My Own Personal Hollywood Horror Story

Twenty-plus years ago when I lived in Los Angeles, I ran in the same circles as members of the Hollywood press corps covering the Oscars and Emmys for two straight years, interviewing celebs and attending private screenings featuring cast and crew Q&As.

It was a fun and fabulous gig in the early 2000s – complete with its share of some great behind-the-scenes anecdotes for family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances. All these years later, it seems like a lifetime ago, but also a reminder that I have lived a full life.

One such story unfolded in July 2005. At the time, I was between marriages living in a ground-floor, mother-in-law-style unit of a spectacular four-level home draped over West Hollywood hills bedrock. My street was a block north of where Hollywood Blvd. dead-ended into Sunset Plaza Drive with an ocean view on a clear day. It was sublime – a writer’s paradise where I took daily meditation walks to clear my head just months into separating from my then movie-producer wife who 20 years earlier was my high school sweetheart. We reconnected through a classmate right after a milestone reunion. Our romance was right out of a movie – without the Hollywood ending.

But I digress. At the time, I was holed up in 350 square feet of space trying to keep busy and take my mind off the troubles that befell me. Thankfully, I had several magazine clients that I was writing for on a regular basis. One of them was Variety, the entertainment industry’s bible for nearly a century – a must-read for showbiz professionals.

My assignment that month was a 392-word news item on Jeannine Oppewall, a production designer who was named to a list of 50 women whose impact could be felt across Hollywood. The format followed a strict formula: meaty paragraphs explaining how she made a difference, recent accomplishments, what she did along the way to being bestowed with this honor, her point of view and next project.

I was tasked with reaching out to Jeannine and someone with whom she worked. My list included two “safety” sources (Curtis Hanson, director of “L.A. Confidential,” and Gary Ross, director of “Seabiscuit”) and two “reaches” (Steven Spielberg, director of “Catch Me If You Can,” and legendary actor Robert De Niro). As I learned five years earlier with my first feature for the magazine, it was always necessary to list several Plan B interviews in case my top choices fell through for whatever reason.

Thus, I began sending emails and making calls to the publicist, agent or manager of the aforementioned foursome, two of whom were among Hollywood’s heaviest hitters. It was common knowledge at the time that De Niro didn’t do many interviews, so while he would have been the most coveted person to quote, I was realistic. I can’t recall what exactly happened with Spielberg, but it didn’t work out.

So, I put in queries to Hanson and Ross with crossed fingers. Luckily, Ross agreed to chat before my deadline, and I lined him up on my calendar for a phone interview. His IMDb listing notes that he has been nominated for four Oscars, though he’s not a household name.

Within a day or so of our chat, something remarkable happened: De Niro agreed to have his rep email me a few quotes (not ideal; I would have preferred to chat, but mission accomplished nonetheless). I was elated to learn he agreed, which spoke volumes about his feelings toward Jeannine.

De Niro said he hired Jeannine to work on “The Good Shepherd” because of her buoyant spirit and high energy. “Her job requires her not only to have great vision but to deal with people from many diverse backgrounds,” he noted. “I couldn’t imagine making this movie without her.”  

Confident and relieved that I was about to check this important box, I phoned Ross’s rep to cancel our interview – explaining that someone else had already come through. Much to my surprise (and horror), Gary Ross called me the next day.

He was livid, screaming and lecturing me. How dare I do something as unprofessional as cancel an interview with him! It didn't matter to him one bit that one of the biggest movie stars of his generation happily offered up some quotes about his experience with Jeannine on “The Good Shepherd,” a CIA drama that ironically enough my soon-to-be ex-wife worked on as an uncredited production consultant. Talk about Six Degrees of Separation!

I was literally shaking and haven’t been dressed down like that more than two or three times in my entire life. The conversation (or should I say monologue) came across as one of those “don’t you know who I am?!” moments. I almost expected his parting words to be, “you’ll never work in this town again!” It was unnerving, but I got my scoop and moved on.
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Maybe it was just a coincidence, but not long after, work dried up on the Variety gig. Their freelance writing budget was on the chopping block as multiple attempts to sell the money-losing title either failed or future acquisitions fell short of expectations for breathing life into this publication dinosaur, which competed with the scrappy, cross-town Hollywood Reporter. With the exception of some work five years later thanks to an old editor of mine at another showbiz publication who rose through the ranks at Variety, the work dried up for good. And now I’m left with memories, both fond and frightening.