..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Kim Voynar
..Michael Wilmington

What About Bernardo?

Shortly after taking a job with Variety back in 1993, I received a call from producer Michael Lobell who had remained accessible to me even after I'd been unceremoniously turfed from the Los Angeles Times two years earlier.

"How's it going," he asked.

I thought about it for a moment and then replied with humor and irony that things would be fine if I wasn't so busy taking calls from people that suddenly wanted to be my new friend. I had to tell people that I simply didn't have the time to accommodate everyone properly and had to politely add that because of the volume of traffic, I had placed a moratorium on friendship. Perhaps they could call back in six months when things had settled down.

By that point in my life I had established some general ground rules that I hoped would allow me to do my job and not get caught up in the artificiality of an industry that by its very nature strokes an ego when it's riding a crest. Hollywood is a very temporal environment where sentimentality and loyalty are among the quantities in shortest supply. People hang on tenaciously to eroding power bases as long as possible in the full knowledge that once they exit the scene, they will be exiled to the cinematic equivalent of Siberia.

There is a thin line between reporting on the industry and being a part of it and if one doesn't keep perspective the borders quickly blur. But one cannot exist in both arenas _ that is the film equivalent of a Newtonian law. It's all very well to hobnob at parties or take lunches but I consciously keep both to a minimum for the sake of my sanity.

The schmoozing, soothing compliments and courtesies extended can have an intoxicating effect that invariably leads to having one's feelings hurt. The amazing thing is how little it takes to co-opt so many of the individuals who are supposed to be above it all. There's no question that everyone has a price and for 20 years I've lived in the vague hope that someone would offer something close enough to tempt me.

All one has to do is keep one's eyes open to observe the large number of people living for the day they can jump the fence.

And why not?

Brethren have queried me for the record on those occasions when a reporter has taken a studio job. There's usually a scintilla of envy in the inquiry. But the temptations are less than mysterious. The monetary compensation is considerably better and anyone that's covered the industry for a short time knows in his/her heart of hearts that they are smarter and more capable of making shrewd and tough decisions than the people they've rubbed shoulders with at premieres or shared a bowl of pasta with at Orso's or The Grill.

There are nonetheless pitfalls when your wish is granted. The bureaucracy of the studio system can be crushing and somehow that quick route to the top tends to get impeded by endless memos and meetings that can have a soul withering effect on even the most ardent go-getter. On more than one occasion I've heard people talk about feeling a sense of liberation when they left a studio job despite the fact that they had spent considerable time during their tenure figuring out how to keep the job, perks, benefits and remuneration each and every day.

For years I've had a piece of paper stuck on my office wall with a single printed word: PRIVILEGE. It's important to remember that working in the film industry or even reporting on its idiosyncrasies has considerable compensations and with that comes the onus of balance and responsibility.

The other things that cannot be repeated often enough is the necessity of keeping one's sense of humor for peace of mind. An old friend who's worked for an Oscar-winning filmmaker off-and-on for two decades noted that his biggest fear was losing his humanity. The observation struck me as funny and I recommended she go into his office to tell him not to worry. It would be a painless passage because it's loss would be imperceptible - it would just be gone.

The recent departure and printed swan song from the entertainment beat of New York Times reporter Bernard Weinraub is an abject example of someone that lost humor and perspective in the process of going Hollywood. There aren't many worthily remembered farewells and very few in the entertainment industry. Last month the media reminded us of the grace and sincere sentiment Johnny Carson demonstrated when he made his finally sign off from The Tonight Show. That memory had to inform the misguided decision by Weinraub and his editors to bid adieu in such a public fashion a few weeks back.

For the record I don't really know Weinraub, though we've kibitzed at premieres a couple of times over the course of his tenure. Shortly after he arrived in Los Angeles he wrote quite a perceptive piece about the differences between covering the entertainment industry and his experience as a political reporter in D.C. pointing out that the pressures and pitfalls of the former were much greater. It moved me to call him up, applaud his piece and open the door should he ever require background for something or someone he was researching. It remained the longest exchange between the two of us.

It's clear from Weinraub's journalistic coda that while he had his equilibrium at the start, it quickly gave way to passions that clouded his better judgment. He became Inspector Renaud of Casablanca tut-tutting the presence of gambling while pocketing his winnings with the important exceptions that he lacked the character's wit or self-realization.

He labored under the weight of feeling like a second-class citizen in the Hollywood caste system. His personal worth was demeaned by the sense that his wardrobe, car and paycheck were wanting and craved to have all the material things a junior studio executive would be accorded.

While I have no desire to get under the couch at his analyst's office, in all likelihood his struggle to overcome low self-esteem contributed to the bust up of his marriage and the development of a hidden agenda that was so aptly summed up by Leo Bloom in The Producers as: " I want everything I've ever seen in the movies". Weinraub's piece implies that he had to marry up and his relationship (and eventual marriage) with studio executive Amy Pascal comes off in print as more strategic than heartfelt.

It also kicked off a long history of seeming conflicts of interest that cast a long shadow on his Hollywood journalism. Personal relationships and unions put many of us in the uncomfortable situation of knowing things that, if printed, can get mates into hot water. Ignoring that knowledge can also be precarious and pulling off this high wire tightrope act is no mean feat. Eventually scrutiny from within and outside criticism led to a lateral shift that saw him reassigned to the television sector.

The New York Times has taken the rather unique approach of looking within its ranks to select its West Coast entertainment journalists and has generally opted for individuals with no prior experience in the field. The rationale is that an outsider is less likely to "go native" on them but the track record would belie that logic. Weinraub is an extreme example. Rick Lyman who took over the movie beat from him was also unprepared for the way business and art are conducted in Hollywood. He begged out of the posting early.

Objectively the folks at the Times are cognizant of the fact that the impact financially and socially of the movie industry is considerable. It is one of the paper's biggest advertisers and while that hasn't stopped reporters from examining dirty linen, neither has it translated into the sort of aggressive investigation it applies to comparably sized industries.

One of the revealing chestnuts tucked into Weinraub's curtain call was the fact that one of his editors arranged for him to get the figurative tour of the town from producer and executive Dawn Steel. There's no indication that he sought other counsel from insiders or had access to people knowledgeable about the film industry as a result of reporting from the trenches.

The arrangement sounds just a tad too cozy. Weinraub was in bed with the people who were shaping the stories he was writing and it's little wonder that he began to identify with them rather than his peers. His bosses had unintentionally paved the way for him to develop the very traits that theoretically they opposed so strenuously and led to his appointment.

Weinraub's finale leaves no question that he's cast himself as the victim of the piece. The villain or villains are another matter. His senior managers are certainly culpable for not better preparing him for the task at hand. Perhaps they didn't know and if that's the case they can hang their heads in collective shame. More likely they considered the beat to have more color than content.

Still, when the first indications of trouble surfaced they would have been well advised to rotate him out of the line of fire. Instead they took the ostrich approach, believing the problem would go away and while their heads were buried in the sand, they squandered the resource of a fine reporter.

The irony is that Weinraub doesn't appear to see any fault emanating from the lair of his former employers. He's convinced the elders of the modern Gomorrah seduced him with sweet words and baubles and then ignominiously turned their backs when his new station could no longer serve their evil intentions. One can only conclude that he has to be mystified that others faced with a similar predicament do not appear to share his outrage.

Absent from the article is what lies ahead for Weinraub. His exit from the Times may or may not have been voluntary but it's difficult to imagine that he's resigned himself to early retirement and a life of gardening, golf and late night poker games. It's equally unlikely that such a dramatic departure allows him the opportunity to take up another posting as an entertainment journalist. He may also have spent his wad decrying the incivility of an industry that is instrumental, via his wife, in keeping him comfortably sheltered and fed.

However, his decade on the film beat should have taught him a thing or two about what constitutes a good movie from a bad one. Perhaps he could write one and certainly he must have the confidence to develop and produce films as well as the barbarians who courted him so assertively. All he has to do is find someone savvy enough to give him a housekeeping deal.

- by Leonard Klady