Evans - The Kid Stays in the Picture

To Joshua.

By far the greatest production of my life.

To the man who believed in me... as the curtain was the falling.

His name, Sumner Redstone. Years ago, a small-time theater owner. Then bought up a theater chain. Did pretty well at it. No... very well. Then, with a steel will, bought Viacom. Did pretty well at that. No... very, very well. Bright? Very bright. Lets just say that during World War II he was called upon to help break the Japanese code. Not bad for a nineteen-year-old kid.

Is he rich? Suppose so... if you call multibillions rich .

Fact be, though, that aint his real wealth. Far from it. His persona embodies an all-but-extinct trait: a commitment to personal honor.

Is he a longtime friend? About forty years worth. Loyal? Yeah, big time. Would I consider him friendship treasured? Yeah, big time too. However, neither has zero to do with why hes on the first page of my lifes trek. But all to do with the fact that, without him, my lifes trip would have ended.

In May 1998, I stroked outthree times! Flatlined.

Alone in the ICU, with no visitors allowed, one man defied the rules. Demanding entrance, he insisted on being by my side. It was Sumner.

Youre gonna make it, Evans! Youre gonna make it! I wont let you die.

During the first week he held my hand tight, watching me go through one stroke, then another. Each day, as he left the hospital, the doctors would take him aside.

Mr. Redstone, please call before you come again. He probably wont make it through the night. But he never listened. For weeks to come, geography took a back seat. Whether it was from Boston, Chicago, or New York, he never calledhe came.

He would sit by my side, all but pleading: Dont die on me, Evans! If I can make it, being burned to a crisp, you can too! Everyone thought Id die. I didnt. And neither will you.

That depth of caring goes beyond friendship or loyalty. It has everything to do with CHARACTER. On that level, in my life, no one stands taller.

When youre lying immobile, there is a thin line between life and death. In that abyss, how easy it is to surrender. It was Sumner who wouldnt let me.

M y fifth-grade teacher used to admonish his students that by the time we all reached adulthood we would have forfeited three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people.

From the moment I met Robert Evans, I realized that he was one person who hadnt played the forfeiture game. He played by his own rules and lived according to his own scenarios. His unwillingness to bend or forfeit a piece of himself cost him dearly at various times in his life, but it also lent him uniqueness.

For better or worse, Evans was and still is an original. It made him famous, it made him infamous. Many say they know him, few do. I am one of them.

Robert Evanss appointment as production chief of Paramount Pictures in 1967 was regarded by most of Hollywoods power players as utterly hallucinatory. Here was an actor who had never produced a picture, much less run a studio, being awarded sweeping responsibility over one of Hollywoods most fabled movie factories. It was bizarre!

But it was also fascinating. These were the 1960s, remember, and hallucinations were in vogue. The studio Evans was taking over was hardly a studio, rather a sleeping giant. One that had been in Hollywoods cellar for a decade. His appointment was accompanied by the promise that Gulf + Western, which had recently acquired Paramount, would pump hundreds of millions of dollars into an expanded production program. This meant jobs for actors, writers, and techniciansgood news for Hollywood, even if it was Bob Evans doing the hiring.

When Evans brought me in as his right-hand man, the prognosis only worsened. How could a writer for The New York Times possibly help this wannabe Thalberg thread his way through the minefields of Hollywood? No sooner had Evans and I moved into our offices than items started appearing in the trade papers and gossip columns predicting our imminent demise. The silver-haired studio apparatchik who was in charge of office furniture declined to refurbish mine or Evanss. You wont be here long enough to bother, he said reassuringly.

The fact that eight years later, he was long gone, and Evans and I were still ensconced at Paramount, had as much to do with the times, perhaps, as with the talents and tenacity of the principals.

If our act seemed unlikely, it nonetheless reenergized a fading studio with a new voice. Bob and I were strangers to the Hollywood establishment, but there were many others as well, brilliant ones, demanding to be heard. And heard they were. Soon a new spirit of filmmaking emanated through the once decrepit Windsor gates of Paramount. The Odd Couple, Rosemarys Baby, Harold and Maude, Goodbye, Columbus, Paper Moon, True Grit, Love Story, The Godfather, Chinatown, were but a few.

Paramount had come back from the dead and Evans had been transmogrified from goat to folk hero. For that brief moment in time, it was wondrous to behold.

Soon the ridicule that had greeted Bob Evans halted. I recall watching him arrive at the Bistro, the top place for power lunches at that time, a couple of days after Love Story had opened to record numbers. Upon recognizing him, the diners broke into applause. Evans looked behind him to see if some superstar had shown up, then realized with astonishment that the applause was for him!

For nearly ten years we were to work side by side, driving to and from the studio in one carmine. He couldnt drive, or wouldnt. We were, indeed, a study in contrasts. I plowed through scripts and deal memos, trying to figure out how things got done. Evans really didnt care. He was a true maverick who was driven to take the big risks, to do things his way.

The road was by no means easy. Evans was constantly being second-guessed by the domineering Charles Bluhdorn, the Austrian-born financier who owned Paramount and an instant expert on everything, from what stars should be paid to what films should cost. There was another instant expert in the wings as well. Martin Davis had been a press agent at Paramount when he came up with the idea of luring Bluhdorn into buying the studio. Taut and conspiratorial by nature, Davis had become an important force in the company but by the late 1960s was using his power to try to sell the back lot and move the studio operation to New York, where it would function under his direct control. Bluhdorn wanted to use the studio as part of a massive real estate deal involving a shady cluster of Italiansa key figure was the infamous Michele Sindona, who ultimately was to die in jail. Bob Evans was the only person at the studio who fought Martin Davis to keep the studio open. Threats and insults bothered Evans little.

I vividly recall the day Evans asked me to try to persuade Mike Nichols to do a special directing gig for us. His assignment: to direct Evans in preparing his filmed presentation to the board of directors. Whats the purpose? Nichols demanded. To save the studio from becoming a cemetery. It was vintage Evansthe unexpectedand it worked.

From that moment, the New York hierarchy left the making of films to their creators. Evans himself began to change. He became fascinated with the minutiae of post-productionthe editing, the mix of music and effects, etc. The Godfather was a seminal experience in that Evans was dissatisfied with Francis Ford Coppolas cut and spent months working round the clock with him on the film, even postponing its release date. Now the gossip in town was that Evans was intruding on the prerogatives of young filmmakers. The reality was quite the opposite: I watched as a superbly shot but ineptly put together film was transformed into a masterpiece.