Unscripted, page 23
Two days later LaRue’s name showed up on a casting list for a lead role on History of Them, a pilot for a multiracial comedy.
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As the year neared an end and the holidays approached, Shari was busy trying to spend more time with her family on the East Coast while shuttling to California to tend to Sumner. But recent events had also forced her to consider renewing her effort to merge CBS and Viacom. When she’d abandoned the effort a year earlier, there didn’t seem to be any rush to combine them. But now the need for greater scale in the entertainment industry appeared acute. Netflix and Amazon were throwing billions at new programming. The media industry was undergoing rapid transformation, and the traditional broadcast and cable business models on which CBS and Viacom depended were collapsing.
Even Rupert Murdoch had gotten the message. In November, CNBC had reported that Sumner’s archrival was in talks to sell most of Twenty-First Century Fox’s entertainment assets to Disney.
News of a potential Fox-Disney deal sent shock waves through the industry, including the CBS board. Lead CBS director Bruce Gordon asked the investment banking boutique Centerview Partners, which was also involved in the Fox-Disney deal, to make a presentation for CBS.
On December 14, after Moonves led the board through CBS’s latest results (including a revenue gain in its most recent quarter), he said he was turning to a strategic analysis of the industry and potential merger partners for CBS. Shari looked over at Klieger in surprise: even though Gordon had told her something about a discussion of “the industry,” such a strategic review wasn’t on the agenda.
Centerview’s list of potential partners included the usual suspects: MGM, Sony Entertainment, and Lionsgate were companies CBS might acquire; Verizon, Amazon, Apple—perhaps even Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway—were among the larger companies that might want to acquire CBS.
There was a glaring omission. Viacom was barely mentioned, dismissed as largely irrelevant, even though it had just surprised Wall Street with better earnings than expected, suggesting that Bakish’s strategy was yielding results.
One of Centerview’s slides compared the relative fortunes of the Murdoch and Redstone families, with the Murdochs having fared far better financially.
Shari felt her temperature rising. To overlook Viacom, after she had formally proposed and supported such a merger, was insulting, the ultimate in being ignored.
She also felt ambushed. Shari wanted to walk out but resisted the impulse. The instant the presentation ended she stood up, grabbed her belongings, and stalked out without further comment. Klieger followed close behind.
A car was waiting downstairs. Once inside, Shari vented to Klieger. What was she doing on the board if no one listened to her or cared what she said? She felt like she was being goaded into another board fight like the one she’d just had at Viacom. But she didn’t feel she had the energy. Maybe she should just bow out and let CBS do whatever it wanted.
Klieger seized the opening. “Rather than try to figure out if it makes sense to merge CBS and Viacom, and then deal with the inevitable litigation, why not let someone else figure that out?” The Redstones could sell National Amusements, the controlling shareholder of both Viacom and CBS. Shari could focus on Advancit Capital and her family.
The idea was bold, but to Klieger it made sense. National Amusements’ assets—the controlling stakes in CBS and Viacom and the theater chain—would probably never be more valuable to a buyer looking for scale in the entertainment business than they were at that moment. Shari had said she was tired of fighting.
Shari said she’d think about it. She had her bankers at Evercore look into a range of options, even though it was unlikely she could ever persuade her father to sell National Amusements, given his hostility to a sale of even a stake in Paramount.
Whatever she decided, one thing was now clear to Klieger: some kind of showdown between Shari and Moonves was brewing.
* * *
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On December 19, June Seley Kimmel, a former actress and aspiring screenwriter, weighed in on a Twitter discussion about how Hollywood tended to blame women victims for the sexual assaults coming to light post-Weinstein.
“Good time to say I had a pitch meeting w Les Moonves who was then head of development at 20th Century Fox,” Kimmel tweeted. “Went great, said we’d do it, then he stuck his tongue down my throat . . .”
The tweet went unnoticed by journalists, but Shari saw it and forwarded it to Martha Minow, referring to “certain rumors” that were “now on Twitter.” The two women spoke the next day. “We may have to deal with something that goes beyond Charlie Rose,” Shari said.
Minow wondered aloud if they needed to alert the board to the tweet about Moonves, but Shari said she’d leave the decision up to her. Shari felt she already had enough issues with the board and didn’t want to be seen as the one stirring up trouble for Moonves. Still, she told Minow she was hearing a lot of “noise” about Moonves and assumed Minow would pass on the tweet to other board members. Minow, however, had the impression they should be discreet, so she didn’t say anything further.
Shari also forwarded the tweet to Klieger. The alleged incident was old—Moonves was at Fox before he joined Lorimar in 1985, so it had happened decades ago. Still, coming just days after the board meeting that so upset Shari, a #MeToo problem for Moonves would dramatically change the balance of power.
This could get interesting, Klieger thought.
* * *
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Moonves gave no hint to other board members of the mounting pressure he faced. But to Dauer he showed a flash of despair, at one point suggesting he might retire early. But Moonves being stripped of his power as CBS chief executive would render him of little value to Dauer and his clients. Dauer weighed in on December 19: “You said you might retire early—because of the ‘situation.’ Then the bad people win. Too many people rely on you—your goal should be to go out on your own terms.—there I said my piece. Stay warm.”
“I was a good guy. I still am,” Moonves asserted.
“No one doubts that,” Dauer assured him.
At a party Dauer ran into Elisabeth Sereda, a member of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, which hosts the Golden Globes. She came up to him and said, “We’re going to get Moonves.”
“Why?” Dauer asked.
“There are so many,” was all she said.
Dauer immediately reported the incident to Moonves. “Beware of a publicist named Elisabeth Sereda,” he said. “I am hoping she was drunk because she was saying things about you. . . . Very creepy.”
“What was she saying?” Moonves asked.
“This lady was so aggressive,” Dauer said. “Said stupid things about you. . . . More women power crap.”
“Did she know we know each other or she was just talking in general about me?” Moonves asked.
“I don’t know.” Dauer added, “I was really getting pissed—but stayed cool. She was the type of woman that makes me very happy I’m single.”
Moonves wanted to know if she’d named anyone.
“There are really no names,” Dauer said. “The publicist is a nobody gossip. . . . There really is nothing.”
He added, “I don’t want to ruin your holiday.”
Though of course he just had.
EPISODE 4
“I Feel Sick All the Time”
Moonves spent Christmas with his wife and son in New York but was back in California for New Year’s, staying at his $28 million beach house in Malibu with “too much family,” as he lamented in a text to Dauer. Still, on New Year’s Eve Moonves found the time to drive into Los Angeles and have breakfast with Dauer at Art’s Delicatessen in Studio City, an industry hangout not far from the CBS studios.
Dauer still didn’t know exactly what had happened between Moonves and Bobbie Phillips, but Moonves flatly denied ever assaulting the actress. He acknowledged they’d engaged in oral sex in his office, but he insisted it was “consensual.” Dauer reassured him again that neither he nor Phillips was talking.
Dauer briefed Phillips on the meeting soon after and made the mistake of saying Moonves claimed their encounter was consensual. That set her off. It certainly didn’t sound to her like Moonves was trying to make amends or gain her forgiveness.
Later that day Moonves texted Dauer his gratitude: “I enjoyed seeing you. Happy New Year to you. I know you have my back. You are a good guy. Thank you.”
Still, Dauer, having gone to some lengths to get the autographed baseball to Charlie in time for Christmas, was disappointed that Moonves hadn’t even mentioned it.
“Did Charlie like the ball?” Dauer prodded.
“Sorry. He Loved it,” Moonves replied.
* * *
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Shari was still angry about the December board meeting, but at least her fellow CBS directors seemed to recognize that something had to be done in the face of growing competitive threats. Maybe they could be persuaded to support a CBS-Viacom merger. Still, she was feeling drained from the Viacom battle, and she didn’t have the appetite for another boardroom fight. She wasn’t going to push a merger if Moonves opposed her.
Shari felt Moonves might be more candid with Rob Klieger rather than telling her what he thought she wanted to hear, so she asked Klieger to meet with Moonves and take his pulse. At the same time, Klieger felt maybe he could help close the widening gulf between Shari and the CBS chief executive.
Klieger showed up at Moonves’s office in Studio City on January 5. Moonves was wearing jeans and didn’t look at all pleased to see him. It probably didn’t help that Klieger had mistakenly shown up a week early—their meeting was on Moonves’s calendar for January 12. But now that he was there, they settled into a small conference room near Moonves’s office. Moonves folded his arms across his chest.
“Maybe it’s not my place to tell you this,” Klieger began, for he realized he was just a lawyer trying to advise one of the most successful executives in entertainment. He genuinely thought Moonves was a business genius. He could understand that he’d be wary of someone he thought of as Shari’s person, but he plunged ahead.
“Look, I know Shari has lots of ideas and thoughts about the business,” he said. “I have no idea whether some of them are good or bad. Perhaps some are bad.” He said he wasn’t there to tell Moonves to do whatever Shari wanted. “If you don’t think something’s a good idea, don’t do it. But why not make her feel like you care? Like you’re considering her views and you’re interested? Is that so hard?”
Klieger gave Moonves a few examples: If you’re going to appoint someone to a high-level position, ask her opinion. A new show? Tell her you’d value her input. Then do what you think is right.
“If she feels she’s part of the thinking and you’re not keeping her at arm’s length, you’ll have a much better relationship. You won’t have this constant fighting. It really does matter if you want to do the combination.”
Which led to the topic of the merger. Klieger said he didn’t know at this point if it was the right thing or not, but did Moonves support it?
“I’m not going to stand in the way,” he said.
“That’s not what she wants to hear,” Klieger responded.
Moonves said he hadn’t liked the way Shari stormed out of the last board meeting. And now she was complaining about his loyal and long-serving board member Gifford, even trying to get him off the board, over some minor incident at the Super Bowl.
Klieger stressed that he and Shari needed to get along. Shari didn’t want the merger unless Moonves was enthusiastically behind it. “If you’re reluctant, it won’t work,” he said. “Shari is becoming closer with Bob,” Klieger warned, referring to Viacom’s Bakish, who was proving a master at relationship management. Shari had an office at Viacom and Bakish was consulting her regularly. But Bakish wouldn’t be the one figuring how best to fit the companies together—Moonves would. “I have to have faith you can bring this together,” Klieger said. “Are you supportive?”
Moonves said he was. He’d get behind it.
His body language suggested otherwise. He looked glum. He clearly didn’t seem to appreciate any guidance from Klieger.
Klieger reported to Shari that Moonves said he wanted to move forward with the merger but didn’t seem all that enthusiastic.
Nonetheless, with Moonves seemingly on board, news leaked to The Wrap, and was quickly confirmed by CNBC, that “Viacom and CBS vice-chairwoman Shari Redstone are pursuing a merger of the two media companies that split more than a decade ago.”
* * *
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In Toronto, Phillips couldn’t get Moonves off her mind. The more she thought about what Dauer had told her—that Moonves said their encounter was “consensual”—the angrier she got. She finally sent a Facebook message to Dauer on January 6:
I did not sleep as I am feeling anger that Moonves is not sorry—and is calling me a liar basically. He is not allowed to play the victim card here. I did not bring this up as you know. I simply responded that I believe in forgiveness and moving forward in life. But, I will not be made a victim again. . . . I am doing my best to be a positive, forgiving person in my life. None of us are perfect. However, this does not sit well. I will go meditate and try to find my peace.
The next day, Phillips watched the Golden Globe Awards on TV as Oprah Winfrey became the first black woman to receive the Cecil B. DeMille lifetime achievement award. Winfrey delivered a stirring acceptance speech that addressed the burgeoning #MeToo movement.
“What I know for sure is that speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have,” Winfrey said. “And I’m especially proud and inspired by all the women who have felt strong enough and empowered enough to speak up and share their personal stories.” She continued, “I want tonight to express gratitude to all the women who have endured years of abuse and assault, because they—like my mother—had children to feed and bills to pay and dreams to pursue. They’re the women whose names we’ll never know.”
“My God, this is me,” Phillips thought.
A few days later Dauer texted Moonves that Winfrey’s speech had “made the natives restless.” He added: “My hope is when she is working all this will go far far away.”
* * *
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In London, the writer Janet Dulin Jones had lunch with a friend, a writer who was in town from Los Angeles. Naturally, Weinstein figured prominently in the conversation. Jones had been brooding about Moonves, who in some respects bothered her more than Weinstein. Weinstein had never pretended to be anything but a bully. The handsome and charming Moonves was still Hollywood’s golden boy.
Jones’s friend reminded her that years ago, when she had a meeting with Moonves, Jones had warned her to be sure to take her agent along with her. Back then the friend had wondered why. Jones hadn’t felt like telling the real story—she was still afraid of Moonves and his blunt warning not to talk. But now she told her friend the real story.
Back in 1985 Jones, then a recent graduate of Long Beach State working as a writer’s assistant, had just written her first treatment for a TV show. She’d taken her screenplay to a mentor, the writer Mike Marvin, who’d just scored with Six Pack, a movie starring country music star Kenny Rogers in his film debut.
Marvin and Moonves were close; both belonged to a men’s support group that met every Wednesday. So Marvin called Moonves, who agreed to meet Jones.
Jones rehearsed her pitch for her boyfriend. She bought a navy pants suit at Bullock’s department store even though she couldn’t afford it. She wore her best Italian leather loafers. She arrived at Moonves’s office at 4:30 p.m. carrying a stylish leather briefcase given to her by her writer friend Ann Marcus. (“Every writer needs a bag,” Marcus had told her.)
Jones noticed Moonves’s desk was filled with photos of his wife and children. Moonves offered her a glass of wine, which she declined—she wanted to be fully alert for the pitch. She and Moonves made small talk; she mentioned she’d interned at the Sundance Film Festival. She finally started talking about her story. About halfway through the pitch, Moonves stood up and moved toward the sofa where she was sitting. Was she speaking too softly? Jones wondered, so she raised her voice. Suddenly Moonves jumped on her, pushed her down, and tried to kiss her. It all happened with dizzying speed.
Jones cried out, struggled, and managed to push him away. Moonves moved to the other end of the sofa. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, flabbergasted.
“I was hitting on you. I wanted a kiss,” he said matter-of-factly.
She got up, shoved her papers into her bag, and headed for the door.
“Oh, come on, it’s nothing,” he said. “We’re friends here. Sit down.”
When she reached the door, it was locked. She started to panic. She said she’d scream if he didn’t open it.
Moonves pushed a button behind his desk and the door opened.
Jones was so shaken she wasn’t sure she could drive, but she made it to a friend’s house in West Hollywood. She explained what had happened. It took her thirty minutes to calm down. She and her friend called her boyfriend and told him the story. They all agreed she was lucky she hadn’t been raped. Should she report what had happened? Her friend and boyfriend both warned her that would end her career.
The next day Jones called Marvin, who’d set up the meeting. She didn’t get into the details but told him Moonves had been “way out of line” and had done something inappropriate.
“I’m so sorry,” Marvin told her. “He said he wasn’t doing that anymore.”
