion that aside from whatever problems we would have with people sneaking in, there would be a lot of added costs and hassles with doing business in a far-away, non-English speaking country. It seemed pretty daunting for a first event. With that Rorion seemed to cool on a return to his hometown, and said that he really didn’t care one way or the other. Just like our event name and the fighters that we’d recruit, it was pretty much my call. I didn’t have a solid alternative in mind, other than Colorado. So for now, Rio de Janeiro would be my placeholder. It sounded a lot more glamorous than Denver or Colorado Springs.
With Rorion, and by way of association, his father and brothers in the fold, I had my credibility in the fight world that I so desperately needed to move War of the Worlds forward. What I lacked though was credibility in the show business world. Our fighting tournament wasn’t just going to be a sporting event; it was also going to be pure entertainment. I envisioned it as being perpetually held in major arenas, and broadcast live on worldwide television. I, of course, didn’t have a big name in Hollywood, but I knew someone who did.
Rorion and I had kept John Milius updated on what we were doing, but in a very conversational, and limited way. It was clear Milius loved Gracie Jiu-Jitsu, and that he was devoted to Rorion, with whom he was taking those private lessons every week. The guy had, of course, gotten his son Ethan involved, and the kid was now more hard-core than his dad. I figured that anyone who was willing to continually make that God-forsaken drive through all of the traffic and construction from the pricey part of Los Angeles, down to the far less fashionable South Bay, must really be serious.
Milius and I had become friendly from chats in Rorion’s office, but we weren’t really friends. I truly liked and respected the guy, and I thought that he probably felt the same way about me, but our relationship hadn’t progressed outside of the Gracie Academy.
It was different with Rorion and Milius, though. Being a serious player Academy Award nominee, Milius was used to having people look up to him. But since Rorion was his instructor, the dynamic of their relationship put Milius in the role of the admirer, rather than the one being admired. So I thought that it was Rorion, and not me, who had to approach Milius about being involved in War of the Worlds.
“But what would he do?” Rorion asked me.
“Any fucking thing he wants.”
Never did I harbor any allusions that Milius was going to start keeping hours in my little office at the corner of El Prado and Sartori, nor did I think that he would go out on pitch meetings with me to potential investors and sponsors.
I knew that Milius was very successful in the film business and, from what I could tell, he was also fairly wealthy and incredibly busy. So the chance to make a little money off of War of the Worlds probably wouldn’t be a motivating factor, and the prospect of devoting large chunks of his time to our fighting tournament would likely turn him off.
I told Rorion that what we needed from Milius was his support. You don’t make a career in Hollywood like his without being incredibly smart and creative. I knew that he was bound to have a lot of ideas that we could to use. But even more importantly, just like in the movie business, having a big name attached to your project opens up a lot of doors that would otherwise stay closed. Make that locked and bolted shut.
Rorion agreed that he would set up a meeting for us at the Gracie Academy with Milius, but that I should do most of the talking. Before we met with him though, I felt that we needed something to show Milius, rather than just profit projections and marketing plans. Clearly, as someone who had made a career for himself in movies, Milius was a visual thinker.
I contacted Deb Stanley, a former co-worker of mine from the direct marketing business, about having her husband, Mike, do a sketch. He was an accomplished artist, and also a martial artist, who I knew would get what I was talking about.
I met with Mike and outlined the whole concept. I told him that War of the Worlds was going to be an epic event—one that would hopefully spawn a franchise. All of these different fighting styles from across the world coming together for a one night, single elimination tournament. We hadn’t booked anything with Lulu yet for Brazil, and we were nowhere close to having a date set. But I wanted this to look like a real fight poster for a real event, so I told Mike to make it appear as though the tournament would take place in Rio de Janeiro on October 31 of the upcoming year, 1993. I really liked the theatricality of holding our event on Halloween night.
Mike and I also talked about my inspiration for War of the Worlds coming partially from Pankration of the Ancient Olympics. Was there a way that he could create this using a classic motif? Something that made fans think of the Time of Antiquity?
“So, if we had a kickboxer facing off against a grappler on a Greek pedestal–that might work, right?” Mike asked.
“Exactly.”
Mike and I then riffed on what styles of fighting we could include on the poster. We needed 16, as that would be the number of fighters in the tournament. Between the two of us though, we could only come up with 15. I then figured that perhaps one of the styles could have two representatives.
Mike clearly understood my vision, and I put him straight to work. When Mike showed me his finished product, it was even better than I’d hoped. It did in fact seem like a real fight poster for a real event. Standing on what looked like the Parthenon in Greece, with mountains silhouetted in the background, were two fighters. They were face-to-face, drawn in all white. The fighter on the left was bare-chested, with a fist cocked, knee raised and poised to strike.
The fighter on the right was in a gi, and in the process of throwing a head kick, which his opponent was simultaneously attempting to block. The force of their battle was shaking loose the foundation of the fighting pedestal, as the rubble was flying into the air. Framed by two rising columns, in gold letters were the words, “War of the Worlds, World Hand-to-Hand Fighting Championship, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, October 31, 1993.”
At the bottom of the poster, written on the fighting pedestal were the 15 styles of fighting that Mike and I had come up with: “Boxing, Hapkido, Jiu-jitsu, Judo, Karate, Kempo, Kickboxing, Kung Fu, Pencak Silat, Sambo, Savate, Shoot fighting, Sumo, Tae Kwon Do and Thai Boxing.” Below that was: “Presented by Mills/Niemeyer and W.O.W. Productions.”
I’d told Mike that it couldn’t hurt to give Lulu’s company a free pop, since there was a chance that we would be working with them. In addition to the poster, I also had Mike do some sketches of crowns that we could award the winner. I figured that championship belts were for boxing and pro wrestling, and trophies were for karate tournaments. We were going to go big in every way—literally crown the king of the fighting world.
I was drawing from the Gracies, boxing, vale tudo and my own wild ideas.
But my biggest inspiration was Pankration. I had it in my head that I was going to be bringing back something from the classical world. I took Mike’s finished work to Rorion, who loved it as much as I did. These were going to be my only props in our pitch to Milius. I knew that I would also have my well-rehearsed explanation of what War of the Worlds was all about. And as my ace in the hole, I would have Rorion by my side.
I didn’t want to create a trophy or a belt as an award for the winner of our tournament. So I had Mike Stanley draft this sketch for a crown.
On a Tuesday night just before Christmas, after Milius had finished his private lesson with Rorion, the three of us met in Rorion’s office. I started by telling Milius that I had read in Eldridge Cleaver’s 1967 book, Soul on Ice, that the real Mr. Universe was the world heavyweight boxing champion. We were going to create a title that would be bigger than that.
“I love it,” Milius said immediately.
I then let Milius know that we weren’t asking him for any money. What we wanted was his input, as much or as little as he would be willing to give us. Milius seemed open to the idea from the start, and I could tell that he lo
ved the imagery of the classical world: mythological Greece, Pankration, the ancient Olympiad, all of it.
“What exactly do you need from me?” Milius asked.
I answered with a job title that I knew from my days in advertising, “To be the creative director.”
Without hesitation, Milius told Rorion and me that he would be glad to lend his name to War of the Worlds, and that he wouldn’t accept any money from us whatsoever. Milius didn’t even blink. With most hotshot Hollywood players, it’s going take a lot of tap dancing to get them to commit to anything. Meeting after meeting after meeting. And then there’s the army of attorneys, agents, managers and assistants who have to get involved. But with Milius, one quick conversation at the Academy was all that it took. Towards the end of the meeting, Milius said, “This is the search for the real Superman.” Clearly he got it, right then and there.
I could tell that Gracie Jiu-Jitsu was something extremely personal and meaningful to Milius, and that his respect for Rorion was the main reason why he said yes to us.
I wasn’t sure if my impassioned pitch and Mike Stanley’s fight poster and crown sketches had even mattered. But I really didn’t care. I had gotten Rorion on board, and now Milius was in the fold. There was still the business plan to write, a tournament’s worth of fighters to find, and $250,000 to procure. But one-step at time. And John Milius as creative director for War of the Worlds was, without question, a huge step.
This was the second crown design from Mike Stanley. Both were eventually featured in my 65-page business plan.
On January 5, 1993, Milius sent a letter to Rorion at the Academy, in care of W.O.W. It didn’t matter to me that it was only addressed to Rorion, and not to both of us. The contents, which was written on his A Team Productions letterhead with the word “Conan” on the top of the page, were confirmation of his commitment to us. Pure fucking gold. In it, Milius wrote:
“I appreciate your invitation to be involved in this project. I feel it connects the present to the past by recreating the classical Greek and Roman contest of Pankration. I believe that I can contribute to make this tournament a World Class Event. Therefore, I am eager to serve as the Creative Director.”
We were on the road. Picking up speed and heading toward our prize.
I now felt like Carl Denham, the producer character in the classic 1933 film King Kong. I’m dripping with enthusiasm, and I sound a bit crazed. I’m telling people that War of the Worlds is going to be an overwhelming success—just like the giant ape that Denham discovered on Skull Island.
“We’re millionaires, boys! Why, in a few months, his name will be up in lights on Broadway! Kong! The Eighth Wonder of the World!”
I just tried not to dwell on the end of the film, when King Kong falls to his death from the top of the Empire State Building.
CHAPTER 7
THE NEW YORK BANKEES
A HANDFUL OF PATIENCE IS WORTH MORE THAN A BUSHEL OF BRAINS.
— DUTCH PROVERB
BACK in 1982, when Pat Strong pitched Rorion on his World Freestyle Fighting Championship idea, he envisioned it as a one-off event that would be done for the home video market. The producer who tried to set up the rematch between Rorion and Benny “the Jet” was thinking about the same thing. And even Rorion, when I explained my plan to him—the one that finally got him to say yes and join me—initially thought that I was talking about creating a videotape. He was focused in this direction, based on all of the money that was pouring in from the Brajitsu, Inc., tapes.
But from the earliest stages of the work that I did for my World’s Best Fighter proposal to Wisdom Imports, I saw this as a live television broadcast. There was definitely money to be made in home video sales, as I had clearly demonstrated to Rorion with the Basics of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu series, but it seemed like chump change in comparison to what could be reaped through TV. Perhaps you strike a deal with Blockbuster or Hollywood Video, but really, how many tapes are you going to sell?
Television on the other hand could generate sums into the multi-millions of dollars. You could get a rights deal from a network like ESPN or HBO, where they pay you a fee to air your events. I knew there was no way to get the event on broadcast TV, but cable was a possibility. My main focus though was Pay-Per-View television, which if successful, would take us into the financial stratosphere. I needed to look no further than Don King and Bob Arum in boxing, and Vince McMahon, Jr. in pro wrestling, as shining examples.
To start pitching PPV and cable TV outlets, I needed to finish my executive summary and business plan. Now that Milius was on board, I had a name that I could include which would jump off of the page—one that would announce loud and clear that I wasn’t some dipshit bringing them a karate tournament to be held in a shopping mall dojo.
I’d written plenty of business plans over the years for my various entrepreneurial ventures, and they usually took me anywhere from six to eight weeks to complete. You have to spell out, in painstaking detail, how you are going to actually make money with your crazy idea, and why someone should trust you with their hard earned cash. They go on and on and on.
This is the cover of W.O.W. Promotions 65-page business plan. Only 68 of these were ever distributed to investors.
But it took me just two weeks to crank out this 65-page business plan. I’d never been as fired up about anything in my life, as I was for War of the Worlds. The business plan was accompanied by a two-page executive summary, which would be used to gauge initial interest of the people that I was going to contact.
The first page read in full:
WAR OF THE WORLDS
The World Hand-to-Hand Combat Championship
The concept behind this event is quite simple:
*Millions are practicing various martial arts worldwide.
*Thousands are watching various martial arts worldwide.
*All the existing contests showcase only intramural competition. (i.e. taekwondo vs. taekwondo, karate vs. karate, etc.)
*Among fans and martial artists, there is one question that has always been asked: “Which art is the most effective?”
*Therefore, a competition that would draw boxers, wrestlers, kickboxers, as well as experts in karate, taekwondo, kung fu, judo, aikido, etc., and allow them to compete in an, open no-holds-barred event, would have very broad appeal. Such an event would create the world’s hand-to-hand combat champion.
*Allowing the fighters to dress and compete according to their style would create tremendous fan enthusiasm. Because of its broad appeal to fight fans and martial artists, War of the Worlds is conceptualized as a theatrically staged world-class event. To this end, W.O.W. Promotions has recruited famed film director John Milius (Conan the Barbarian) to be the event’s creative director.
At the top of the second page, I explained our format:
WOW is a single-elimination, challenge tournament with (16) entrants, drawn approximately from the following arts. They compete for $110,000 in prize money, and the title of the World’s Hand-to-Hand Combat Champion.
I listed the styles of martial arts and combat sports that would be involved, listing the number of representatives from each:
Western Boxing, 1 representative
Kickboxing, 2 representatives
Wrestling (Greco-Roman or Freestyle), 1 representative
Okinawan/Japanese Karate (Shotokan, Goju, Kenpo), 2 representatives
Korean Karate (Taekwondo, Tang So Do, Hapkido), 2 representatives
Kung Fu, 2 representatives
Thai Boxing, 1 representative
French Savate, 1 representative
Jiu-jitsu, 1 representative
Aikido, 1 representative
Judo, 1 representative
Shoot boxing, 1 representative
As for this last entry on the page, shoot boxing, I had in mind the hybrid fighting that they were starting to do in Japan, which seemed to mix the worked aspects of modern pro wrestling, with the shoot aspects of the sport’s long past.
&nbs
p; I’d decided to up the total prize money to $110, 000, using a system based on:
$50,000 to the tournament winner
$22,000 to the tournament runner-up
$10,000 to the two losing semifinalists
$2,500 to the four losing quarterfinalists
$1,000 to the eight opening round losers
I set about cold calling everyone that I could think in TV and PPV who might have even the remotest interest in giving War of the Worlds a serious look: HBO, Showtime, ESPN, even Prime Ticket, a regional sports cable channel based in Los Angeles.
Especially intriguing to me were HBO and Showtime, because both cable networks operated their own in-house PPV outlet, which they used for huge boxing cards. HBO’s was called TVKO; Showtime’s was named SET, and both knew how to bring in truckloads of money.
Here is the pitch letter to TVKO/HBO. Famed boxing TV pioneer Lou DiBella was forwarded this letter by Mark Taffett and he was the executive who turned me down.
The 1991 world title fight between Evander Holyfield and George Foreman had 1,450,000 PPV buys for TVKO, grossing a reported $55 million. I figured if War of the Worlds could do a tenth of that business, we’d all be in pretty good shape.
I settled on a two-pronged attack for television, primarily targeting PPV outlets, while also going after cable channels. The broadcast networks ABC, CBS, NBC and the fledgling FOX seemed like a waste of my time. I just couldn’t see Rickson choking some poor taekwondo guy unconscious, right after an all-new episode of Murder, She Wrote.
From my advertising career past, I was very comfortable with, and very capable of, getting decision makers on the phone. Cold calling without fear or hesitation was no problem for me. And so I went about it, going down my list. But my time in the ad business had also made me very aware that rejection is a big part of the game. Get used to it, because you’re going to hear “no” a lot more than you hear “yes.”
