Moguls, Monsters and Madmen, page 13
For the next three hours, I watched in awe as Alfredo recorded track after track with passion. After each track, Quincy gave him notes and then he would skilfully direct the sound engineers on the final mix. I was witnessing the work of a man who had brilliantly produced albums for Michael Jackson and Frank Sinatra among others. It was a thrilling experience. At the end of the session Quincy handed me a CD of the tracks and said, “Something to groove to.”
Alfredo is now a sought-after Grammy-nominated artist who recorded with Chick Corea and has played jazz festivals around the world and Carnegie Hall.
I am now collaborating with Q on a docu-concert about Marvin Gaye. There is no better partner than Quincy as he has the incomparable skills to identify a stunning new generation of talent to cover Marvin’s music for the film. When we meet to discuss the film, he loves showing me clips of his latest protegees and they are all staggering. One of his discoveries is a young British vocalist named Jacob Collier who layers his own vocals with astonishing result. And another ingenue is Grace, an Aussie that will give Adele a run for her money. At eighty-two, this man is so extraordinarily inspiring, I am fortunate for every minute of his time. On a recent visit, he enquired as to how my mother was doing knowing that she had been ill. The one thing to know about Q is how fiercely proud and protective he is of his family. I was in tears as I explained how my mom was fighting to stay strong and independent. He hugged me and said, “Son, if you want to see God laugh, tell him your plans. You can’t produce your mother’s life like a film. Love her. Protect her. Honour her. As long as possible.” My plan exactly.
THE CHRISTIANS, THE JEWS AND HARRY BELAFONTE
The Canadian Council of Christians and Jews is a post–World War II group founded to combat anti-Semitism. Its members believe that prejudice in a multicultural world is about more than Christians and Jews. For their sixtieth anniversary in 2008, they decided to change their name to the Canadian Centre for Diversity (CCD), and to celebrate the change with a fundraising dinner at which they would present an inaugural International Diversity Award. As the event’s hired producer, I suggested honouring Harry Belafonte. Though some board members considered Belafonte to be too political, the head of the organization, Amanda Sherrington, endorsed my argument that diversity really meant diversity.
I brought in Harry Belafonte through Michael Cohl, who was making a film about his life. And just as the newly minted CCD was nervous about Belafonte, so it turned out, was Belafonte nervous about the CCD. His people told me, “Harry will do this for you, and he’ll give some interviews, but he doesn’t want to be approached by people at the dinner.”
That was a problem, because at a non-profit gala, people think they own the celebrity—Hi, Mr. Belafonte, may I take a picture with you? Will you sign my program?
Still, I acceded to his request and positioned security in front and behind Belafonte at the head table. This was uncomfortable, given that he was representing diversity, but Belafonte was so elegant, and then so eloquent with one of those “I Have a Dream” speeches about his life, that the evening was a true game-changer for the organization.
The following year, I suggested honouring the three kids who starred in the Academy Award–winner Slumdog Millionaire. Everyone thought this a great idea until two weeks before the gala when a scandal broke out. Although all kinds of money supposedly had been going into these kids’ education, it turned out that they were not attending school. Had something happened to the money, or were the kids skipping? Under the circumstances, Amanda was unhappy about presenting them with the Emerging Leadership Award, which had already been announced. I argued, “I’m hearing different versions of this story. No one seems to know what is actually happening.”
I hired an Indian film crew, none of whom could speak much English. Because the kids were not fully bilingual either, I had to hire a translator as well. I was directing from Toronto, which meant getting up at 3 a.m. because of the time difference. I directed operations from my bathroom, using my cell on speakerphone, in order not to wake up Melissa and Sloan. I would tell them, “Okay, kids, I want you to say, ‘Thank you, Centre for Diversity.’ No, that’s not quite right. Say it again.”
We ended up with a nice warm tribute, so everything worked out yet again.
Another year, we honoured filmmaker Deepa Mehta for her work in telling the story of India. It was an easy evening for me as her friend and the gala’s producer, and the CCD was happy as well.
Deepa hated Slumdog Millionaire, by the way. She described it as exploitative bullshit.
MASTER FRESH PRINCE:
TEACHING PRINCE CHARLES TO SPIN
I have met different members of the Royal Family, and some of those connected to them, over the years. Sarah, Duchess of York, was an honouree at one of the charity galas I produced. She had weathered some bad press—an unfortunate television venture and then the so-called “cash for access” scandal—and there was worse to come. But she had also served as fundraiser and patron for many charities, especially those involving children and cancer. She was a wonderful recipient: open, glamorous and with no royal airs.
The British tabloids’ relentless focus on the royals’ personal lives distracts attention from their good work. Too few people know the full extent of Prince Charles’s public service. Under the Prince of Wales’ Charitable Foundation, he directly and indirectly assists in raising around $200 million each year in the UK for his core interests, which include disadvantaged youth, the arts, responsible business, improving the built environment, heritage regeneration and environmental sustainability.
In 2014, Prince Charles founded The Prince’s Charities Canada (PCC), patterned on his existing UK organization. Its aim was to use business resources to tackle barriers to youth employment in at-risk neighbourhoods.
Galen Weston, who had played polo with Prince Charles, agreed to assume responsibility for setting up the Canadian branch of the charity. Its president and CEO was Amanda Sherrington, with whom I’d worked at the Canadian Centre for Diversity. It was because of her that I was invited to become a founding PCC board member.
In Winnipeg with Prince Charles
© Tom Sandler
I met Prince Charles for the first time during his 2012 official visit to Toronto, when he toured neighbourhoods at risk. It was my role to join a few selected executives showing him the wonderful Regent Park neighbourhood organization, UforChange, which provided youths from ages sixteen to twenty-nine with free professional mentoring and counselling to develop their creative talents as actors, playwrights, filmmakers, photographers and fashion designers. During the tour, I taught the prince how to spin records in order to be a competent disc jockey. He was warm and enthusiastic and we ended up with a photo of me in headphones while he mixed and spun his way to becoming Grandmaster Prince Charles. Since he had been briefed, he knew my name, and since I had been briefed, I knew the protocol, which meant not touching the prince or putting out my hand unless he offered his first.
I met Prince Charles for the second time in 2013 at his official London residence, Clarence House. There were a dozen of us, all business people and PCC board members, there to present ideas about moving his charitable work forward. He greeted me with an amused, “You’re the man who taught me how to be a DJ. How’s that going for you?”
With Myrna and John Daniels and staff at the Hospital for Sick Children’s Daniels Hollywood Theatre dedication in 2008
© George Pimentel
We sat in his dining room, which had been visited by royals as far back as George III, eating shortbread and drinking tea, while Prince Charles questioned each of us about creating opportunities for Canada’s troubled youth. What would a “second chance” mean to them? What kind of support and mentoring would bring this about? Prince Charles’s UK charities provided an admirable model, having created hundreds of thousands of jobs for homeless kids, poor kids and even women with criminal records.
I met Prince Charles for the third time in Winnipeg in 2014. He shook my hand, then apologized for having a horrible cold.
I asked, “Then, why did you shake my hand?”
We both laughed.
I tell everyone that Prince Charles is a warmer and more complex person than the press would have you believe. Too many still judge him in light of the troubled years with Princess Diana, or as the fanatic who talks to trees, or as the monarch’s progeny perpetually in waiting to be king. I now see him as a smart and well-educated person with a keen knowledge of political affairs and a strong sense of purpose.
Two years before meeting Prince Charles, I had met Queen Elizabeth at a lunch at Toronto’s Pinewood Studios. She was terrific, as everyone says, but now I would ask her, “Why are you still holding onto that crown? Beyond being charming and competent, your son has proven that he deserves to be king.”
“YOUR TENT HAS A HURRICANE IN IT”
I’m sure my parents made charitable donations, but we did not have the means to make it a central preoccupation. My own good fortune has made me want to give back. I’m a hands-on action guy. I didn’t want to involve myself in good works that would take forever, or sit on do-nothing committees and boards, or sell tables, or simply sign cheques. Instead, I wanted to create a project of my own, to have some control, and to make a big difference right away. I also liked to connect philanthropy to my passion, which is entertainment.
In the summer of 2006, I was visiting a friend in the hospital when I passed a kid in a room who was fumbling with a DVD player so he could watch a movie. That had me thinking: Why should a kid trapped in a hospital be prevented from escaping into the world of film? Why should that kid have to squint into a small screen? Surely, when a kid is ill and separated from friends and family, that’s exactly when escape is most needed.
I called Mary Jo Haddad, then president and CEO of the Toronto Hospital for Sick Children, and I told her, “I have a forty-eight-hour offer for you. I’ve never been to Sick Kids. I won’t even drive by it because I’m afraid of hospitals. I’m betting the hospital doesn’t have a movie theatre, so if you give me the green light within forty-eight hours, I’ll build you one. You don’t know me, but if you did, you’d know that if you say yes, I will get this done.”
She was understandably surprised. “I’ll have to get back to you. Why forty-eight hours?”
“I don’t want any red tape, and I don’t want any yellow tape. I don’t want to have to deal with a bureaucracy or to report to anyone. I’ll raise every dollar, and I’ll work within the rules laid down by the administration. You’ll have your theatre by next spring, and we’ll open with Shrek the Third, but I’m serious about the forty-eight hours. After that, this idea is dead.”
Ms. Haddad did return my call within forty-eight hours. “We have the space for you.”
It was a lecture hall on the second floor of Sick Kids. I checked it out and we decided it was a go.
On September 12, we held a news conference attended by director Norman Jewison and theatre builder Daniel Greenglass. We unveiled our plans, and singer Chantal Kreviazuk performed. We promised to build a 230-seat, $1 million theatre with both a digital and 35mm projection system and Dolby surround sound. It would feature new releases from major Hollywood studios, with free admission for patients and their families. Movies would also be broadcast via closed-circuit TV to kids who couldn’t leave their beds. The press conference was attended by kids who were patients in the hospital, many in wheelchairs or hooked up to breathing machines, making even the announcement a moving experience.
Now all I had to do was raise the $1 million. I told ten friends, “I want one hundred thousand dollars from each of you.”
Five were a snap, but raising the second $500,000 was tough. It also involved me with the bureaucratic crap that I had tried to avoid. The administrators of the foundation who raised money for the hospital and the administrators who ran the hospital, didn’t like a donor who would control every aspect of the project. I hadn’t anticipated this, nor had I anticipated that this wonderful endeavour would be so difficult to execute. The foundation people were angry that I was not hiring their costly “approved” suppliers. At one point, the foundation’s head phoned me to say, “Barry, we’d like to be in your tent, but your tent has a hurricane in it.”
I said, “Then get the hell out of my tent. I’m getting the job done.”
And I did.
On May 18, 2007, I experienced one of the great moments of my life: walking this very special red carpet, cutting the ribbon to the theatre, then seeing the faces of the children light up as they escaped momentarily from the misery of their illness into the movie magic of Shrek the Third, given to us by Ellis Jacob at Cineplex and Jeffrey Katzenberg of DreamWorks. Petra Nemcova, who adores children, came to Toronto to cut the ribbon with me. Eddie Greenspan, who was one of the donors and attended the opening, took me aside. “I know you’re thrilled because you built this theatre and you’ve given these kids a beautiful fantasy, but the only thought in the minds of the adults here is, What’s going on between Barry and Petra?”
A year later, our close friends and philanthropists Myrna and John Daniels gave us a wonderful gift and named the theatre the Daniels Hollywood Theatre.
Chapter Twelve
HOT DOCS:
ALL DRESSED
KIDNAPPED IN NEWARK
I was intrigued by comedian Jackie Mason, rebel son of a rabbi, who became a ’60s household name as a frequent guest on the The Ed Sullivan Show. Sullivan, like Johnny Carson decades later, had the power to catapult relatively unknown entertainers into mainstream superstardom, as he proved with both Elvis Presley and the Beatles.
Mason, by the way, described the Beatles as, “Four kids in search of a voice, who need haircuts.” His style—ridicule, much like that of Don Rickles—often provoked controversy. In 1964, during one of his appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show, Sullivan gave Mason a two-finger signal, indicating that he had only two minutes left. The comic allegedly gave his host a one-finger response and Sullivan banned him from ever appearing on the show again. After Mason won a retaliatory libel suit, maintaining that he had just jabbed the air with his finger the way he often did in his act, he did one comeback on the show, in which he reintroduced himself with the line, “It is a great thrill to see me in person again.”
Mason’s career went into something of a decline as the years passed. Then, in the ’80s, he made a comeback with his one-man production, Politically Incorrect, in which he hit the audience with his brilliant, rapid-fire one-liners:
“Eighty per cent of married men cheat in America. The rest cheat in Europe.”
“People rave about their Caribbean holidays. ‘The water’s so blue.’ I stay home and open my toilet. The water’s so blue.”
“I have enough money to last me the rest of my life, unless I buy something.”
“My grandfather always said, ‘Don’t watch your money; watch your health.’ So one day while I was watching my health, someone stole my money. It was my grandfather.”
In 2005, I was asked to be the ad agency for Mason and his producer, Jyll Rosenfeld, a tough dynamo of a woman whom he later married. This resulted in a visit to their NY apartment in the Metropolitan Tower between Carnegie Hall and the Russian Tea Room. Jackie and Jyll had a great comedic rapport, and it was fun being with them. They also served terrific food.
We worked together on a Broadway show called Freshly Squeezed, which I named, and which was a big success. After that, they asked me to market the world’s first and last Jackie Mason musical called Laughing Room Only, a horrible vaudevillian show with music, skits and Jackie doing standup. The musical Chicago was a big hit at the time and I suggested a Chicago parody for a TV spot promoting the show. We would open with a chorus line of gorgeous Bob Fosse–style dancers, then Jackie would walk through the line saying, “Who were you expecting, Catherine Zeta-Jones? Come and see me in . . .”
We shot the commercial in Windsor, the only place where we could find the right theatre. Our TV spot was a success, but the show was a disaster. I was sitting among the critics and investors on opening night and listened as they described the reviews that would kill the show the next day.
I figured that would be the end of my relationship with Jackie and Jyll, but they asked me to make a film about Jackie doing his final Broadway show. It was called The Ultimate Jew. I agreed to be executive producer and director. “I’ll finance it, but I want to keep Canadian rights, and we can split the other world rights.” That, I felt, would cover my risk.
Between filming the Broadway show, Jackie, Jyll and I went to have dinner at the famed Joe Allen Restaurant on 46th Street. Joe Allen is famous for having its wall lined with posters of Broadway flops including Laughing Room Only. While we made our way to the table, we passed an older couple having dinner. The late Anne Meara, the acerbic actress and comedian and her husband, Seinfeld alumnus Jerry Stiller, looked up.
Anne barked, “Sure, Jackie, walk by and don’t say hello! Shmuck!”
Jackie responded, “Hello and fuck you!”
The other guests thought it was part of a routine. I asked Jackie what gives and he explained that forty years earlier, Stiller and Meara were a comedy team on Broadway and he went backstage to visit them and they were apparently rude to him.
Now we have to leave to shoot the show and the exit is just as dramatic as the entrance.
