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BY CATHERINE SEIPP | Please excuse my sour tone today, but I've been grumpier than usual these past couple of weeks about the nefarious relationship between Hollywood and the journalists connected with it. Because lately it seems that the only person not making money off this nefarious relationship is ... me!!! Here's the back story, as we say around here. About a year and a half ago, the owner of a weekly newspaper chain took me to lunch at Orso, an Industry restaurant where I'm such a regular that one of these days I'm sure they're going to remember my name. This publisher wanted me to leave my employer at the time, Buzz magazine, and go work for him. I was of course far too loyal (not to mention complacent) to do this, although I did manage to negotiate a nice raise from Buzz out of the situation -- which lasted until the place went through a change of management a few months later and I was fired for making too much money. Anyway, while we were waiting for the valet parkers to fetch the cars, I saw a TV executive friend also waiting and introduced her to the publisher. The other day she called to thank me. It seems that introduction (it can take forever to get your car at Orso, so there's plenty of time to chat) was the start of a rather fruitful friendship. When the TV executive's husband, a screenwriter, read an article in the publisher's newspaper a few weeks ago and thought it would make a good movie -- well, darned if the relationship that bloomed from that parking lot meeting didn't smooth the way to a $750,000 deal buying the rights to the piece. Naturally, I'm happy for everyone involved, and especially happy that the journalist who wrote the story -- occupying a job slot that could have been filled by yours truly -- got a nice piece of that $750,000. But sometimes it's hard to see the true beauty of other people's good fortune when your vision is obscured by a cloud of moths flying out of your pockets. So this is the kind of mood I was in when I read in the New York Times last week that Buzz (whose money troubles for some reason weren't entirely alleviated by the disappearance of my salary from the payroll) had entered into a rather remarkable deal with Paramount, offering the studio the first chance to option certain articles. In return, Paramount will ante up a few thousand extra dollars to help the magazine pay for those assignments -- specifically, for well-researched stories that might have movie potential. Simply buying the screen rights to articles is old news in Hollywood, of course, dating back most notably to "Saturday Night Fever," which had its origins in a New York magazine article in the '70s ... and the author of which, Nik Cohn, recently owned up to basically inventing that whole slice of real-life disco fever. (There's a moral there somewhere, although I haven't yet figured out what it is.) A newer twist occurred a couple of years ago, when Disney hired Premiere's former editor in chief, Susan Lyne, to mine the world of magazine writers. Lyne has been paying journalists between $10,000 and $25,000 to research true stories with movie potential and then turn over the film rights. (The journalists keep the publishing rights should a magazine want the story.) But Buzz's agreement with Paramount is the newest news of all. Perhaps the most cutting-edge aspect, as careful readers may have noticed, is the trend of less money for journalists ... despite all the talk about what at first glance might appear to be more. The traditional method, like the one involving my friend the TV executive and the newspaper publisher, comes with no guarantees of movie money but can result in significant coin. Plus -- call me old-fashioned -- I think there's something to be said for a piece of prose whose basic intent is simply to engage readers. The newer way, the Disney way, pays two or three times as much as most writers can expect to make from an article -- but probably less than if they'd kept the rights and worked out their own deal later with interested buyers. However, the thought of a readership populated entirely by studio executives strikes me as a little disheartening. The newest way, the Paramount-Buzz way, adds just an extra $6,000 to Buzz's top freelance rate of $4,000 and, at least according to the wording in the New York Times, transfers all screen rights (which have traditionally remained with the writer) to the magazine. "I've held this up to the light and looked at it from all directions," Buzz's editor in chief, Marilyn Bethany, told the New York Times. "There doesn't seem to be a downside." Now I've always liked Marilyn, and still do even though she fired me (I guess that did introduce a prickly aspect to our relationship), partly because she can always be counted on to make memorable remarks like that. But at least two downsides to the Buzz-Paramount deal were quite visible to me, so I called her up with some questions. How, for instance, would this affect the way Buzz might cover Paramount? "It's not like we're owned by Paramount," Marilyn said. "Why the spotlight would be on Buzz in this situation -- instead of on Time Warner or a myriad of other cases -- is beyond me. Did you think Art Cooper had a valid point?" she asked, referring to a comment the GQ editor made in the New York Times piece. "Uh, what was his point?" "Exactly! What was his point? He said, 'Why should a magazine take money from a studio for a piece that could benefit a studio? That's like taking money from the Republican National Committee to do a piece on Dan Quayle.' Well, it's not like that at all. If we want to write about Paramount, we'll write about Paramount. All that's happening here is we get some up-front money so we can make a better magazine. This is going to allow us to do the type of journalism we've never done before." "Uh-huh," I said, taking notes. "'Uh-huh!'" she mimicked testily. "'Uh-huh! Uh-huh!'" "I'm just writing down what you're saying," I said, making a mental note to inject a more sincerely sympathetic tone into my please-do-go-on murmurs. "Now ... according to the New York Times, the writer signs over all movie rights to the magazine with this new arrangement. Is this actually true?" "No, the writer will share in the movie rights." "By how much?" "I don't know. Some reasonable percentage." "Can I see the contract?" "N-o-o-o," Marilyn said, drawling out the word. "Why not? Isn't the percentage specified in the contract?" "This is private property of the magazine, Catherine!" she snapped, in rather severe reprimanding tones. (Note to anyone interested in buying the screen rights to this column: This would be a good place for the giant alien to burst out of my stomach, travel via computer-generated special effects through the fiber-optic phone line and eat Marilyn. Just a suggestion.) We seemed to be at an impasse, and I wanted to wrap things up on a friendly note, so I told Marilyn the rather sitcom-esque turn my life has taken lately -- which is, my ex-husband (who recently split up with his No. 2 wife) and my father (who once again finds himself between girlfriends, jobs and a place to live) are now roommates. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "You could pick up the phone right now and sell that as a series!" Well, she's about the 15th person to say that, so perhaps it's a possibility. Although I wonder how successful "The Odd Couple" would have been had the situation resembled this one, which is basically Felix and Felix. The biggest difference between them is that my ex-husband can't fix things around the house and my father can fix anything. This came in handy when the No. 2 wife kicked in the screen door.
"Still," Marilyn added sternly, "the men in your life! I think you ought to think about that." Yeah, yeah, I know. And I have been, actually. Specifically: Is there a way I can get some Hollywood money out of all this?
Catherine Seipp's Hollywoodland column appears biweekly. |
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