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 Support The DrudgeReport; Visit Our Advertisers   HOLLYWOOD LEGEND ROBERT EVANS ATTACKS EISNER DETRACTORS; COMPARES ROY DISNEY PUTSCH TO NAZIS Thurs Feb 24 2005 12:30:11 ET Legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans (Chinatown, Urban Cowboy) and former Paramount studio honcho has come to the defense of besieged DISNEY CEO Michael Eisner in a nearly 5000-word rollicking screed exclusively obtained by the DRUDGE REPORT. Evans argues that a well-orchestrated PR campaign to overthrow Eisner by Walt Dinsey nephew Roy Disney is 'reminiscent of Goebels propagating the heroics of Adolf Hitler.' BEGIN: Well here we are... for the next two hours, we're going to be in bed together. I'm not here to get into your pants. I'm here to get into your head. Give you a high...that can make them legs wobble, them endorphins surge. Watch it...you're in bed with a guy who doesn't believe in rules. Rules are made to be broken...and I've broken em all. Why shouldn't I? Them guys who make em don't live by em anyways. Why the hell should I? I think them big guys get off fuckin' with our heads. Keep us happy...keep us dumb. Hey, �Dumb and Dumber� was a big hit at the box office. It's also a big hit in life. The dumber you are, the easier you are to control. The more you buy, the less you question. Well, you've had your run, Mr. Live-by-the-Rules Man. It's the new millennium. It's a millennium of irreverence! Me? I've already touched magic with it...I've fallen on my ass with it. But it's irreverence that makes us break barriers. It makes you travel from mediocre to meteoric. Irreverence gives you a chance to make a thumbprint in life. Reverence, on the other hand, keeps you in your place. It keeps you underwhelming. It never seems to fail: Whenever I allow reverence to overshadow irreverence, it seems to turn out underwhelming. Learn the hard way, to grab that brass ring, you gotta take a chance...and go for it! Let irreverence be your M.O. I did and its served me well. It aint easy and it is irreverence that drives it. Is it there to be gotten? You bet your ass it is. But you gotta take a chance�a risk. If you don't take that risk, that chance, forget it. Go for the tin ring, that's easy. Boring, but easier. But its that brass ring that makes life...life. Hey, look at me, I've done it. If I can do it, you can do it too. Every time I've touched it, its worth all the sweat times ten! I aint shy about falling on my ass trying. But there aint no greater feeling than grabbing it. Me? I want to take it all in. We're all the same, we've got one thing in common. We've got one trip, a trip through life. Why not suck it all in? I may be a bit more daring than most, but I've had one hell of a trip. Do you know why? Throw out that Book of Rules. All they want to do is keep you in your place. I've got a Book of Rules too. One that I've lived with since before my first shave. Write it down, try it. I think you'll possibly want to live with it, too. That's if you want to have a life of enticement, a not a life of mere existence. It's simply called the "Celebration of the Individual." Whatever them dreams, them aspirations, them goals, they are there to be had. Anyone who tells you that they are impossible to achieve, tell them to fuck off. Quote me if you will. I know...I've been there. Hey, I've always been an underdog. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Both family and friends laughed at my aspirations, my dreams. The more they laughed, the harder I tried. The harder I tried, the closer I got. Guess what? Who got the last laugh? Me. Don't be afraid. Go for it... never accept "no" as an answer, "yes" is and that "YES" is out there somewhere. Find it! 9 out of 10 people accept mediocre as a way of life. 1 out of 10 people want to be part of that elusive group of "Club Meteoric." If you don't try, you'll never get entrance. And it aint a bad club to belong to. Not wanting to miss out of life's mysteries, I carry it a bit further. If there is something I haven't tried and think I'd be it'd be a turn on, I give it three shots. Once, to get over the fear of doing it. Twice, to learn how to do it. And a third time, to figure out whether I like it or not. Has it treated me harshly? At times... Has it given me a singular high? Each time I give it three shots, and I dig doing it, it gives me a high that I've never had in my life, that I can't explain with words. You've gotta experience it. If you're up for the challenge, you're up for highs you never thought life could bring you. But that's me. I'm not suggesting that to everyone, even though I'd like to. I'm the same guy who's giving it to you straight, but what I will ask you to live by�and put it in your brain to stay forever: dreams are not dreamt�they're made. "Your Mouse has been 'slipped a Mickey'" When politics prevail over patriotism, its victims unknowingly reap the losses perpetrated by the salacious greed of their trusted corporate hierarchy. This is the seat in which the Disney stockholder now sits. During the past two years, from East to West, behind the fa?ade of patrician doors, the most insidious takeover conspiracy was carefully structured; thus Rosemary's Baby was born. Manipulators of half-truths calling themselves "media analysts" were called in to denigrate the single most talented film visionary our industry has had in the 20th century: Michael Eisner, by name. I know from firsthand knowledge that they put tremendous pressure and monies to corral the opinion makers, supposed media pundits, Wall Street mavens and opinion-makers to bury Eisner and to change the management of Disney. Their scheme was no different than the Carpetbaggers of the past. How easy it is to pull the wool over the eyes of the innocent. Their arrogance such that they felt they had the vocabulary to conceal their lack of knowledge. Ah, but it's all verbiage...not backed by fact, and fact is the one thing they do not have, while FACT is the one thing I do have. As a fellow Disney stockholder who bares far greater cognizance to the truth behind this ugly charade, I would be remiss not to unravel the media sorcery and spin that with purpose, concealed facts and tarnished the name of the man who revitalized a white elephant into the Hope Diamond. To compound this all but white-collar criminal act, as incredulous as it may sound, they intend to put into the catbird seat the very man responsible for shrinking "Mickey" from royalty to rodent. His name is Disney, not Walt, but his nephew, Roy. Nephew Roy with his choice of right-hand man, Card Walker, had double-handedly nose-dived a prime contender in the industry to the near obscurity, shrinking Disney Films to 9th place out of nine. Now that takes talent. I know; I was at the studio at the time, and can indisputably state that if Nephew Roy had remained as head honcho, Disney would be an office building, a parking lot, or shopping center...and Disneyland would be just another theme park. Forget about communications, film, TV, cable. Their arrogance, anachronistic policies combined with a false sense of entitlement and complacency had led the industry to think of Disney as a legend in decline. That is until Michael Eisner took on the impossible, transforming a legend in decline to a rapacious money-making machine! The gall, audacity, and fiscal incompetence that permeates an all-out PR campaign to demean rather than hail the man with the most magic touch took Disney from a meager $1.25 stock in 1984 to a $29.00 stock today. By way of record, Disney, under Eisner's leadership, is, by far, Numero Uno in stock growth. There isn't a distant second to Mickey's' reemergence. Do not to pay heed to Wall Street's self-proclaimed "analysts." Analysts should remain analysts, many may have their own agendas, but more important, however, is the fact that not one of them has a pregnant thought as to what makes "this hybrid industry tick." The hyperbole they spew is somewhat akin to the aphorism "you can teach someone to dance, but you can't teach them rhythm." Without exception, propagating this hybrid art form successfully must be played to the beat of a different drummer. Benchmark principles must go out the window. Sorry Mr. And Mrs. Shirt & Tie, "Man Power" is not foreground, rather TALENT....AND THE TALENT TO EMBRACE TALENT is at the core of every reign of success since the emergence of the talking film. Though the numbers have changed and the horizons have grown, the key to success and the traps to failure, continually remain the same. I have the distinction of being the only actor in Hollywood history to become head of a major studio. During my ten-year reign, Paramount went from being 5% of Gulf and Western's volume to an excess of 50%. Producing over 300 films, think I know my business, Mr. Analyst? While you analyze theory, I analyze the bottom line. Let's not forget that theory has never been the key to the bottom line. Being a trendsetter rather than a trend follower is the key that constitutes bottom line black. With absence of false humility, when compared to Michael Eisner, I pale on every level. I'll go further: I can't think of another whose meteoric brilliance took a studio from ninth to first place... from near obscurity to royal prominence. Under Eisner's ingenious, all-American fa?ade, breeds the single most competitive, cunning, cantankerous, calculating, creative visionary that this hybrid industry/art form has possibly ever dealt with. I know Michael Eisner, not better than most; but better than most anyone, excepting a rare few. Greeting him at my home hours after he had been appointed President of Paramount, was a shocker. As we sat under an old sycamore tree in my garden, I remember thinking, "This young kid is head of Paramount? He looks more like an assistant high school basketball coach. "I wanted to meet you at your home, Mr. Evans. Didn't want to inconvenience you by having you come to my office." "Is this Howdy Doody putting me on?" "Mr. Evans...may I call you Bob?" Going along with Howdy, "Sure Michael." "May I ask a favor?" "Sure, Michael, name it." "Well, I've worked my way up the ladder of television, Mr. Evans...I mean, Bob. Started out with Saturday morning children shows; ended up programming prime time. Whatever they threw at me, ABC was always in third position." With his boy scout smile on wide... "Never failed," he laughed, "I always ended up number one. Don't mean to brag, but I'm a good student...know nothing about the big screen," he stuttered with altar boy naivete, "need a teacher... Show me what NOT to do. Might as well learn from the Master." "Is this guy for real?" I kept asking myself. It didn't take long to find out. Nor did it take long for him to far outrole his model. Though President of Paramount, Eisner had two superiors above him: Barry Diller, his immediate boss, and Charles Bluhdorn, Chairman of Gulf and Western, who owned Paramount. Never short on cajones, Eisner packed his bags and threatened to walk out of the studio at the close of business on a Friday afternoon, if his two superiors, Diller and Bludhorn did not give him the green light to go forward on his decision to make Indiana Jones. Both were vehement in their wish not to make the film. Both knew Eisner would quit if they turned him down. Both didn't want to lose him. He told his superiors, "If we can't make films like Indiana Jones, then we don't belong in the business. I need an answer by Friday or we're going to lose it." Both said no. "No is not an answer, yes is," said Eisner. "And if I don't get an answer by Friday, I quit." The poker game began. The next day he started to pack his belongings. Was he bluffing? Neither Diller nor Bluhdorn wanted to chance it. By Friday he was fully packed, ready to leave. Both were fervent in their wish not to make the film. Here comes the kicker: Both knew Eisner wasn't a fence straddler, that he would quit, and more so, they did NOT want to lose him. He was too valuable. That's what you call having conviction, being the boss, and yes, having vision. It was that instinct and tenacity, and that alone, that gave Paramount its most profitable franchise of the eighties. Eisner sees it on the screen before it's ever made. I know, I was there during his tenure at Paramount. Bringing him an eight-page story from Esquire magazine written by Aaron Latham, he read it while I waited. Without a blink, he looked up, " Get it on the screen as quick as you can! I leave it to you to get the best cast. Make it raunchy, not dirty. Put lots of music in it! Let's not talk budget. You've got 12 million dollars to make it. Get it on the screen fast. It's too hot! Someone will knock us off. Evans, I'm depending on you. Now go and get it made. I expect to see it on the screen next summer." That eight-page article was Urban Cowboy. Today, to get a decision like that is tantamount to getting a bill through congress in a week. It just doesn't happen...EXCEPT, if you have a boss who's not afraid to say yes. By way of record, his instant "yes" not only turned out to be one of Paramount's big hits of the year, but it was a darling with the critics as well and gave birth to the largest selling double album of the decade. Six million, four hundred thousand at seventeen bucks a clip. All this, from an instant Eisner "yes." Conversely, I had a screen adaptation of the prize-winning novel, Inside Moves, scripted by Barry Levinson and Valerie Curtain. It was One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest with basketball at its core with Dick Donner directing and Dustin Hoffman as a star. Eisner turned me down flat. "Forget it, Bob. You can't sell a picture about basketball." So passionate was Richard Donner and Hoffman, they both agreed to work for scale. I didn't relent and walked back to Eisner with the balls of Goliath. "Inside Moves, starring Dustin Hoffman directed by Richard Donner, for 5 million dollars. We can't lose." "Yes we can," Eisner said, "Basketball doesn't sell on the screen. Let someone else put it through the hoop." Someone else did. Donner raised the money privately and made it. Dammit. Eisner was right again! The picture opened and closed before I had a chance to see it. Instinct! I use the word again... You can't inherit it, learn it, buy it, or find it through the travels of a head-hunter! Creating sophisticated software is alien to any other industry. In its most simplistic terms, it's Humpty Dumpty time. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall Humpty Dumpty had a great fall All the kings horses And all the kings men Couldn't put Humpty together again And once it falls...you can't put a flick back together again either! Like his contemporaries, Steven Spielberg and Bill Gates, he shares the same genetic miracle. The twelve-year-old kid in them remains constant till the day they close their eyes for the last time. It is that constant which gives them an insight shared by none of their peers. The purity of a prepubescent's vision carries with it far more bottom line consequence than those who spew their thoughts to conjure proprietary benefits. Why is it Walt Disney continually counseled and questioned a twelve-year-old Kurt Russell, who, at the time, was a kid actor on the Disney lot? Sharing with the kid each day's dailies of the films that were being made at Disney? Watching with him, and him alone, the first cut of the picture once it was put together? Asking, asking, asking questions to the kid... Paying far more attention to the kids insight and answers than he did to any of his big "honchos" in marketing, distribution or production. Why? Because that was Disney's genius! Eisner carries it one step further. He doesn't have to ask a twelve year old for his opinion. He is one. He only has to ask himself. How extraordinary that one man's tenacity and vision was such, that he resuscitated the rodent back to American royalty and ensured the name of Disney for centuries to come. To use politics...jealousy...disdain...inside maneuvering, and yes, greed, to replace the man whose catapulted a sinking Disney to number one in the entire industry, with the man who all but destroyed his empire could very well cause Uncle Walt's cryogenic meltdown. Allowing the exploitive PR industry to bend our thinking in praise of a witless Roy Disney as a replacement to the brilliance of a Michael Eisner is somewhat reminiscent of Goebels propagating the heroics of Adolf Hitler. Mr. Carpetbagger, don't rain on my parade. I don't but your negative PR, I do know though that winners remain winners and losers remain losers. If the stockholders of Disney allow this sham to give birth: We deserve to lose. One thing is for certain, I'll be selling my stock. If this salacious back-door scheme becomes a reality, not only will I be selling my stock, but I'll loose all faith in the American system of free enterprise and every principle in which we place our faith. I implore you, to further examine my facts. If these meet with your high standard of veracity, help me in preventing another American scandal. Robert Evans ADDENDUM An example of Eisner's Vision is THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE In August of 1993, I finally finished my manuscript, The Kid Stay in the Picture and sent it to Simon Schuster, my publishers. More specifically to Dick Snyder, Chairman of the Board and to Michael Korda, Simon Schuster's Chief Editor. Only months earlier, Dick had me on the horn, "Finish the book, will ya? From what I've read so far, it's nothing short of great!" It was that shot of adrenaline that inspired my disappearing to a desert oasis to finish the book for all to read. Now, I'm waiting by the phone and no one's calling. Finally, the call, not from Snyder or Korda, but from my agent, Ed Victor. The news wasn't bad...it was hateful... Even though they had paid me my full advance, a hefty half mil', they decided NOT to publish the book...Instead, store it! "You're telling me, Ed, that after my four-year pregnancy with THE KID, they're not gonna let him breathe?" "That's right, Evans...it stinks!" "But they've paid for it and they are legally entitled to do with it what they want." Though my agent was caught by the short hairs, I was not. Yes, I was his client � a stray, one-time author. Ahh! But Simon & Schuster was a good part of his livelihood. He did not want to "rock their world!" My world? Hell, I could always go back to makin' flicks. Half-whispering over the phone to Victor, "You're tellin' this to the wrong guy, Ed. You don't know me that well, pal! If The Kid is not allowed to breathe, others won't be breathin' either!" Hotter than the weather, I hung the phone up in his ear. One thing I was sure of, my message would be repeated, word for word, to those who set me up! No one would admit it in the Tower Suites of Paramount Communications, but figuratively, Chairman Martin Davis bumped into Dick Snyder while taking a piss in the men's urinal, giving The Kid a "thumbs down" to ever being seen in a book store. He didn't want Paramount's history told through the words and memories of Robert Evans. In short, The Kid was framed. David got what he wanted. Total control of The Kid's destiny. Early the next day, Chairman Davis received a morning wake up from guess who? "Uncle Sidney!" Korshak, that is. Davis didn't know Sidney well, he knew him very well! He also knew Korshak wasn't calling to see if he wanted straight or decaffeinated coffee with his eggs! It took less than five minutes for them to reach a resolve. I would be allowed to auction off The Kid, but the buyer would have to pay back Simon & Schuster the hefty advance that they had already paid me. It was a double whammy! Unfamiliar with the publishing world, Sidney didn't realize this was a trap. Once a book is turned down by its publisher, it's tarnished. Getting another publisher to cough up a half a million in advance on tarnished goods of a first-time author is akin to running a three-minute mile! Yeah! But Davis didn't realize he'd trapped himself � big time. The Kid did not take kindly to being censored. If I had to hock everything I owned, I'd make sure no one's gonna rain on my Kid's parade! Too many tears went into writin', rewritin' and rewritin' them fuck ups, not to have them read by more than just me. It was the last week in August. The worst time of the year to auction off a book. Everyone's on vacation. Not unlike the film industry, the publishing industry is a mini-monopoly. Six major publishers control ninety percent of the action. With some reluctance, my agent contacted the other five to see if any of them had interest in a Labor Day weekend read. Of the five, four responded with an initial interest to at least read it. One passed � Hyperion. It's Editor-in-Chief, Bob Miller, snidely expressed his feelings that "a Bob Evans autobiography is not a Hyperion caliber book!" By coincidence, Hyperion was owned by, of all people, the Disney Company. Giving my agent the best laugh he had all summer, "Fuck Bob Miller, I'm calling Michael Eisner!" "Eisner most probably doesn't even know he owns the company, it's so small," he continued laughing. "I suppose you're gonna ask him to read it?" Hanging the phone up in Victor's ear again, I immediately called the Disney Company, asking for its Chairman, Michael Eisner. Naturally, he was in a meeting. Within thirty minutes, far quicker than a junior agent at UTA, Chairman Eisner was on the horn. I briefly filled him in on what led up to the call and suggested that he tell Bob Miller to read it. "I'd feel remiss if it went to someone else without you, Michael, ever knowing about it. This is not a flick; it's my life. That's why I'm extending myself in calling you." "Forget Bob Miller!" Eisner kidded. "I want to read it!" Couldn't help but start laughing. "Thanks Michael, but Bob Miller's good enough. You haven't got time to read a nine hundred page manuscript over a weekend!" "You don't understand, Evans. I'd rather read your book than every script we have at Disney. Would you mind sending it up to my house this afternoon? That is, if it's okay with you?" Ten minutes later, it was Chairman Eisner on the phone again. "Bob, I wanted to ask you one more thing...is it okay if [my wife] Jane reads it too?" I was sure I was being put on. "Sure! Why not? I'll send up another copy." "That's perfect! Then we can read it together." Though two manuscripts were sent directly to the Eisner home in Bel Air, I wouldn't dare repeat the story, especially to my agent. Couldn't take the chance. The rumors would start spreading I was on acid! Four o'clock that Sunday afternoon I was taken off the tennis court by a call from Eisner. "Jane and I are so proud of you, Bob. Your book is great! We both finished it. We laughed, we cried...May I be The Kid's �Godfather?'" Must be havin' a fuckin' sunstroke. "Sure Michael!" The bidding on the book took place the following Tuesday. To my surprise, three of the four other publishers wanted The Kid under their umbrella as well. Though I would have given The Kid to Michael at half the price and made up the difference, it wasn't necessary. With purpose, Michael was on top of every fifty-thousand dollar raise in the book's auction. What's going on? Them black clouds, they're disappearing. Not only did I get more than the Simon & Schuster advance, but Michael made me the last, final, and highest bid! It had nothing to do with business acumen. It had all to do with his childlike enthusiastic vision. Was he proud of it? Though no more than a pimple on an elephant's ass in the overall spectrum of his global powers his continuing embrace of The Kid made me feel Herculean for the first time in more than a decade. Incredulous as it may seem, it is now exactly a decade later..... Eisner's weekend read and immediate response .... The Kid Stays in the Picture is an International Best-seller and voted by Publishers Weekly among the six best books ever written! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS More than 58 thousand books are published each year. Less than 1/10 of 1% are chosen by the libraries of America to be enshrined in perpetuity. The chosen few are engraved in a singularly large print that more than doubles the number of pages needed to unravel its content. The libraries themselves are the sole owner of this special engraving. There is no price on this book, as it will never be publicly sold, thus ensuring future generations though time and eternity the opportunity of reading its text. Quoting the author: Me? I'd trade a hundred readers today for one reader a hundred years from now. A few months ago Liam Neeson and myself were lying on my bed, philosophizing, talking about the ups and downs of our craft. It was about 2 in the morning as I walked him to the front door. Putting his arms around me, "Bob, you know I've memorized your entire book. You're my friend, my very good friend. Take some Irish advice, "Don't try to be a mogul or a tycoon ...it all means nothing...they come and are forgotten before you put out the cigar.... Stick to WRITING, WRITING, WRITING! " He hugged me goodbye... "Never forget that Mozart will be remembered far longer than Napoleon!" Eerie the irony... if it weren't for Eisner's instinct and ambition to read it to the extent of canceling everything on his calendar.... the book possibly would never have been bought. Was Eisner's instinct good? No, it was brilliant. It's now a decade later... and invariably books die on the vine. The Kid has grown to be ten feet tall. An enthusiastic embrace of The Kid, that he and only he would own it, no matter what the price tag be...without him knowing it... has made him folklore in the world of literature. Honest Ingin it's true Michael... It proves once again though, that in this crazy hybrid business... Instinct overrides pragmatism... Being in this racket for fifty years, I've met them all... well almost... not one however ran a distant second to your instinct... your vision... Again, I say...INSTINCT...INSTINCT... INSTINCT... For without it... "The Kid" would be sitting on the shelf of Simon and Shuster's unreleased properties.... Instead, not unlike an acorn that grows into a forest... the Kid not only Stayed in the Picture... but got the brass ring as well.... Strange, huh? My own agent tells me that Eisner wouldn't even take my call...Well, he did...and it changed my life.... In his notes, I quote the late, great ARTHUR MILLER... Arthur Miller said that his play, "Death of a Salesman"... came from images... "The image of the aging... and so many of your friends already gone...and strangers in the seats of the mighty... who do not know you, nor your triumphs... or your incredible value. Above all....perhaps the image of a need greater than hunger or sex or thirst...the need to leave a thumbprint somewhere on the world...the need for immortality and by admitting it....the knowing that one has carefully inscribed one's name on a cake of ice on a hot July day." END |
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