Late Friday afternoon, Columbia Pictures Industries formally reported to the Securities and Exchange Commission, and simultaneously made available to the press upon request, the terms of its settlement with David
Begelman
. With some arithmetic it could be determined that Columbia had agreed to pay Begelman substantially more money as a film and television producer over the next three years than it had been paying him as an officer of the company. Depending on the fulfillment of certain formulas in the contract,
Begelman
could earn at least $
500,000 annually. And there were a number of additional outlays not included in the public report: Columbia would furnish Begelman with office space at The Burbank Studios and a staff consisting of two secretaries, an assistant, a story editor, and when needed, a projectioni
st. It would provide a car; $
25,000 annually for medical, auto, life, and other insurance premiums; $26,000 annually for entertainment expenses; first-class travel plus $1,500 a week in expenses while on trips; and legal fees associated with the pictures he would
make. And he would get on-scree
n credit reading "A David
Begelman
Production" above the titles of his films in letters 75 per
cent of the size of the title.
* * *
Alan Hirschfield was not available to answer news-media questions about
Begelman
's new deal. He and Berte flew to London Friday for the European premiere of
Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
As in December, surrounding the opening of
The Deep,
there was a tightly scheduled sequence of social events, which the Hirschfields had to work at enjoying, and several business meetings, at which Alan's mind wandered.
The Queen and Prince Philip attended the premi
ere on Monday evening at the Ode
on Leicester Square. Hirschfield's right hand was still in a bandage as a result of his skiing accident in February, and in the receiving line the Queen asked what had happened.
"I broke it skiing," Hirschfield said. "I'm better at making space movies than I am at navigating on earth."
"You'd better stick to dry land," the Queen said, with a little chuckle.
Richard Dreyfuss, Steven Spielberg, and Francois Truffaut were present, as was most of the British motion-picture community. The last person through the receiving l
ine was five-year-old Cary Guffe
y, who played the child in the movie. He presented the Queen with a bouquet of roses. Then, as the bugles blew a fanfare, the Queen led the dignitaries into the Royal Enclosure and the movie began.
The evening concluded with a gala supper party in the ballroom of Claridge's. In their suite upstairs later, Alan and
Berte
Hirschfield agreed that they had probably just attended their last royal premiere—at least as representatives of Columbia Pictures.
They returned to New York the next day on Pan Am 1.
Having purchased the motion-picture rights to
Annie
for 59.5 million, Columbia Pictures was obliged to appoint a producer for the film.
Hirschfield
had suggested to Leonard Goldberg that he might produce
Annie
and Goldberg had liked the idea. Hirschfield had suggested to David
Begelman
that
he
might produce
Annie
and
Begelman
had mentioned that that might conflict with Goldberg's expectations.
Hirschfield
had retreated and posed the possibility that David and Len might produce it together.
When
Begelman
was reinstated as president of the studio, thus eliminating any chance that he would produce individual films personally, Len Goldberg's star had risen. But when
Begelman
left the presidency again and became a producer after all, he emerged as the leading contender to produce
Annie.
The Columbia board of directors wanted to give it to him. The studio would spend more money on
Annie
than on any film since
Close Encounters,
and the producer's fee would be huge, probably well over a million dollars. The board felt that it was only right, in view of David's tragic experience, that he should be awarded this prize.
The likelihood that David Begelman would produce the film version of
Annie
shocked and dismayed the people who had created
Annie
on the Broadway stage—producers Mike Nichols and Lewis Allen, composer Charles Strouse, lyricist and director Martin Chamin, and th
e writer of the book, Thomas Mee
han. Although they had no legal right to participate in the choice of producer, which was solely within Columbia Pictures' discretion, the Broadway group protested to agent Sam Cohn, who on their behalf had sold Columbia the movie rights. The creators were horrified at the notion of having the biggest and most visible children's movie in years produced by a confessed check forger and embezzler. In addition, they complained that David
Begelman
, despite his many accomplishments as an agent and studio head, had never in his life actually produced a motion picture. Perhaps, the creators suggested, he could get his on-the-job training on someone else's movie.
Sam Cohn, as agent and friend of the Broadway group, and also as a friend of
Begelman
's, tried to act as a mediator. Suppose Mike Nichols and Lewis Allen produced the film and Begelman was the executive producer, Cohn asked. Nichols and Allen rejected that idea; they wanted nothing to do with Begelman.
On Thursday, March 16, Sam Cohn conferred with Alan Hirschfield, who told Cohn that he agreed with his clients' complaints but had no power to override the wishes of the Columbia board of directors.
The decision stood. David
Begelman
would produce
Annie.
Aside from David
Begelman
and Herbert Allen, who each had announced that they would file multimillion-dollar libel suits, no one was more outraged by the press coverage of the Columbia scandal than Ray Stark. By mid-March he had demanded and gotten a total of six published corrections of erroneous or misleading statements about him that had appeared in
The New York Times,
the
Los Angeles Times,
and the
Los Angeles Herald Examiner.
He took issue with an implication in the
Herald Examiner
that there might be something sinister about his lawyer's ownership of the Beverly Hills house which David
Begelman
occupied. He took issue with an implication in all three papers that there might be something improper about Columbia's ownership of one of his production companies. He took issue with a story in
The New York Times
which attributed to him a statement that actually had been made by Robert Evans, the former head of production at Paramount. Stark had every right to demand these corrections, of course, and rightly believed that the coverage of the Begelman scandal at large had encompassed the sloppiest media treatment of a major news story in America in many years. But Stark was too angry, and too combative by nature, to be satisfied with mere published corrections. He decided to write an open letter to the film community about the press coverage and publish it as an advertisement in the two principal Hollywood trade papers,
Daily Variety
and
The Hollywood Reporter.
Ray worked hard over the letter. He thought about starting it with the biblical quotation "And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free." He thought about employing the question "Remember Joe McCarthy?" But he discarded both of those notions and finally began the letter:
INNUENDO IS BELLOWED FROM THE ROOFTOP.
Corrections
are
whispered from the cellar.
The film industry, because of its high visibility, often finds itself in a particularly vulnerable position where the press is concerned. . . . Some "investigative" reporters have been so busy creating headlines and meeting deadlines that either they failed to check their facts, made accusations by omission, or butchered the truth by innuendo—all for a more provocative story. Freedom of the press brings with it its own responsibility. . . .
Stark purchased double-page ads in
both papers, placing his letter
on the left page and reprints of five of the corrections on the right
page. Just about everybody in Hollywood (West and East) saw the
ads. Some applauded. Some were startled. Some just laughed. Liz
Smith, for one, thought it was all a giant hoot. She sent a copy of
the ad to Cliff Robertson with a note: "Ray Stark on the attack!"
* * *
Allen Adle
r had not given up the notion that Time Incorporated might come to the rescue of Columbia Pictures. Although Hirschfi
eld's meeting with Andrew Heiske
ll in January had been inconclusive, there was still a lot of warmth between them and between the companies. Adler had spoken several times with his own principal contacts at Time, Gerald Levin, the president of Time's rapidly growing Home Box Office subsidiary, and J. Richard Munro, the group vice president of all Time's video operations and the
man who would succeed Andrew Heiske
ll as the chief executive officer of the corporation.
On Tuesday, March 21, Adler sought out Gerald Levin. Adler had a bad back and could not sit; he could only stand or lie. So he met Levin during the noon hour in front of the St. Regis Hotel at Fifth Avenue and Fifty-fifth Street and they went for a stroll. They walked down Fifth for several blocks, over to Madison, up Madison, back to Fifth, and down Fifth again.
"Jerry, you've got to help us," Adler said. "You've got to come in and buy us."
"You know how sympathetic we
are
," Levin replied, "but you also know that it raises a whole host of difficult questions."
"Let me try and deal with your main concerns," Adler began. "First, you think our business is a dirty business. Well, there are a few dirty people, but it's not a dirty business. It's filled with a lot of nice people, very warm and friendly. You'd enjoy them. Second, you think the business is mercurial, that it's way up one year and way down the next. We've run our company to avoid that. We have the outside financing for pictures so we spread the risk, we have the potential for more and more sales of ancillary rights, we have diversification with Gottlieb, and we'll have more diversification. Third, you think the business is inherently unmanageable, that you wouldn't know how to deal with Hollywood guys, guys like
Begelman
, guys who have a different value system from yours, who take a limo for two blocks, who don't write everything down, who don't impose strict rational controls on the way they manage things. Well, we're changing all that. We do impose strict rational controls more and more, and you would have us there to manage it for you in the first place. You wouldn't have to do it yourselves."
Jerry Levin remained sympathetic but gave Adler little reason for hope.
The next day Adle
r repeated his walking sales pitch to Levin's boss, Dick Munro. Munro was no more optimistic.
The last half of March was a dull blur for Alan Hirschfield. On one level it was relatively peaceful. Herbert, who was preoccupied with preparations for his lawsuit against
The New York Times,
called far less often. And Matty Rosenhaus had hardly spoken to
Hirschfield
since their angry clash on the telephone the day of the security-analysts presentation. So Alan was almost able to pretend that it was business as usual and concent
rate on issues less cosmic tha
n the control and governance of Columbia Pictures Industries—issues even less important than who would produce
Annie.
One such issue was choosing a
title for the Jane Fonda-Jack Le
mmon film about a nuclear accident and the reporter who covers it. Although the movie only then was going into production and would not be released for a year, there was already a sharp debate within the company about the title. Should it be
The China Syndrome
(the working title), or
Eyewitness,
or
Power,
or something else? How about
Newsbreak
or
Alert
or
Ready Alert?
While acknowledging that the title
The China Syndrome
was the most "interesting," several Columbia people feared that potential audiences would not know what the phrase "China syndrome" meant. Somebody said it sounded like an ailment you came down with after eating in a Chinese restaurant. Somebody was afraid that moviegoers hostile toward Jane Fonda's political activities would surmise that it was a "message" picture about Communist China. The studio finally decided, after many lengthy and heated debates, to launch a market research effort to try to determine which title would "play best."
Late in the month, Hirschfield received two pieces of very bad news.