The Big Deal : Since the days of Ernest Hemingway, writers have wanted good movies made of their work. One mogul thinks he knows how: Publish a book and turn it into a film.
NEW YORK — The book may be yours, baby. Trust me--the movie is mine.
--Hollywood producer to New York author in “City of Angels”
For the record:
12:00 a.m. Feb. 29, 1996 For the Record
Los Angeles Times Thursday February 29, 1996 Home Edition Life & Style Part E Page 4 View Desk 2 inches; 45 words Type of Material: Correction
From page to screen--An archival photograph of Ernest Hemingway and Fred Zinnemann was published with a Feb. 8 article about sometimes difficult working relationships between writers and Hollywood. The Times is unaware of any difficulty in Hemingway and Zinnemann’s relationship and did not intend to imply otherwise.
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It’s a story as old as Hollywood itself.
Scene 1: A New York writer sells his soul (excuse me, his novel) to a big movie studio, with visions of Malibu real estate dancing in his head.
Scene 2: Reality intrudes. The author plays no role in the creative process, watching in horror as his work is mutilated on the screen.
Scene 3: Writer flees the movie set in despair, vowing never again to suffer such humiliation . . . at least until the next deal comes along.
The front gates of Hollywood studios are impressive portals, but they might as well say “Abandon Hope” to the writers who pass through them. Ever since moguls began acquiring the creative rights to novels in the 1920s, writers have bitterly criticized the film industry’s treatment of literary material. Most of them are long forgotten, but others--including F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway--were some of America’s greatest authors.
Their complaints echo in our day. In 1990, Tom Wolfe swiftly cashed his $750,000 check for the rights to “Bonfire of the Vanities,” then cringed as Warner Brothers turned his literary marvel into a cinematic bomb. In a recent TV Guide interview, author Caleb Carr (“The Alienist”) noted acidly that “the writer in Hollywood is still basically the biggest jerk in town.”
Is there any hope for these ink-stained kvetches?
Perhaps, but it depends on your definitions of “novel” and “writer,” not to mention your view of the increasingly blurred lines between book and movie deals. There are indeed signs that authors can assert more control over the film versions of their novels, yet there’s a stiff price to be paid.
It helps, in other words, if the idea for your book comes from a producer.
Just ask Brandon Tartikoff, the coolly confident progenitor of “Cheers,” “The Bill Cosby Show,” “Family Ties” and other hit television series. At first glance, the former head of entertainment at NBC and Paramount Studios would seem to be an unlikely patron saint for misunderstood writers. But in his own shrewd way, given new realities in publishing, he’s trying to help.
“I care about writers,” says Tartikoff, relaxing in the Manhattan offices of New World Entertainment, which he chairs. “And I think this new venture we’ve developed can actually help them when a film is made of their work.”
He’s talking about Brandon Tartikoff Books, a division of Warner Books that is unique in New York publishing. At a time when many authors scramble to sell their novels to publishers, then gear up for a similar battle with Hollywood, Tartikoff’s imprint signs only those titles that have a good chance of becoming a movie. While Warner Books manages the literary end, he promotes the film deal and makes a concerted effort to treat his authors with respect.
A friendly, soft-spoken man, Tartikoff, 45, isn’t seeking the presidency of the Writers Guild, nor is he a sucker for a hard-luck story. During his years at Paramount, he explains, he became sensitive to writers’ concerns, especially through his work with Tom Clancy on the stormy set of “Patriot Games.”
“I’m saying to [writers], I will give you the most assurances that any human being can give you that your next experience in Hollywood is going to be far more pleasurable than the last one was,” Tartikoff says.
“I’m not going to say it’s going to be perfect, but I’m going to be your blocking back. I’m going to make sure the bad people don’t get to you, and that you can look in on your creation and have input and real involvement.”
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As a business deal, it’s win-win. Tartikoff helps acquire literary properties that, with sufficient publicity and sales, can whet the public’s appetite for his future movies. Meanwhile, Warner Books can exploit the movie link by publishing paperback editions of titles that eventually become films.
Sponsors of the imprint also suggest that it could help eliminate the awkward “back channels” between publishers and producers for manuscripts and book proposals. Typically, studios have tried to get early and unauthorized looks at works in progress; now, with more writers offering their proposals to Hollywood first and New York publishers second, the tables have turned. It’s a game that everybody plays but no one on either coast particularly likes.
Hollywood VIPs like Oliver Stone and Peter Guber are exploring similar book-movie companies, Tartikoff says, adding that the long-term financial rewards can be huge. But the most intriguing payoff is for authors. So far, Brandon Tartikoff Books has published “Superstitious” by R.L. Stine and “Strange Highways” by Dean Koontz, both of which will become movies. Those deals were fairly conventional, with writers producing books that the company acquired.
Yet Tartikoff’s latest project, “The Playground of the Gods” by Cathy Cash-Spellman, breaks the mold in a big way. It offers a revealing glimpse of the new links between book and movie deals--especially as they affect writers.
Cash-Spellman, a former vice president of Bloomingdale’s and former president of two advertising agencies, helped create Charlie perfume when she worked at Revlon and toured the country as the first “Charlie girl.” In the early 1980s, she became a nationally known best-selling author, writing “So Many Partings,” “An Excess of Love,” “Paint the Wind” and “Bless the Child.”
Her books did well, but Cash-Spellman was not satisfied. In her own words, she wanted to be a “household name,” and there was only one way to do that.
“I’ve had three New York Times bestsellers and no movies produced,” she says, sitting next to Tartikoff on a plush sofa in his Manhattan office. “And so the next step for me, clearly, would be to have a movie produced.”
Enter The Mogul.
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Several years ago, as he remembers it, a studio executive told Tartikoff the true story of a group of wealthy men who took their “trophy” girlfriends to a remote Pacific island for sex and other amusements, only to have the romp turn tragic at the end. Tartikoff thought the story was a natural movie, and he began actively developing the idea after leaving Paramount in 1992.
During a lunch with his high-powered agent, Robert Gottlieb, Tartikoff casually described the story--and Cathy Cash-Spellman’s life changed forever.
“[Gottlieb] said, ‘That’s a great idea! Do you have a problem if I made it a book first and then a movie?’ ” Tartikoff recalls. “It was sort of like, let’s have dinner first, and then a movie. And I said that was fine.”
Gottlieb immediately pitched another of his clients, Cash-Spellman, as the writer, and Tartikoff’s eyes lit up. His wife had read one of her novels years earlier, and he knew the Manhattan author could tell a yarn with the best of them. After quick negotiations on a book deal and movie option, Cash-Spellman was eager to begin. But she soon realized this would not be a typical drill.
Because of the dual book-movie arrangement, she regularly sent chapters and ideas to Tartikoff for reaction. The two discussed the parameters of the plot before she started, and although Cash-Spellman put a unique creative spin on the story, everybody was on the same wavelength from the beginning.
“I thought in terms of scenes instead of chapters,” she explains. “I felt the map of the movie had to be done simultaneously with the rhythms of the book. . . . I felt you had to grab [readers] early on, like in a movie.”
For his part, Tartikoff says, “I never presumed to be an expert book editor. I don’t pretend to have those skills. What I was trying to do was just postulate a premise that leads to a book. . . . I don’t remember giving her a note saying, ‘I don’t think he should dive off the cliff, I think he should get in the boat,’ because we can always change it when we get to the movie.”
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When the book was done, Cash-Spellman had written a fast-moving tale of lust, mayhem and sexual epiphany, just as Tartikoff had envisioned. She was happy with the result, but even happier that the book was headed for the screen. Although it’s not yet clear whether she will co-write the screenplay or simply consult on the script, the author sounds hugely confident about what lies ahead in Hollywood. These days, she’s popping champagne, not Rolaids.
Indeed, when Tartikoff and Cash-Spellman pitched the novel to Warner Books, they humorously included a list of stars who might appear in the film. Like John Grisham, Michael Crichton and other novel-to-screen writers, Cash-Spellman says she cast the film in her mind as she wrote the book.
“I see De Niro in one of these roles,” muses the author.
“It’s a great parlor game,” adds Tartikoff.
The book hit the stores last week and Cash-Spellman has begun a lengthy national tour to promote “Playground of the Gods.” She admits that she took a highly circuitous route to get a movie deal, but laughs at the thought that some literary purists might view her success with condescension or alarm.
“This is all entertainment,” she says. “I don’t really know that many dyed-in-the-wool readers, do you? I just think people love good stories.”
It’s a happy ending, Hollywood-style. Time to rewrite the script:
Scene 1: New York novelist cracks the bestseller list three times but can’t get a Hollywood deal. Will she ever be a brand-name author?
Scene 2: Mogul makes a creative offer she can’t refuse, promising a smooth ride on the set when her book--his idea--becomes a movie.
Scene 3: Writer finally gets respect and Hollywood gets its hands on another novel. Hugs and kisses for all . . . until the next deal comes along.
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