Tag Archives: lynda obst

When I Was At Morton’s

For nearly 30 years (but especially during the 1980s), Hollywood’s big, big money — its new, blockbuster money — converged, with era-defining consistency, on the corner of Robertson and Melrose at Morton’s, which Peter Morton opened in 1979 as a grown-up alternative to his Hard Rock Cafes. Come 7 p.m., nowhere else saw as much action: Power was spread out in Manhattan, but in Hollywood in those days, it resided in only one place. With all the deals discussed over those (only) 19 tables — including Eddie Murphy’s historic $15 million deal with Paramount in 1987 — it’s a wonder Morton didn’t hire a security guard and call his place an agency.

From being one of only three CAA-approved expense-account restaurants to the place where even the maitre d’ was a star (Rick Cicetti was cast by Larry Gordon and Joel Silver as a security guard in Die Hard), Morton’s pulled in an entire universe of movers and shakers — including Barry Diller, Ron Meyer, Alan Horn, Scott Rudin, former Columbia Pictures head Dawn Steel, former Time Warner CEO Steve Ross and former 20th Century Fox owner Marvin Davis — as well as celebrities (even Jack Nicholson felt comfortable eating at the bar alone). Unassuming on the outside, it had the industry juice to be the signoff to Spy’s biting Hollywood columns by the pseudonymous Celia Brady (“See you Monday night at Morton’s”), a central location for Julia Phillips’ roman-a-bile You’ll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again (the writer was banned after it came out) and the subject of New Hollywood lore:  It is said that when a man suffered a heart attack and was carried out on a gurney, nobody noticed amid all the dealmaking.

In 1994, when it moved across the street to the intersection’s southeast corner, Morton’s transformed from commissary to the epicenter of glamour, becoming known as the site of Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter’s Oscar party (see sidebar.) While the old guard bemoaned the less clubby feel, the music biz also moved in, rounding out the restaurant’s twilight years. Jennifer Lopez threw her engagement party (to Cris Judd) there in 2001, and in 2002, Sony held its post-Grammys bash at Morton’s, with Celine Dion, Tony Bennett and Destiny’s Child attending. By the time Morton’s closed in 2007, says actor-writer Ben Stein, “It had passed its time by five or six years at least.”

Read on


Obst, I Did It Again

Yes, you in the back. Did you have something to add?

Lynda Obst, a highly visible executive with twenty years producing experience and a hearty string of hits to her name, was quoted a week or so ago in The Washington Post apropos the curious case of Women and Film. Considering my recent outburst over Manhola Dargis, I thought it more than reasonable to underscore the wisdom of Obst’s remark, which gets at the same subject, but through a slightly different point of entry, and I think, hits closer to the real problem.

She says, “it’s easier for male executives to get jobs now, because they [Hollywood] want to develop male-oriented material. Girls don’t grow up reading comic books or playing video games, or with Transformer or G.I. Joe toys. So the material they’re looking for isn’t necessarily as familiar to female executives who read books, which is becoming practically a liability. That’s a real problem. That’s how it becomes systemic.”

That’s more like it! Kowtowing to the tyrannical cycle of supply and demand, Hollywood, like any factory system without imagination, thrives on repeating successful formulas. If a male director has proven himself in a particular genre, why shouldn’t he be able to prove himself again under similar circumstances? Unfortunately, over time, this can slap down an equation sign between genders and genres.

Obst’s point, a terrific one, implies that that equation sign has less to do with sexism than with commerce. If Marvel movies do the best at the box office, it makes sense – sad sense, but sense nonetheless – that studios would hire experts in the field of male-oriented material. Is it any surprise, then, that most of those experts are themselves men? It’s sorely unfair, yes, but Obst is right; the tail is most definitely wagging the dog.

What is to be done?

It’s up to us, the audience, to tell Hollywood what we want to see, and every ticket we purchase is a vote, an expression of that want. So, to the women, I say, if you want to see the end of the Reign of Marvel (and who doesn’t?), and by extension, a probable upsurge of women filmmakers, drag your heels the next time your guy friends or boyfriends suggest you all go see Metalman 6. And to the boys, who seem to be steering the course to doom, I say this: grow up, and fast. Cinema – and your girlfriends – will thank you for it.