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In
the spring of 1989, I was given an assignment to write
about the upcoming Batman movie (seeing as how I was
the resident superhero expert) as part of our “relevant
entertainment section” to pre-promote the upcoming associated
video game release by Sunsoft. I called Warner Brothers
publicity department and spoke to a lovely, competent,
and very professional lady named Luann that I would
work with over the telephone for a few months and with
whom I eventually became friends.
Now,
those of you old enough will remember that this film
was a BIG deal. It had been over ten years since the
first Superman movie and nothing of Batman had surfaced
since the unfortunate, but fondly-remembered television
show of the 60s. Reportedly, Warner Brothers/DC Comics
had been trying to get a Batman project off the ground
since 1978, so there was an enormous publicity push
behind this film. This was THE motion picture event
of 1989.
Anxious
to take advantage of free publicity in a magazine with
a 2 million plus circulation, Luann was very co-operative
and supplied me with insider info and transparency publicity
stills (slides) from the film (which was to premiere
the following June). She was invaluable when it came
to helping me with things like trademark criteria.
One
of the features of the early issues of Nintendo Power
was a snazzy poster that was related to a game that
was featured in that issue. I thought it would be cool
if we did a Batman poster for the issue that carried
the review of the Batman game. Typically, we always
worked two or three months ahead on Nintendo Power,
sometime more. So, I sketched out a design for the poster.
Now, I know that I’m no artist. Never pretended to be.
But I can sketch well enough that it can be presented
to a real artist so that he can perform the illustrative
expertise that I lack. And that’s what happened. The
dragon agreed with the Batman poster idea. She actually
liked the sketch and it was sent to one of Japan’s foremost
artists, a man named Omurhi. From the sketch (and after
a few translated phone conversations with me), he created
an oil painting. From the painting, smaller prints were
made to fit the three-page foldout size in the magazine.
During
this time, I found out that Warner Brothers had a strict
policy regarding any artwork associated with the campaign,
i.e. that ONLY artwork from DC Comics was approved for
release in association with the campaign. Gulp. So,
we sent down a print of the poster. Warner Brothers
loved it. It wouldn’t run until the October issue, but
Luann told me later that the Warner execs said that
“of the two hundred plus products associated with the
film’s campaign, that poster was the most spectacular.”
Apparently, the success of the poster was so great that
Mr. Omurhi sent me a same-size print of the original
oil painting and a smaller original oil painting of
a bust of Batman in appreciation for the sketch. Well,
I was beyond flattered. I was honored. What a class
act. To this day, the oil painting gift hangs in the
main hallway in my house and the print of the original
hangs in a an expensive frame on my office wall behind
my desk. It is definitely a conversation starter when
anyone walks into the office and sees this large portrait
of Batman in an otherwise typical office building.
But
in the spring of ‘89, as the premiere approached and
ads began to appear on television and at the movies,
excitement for this film built to a frenzy. Luann kept
me informed as to the details of the Hollywood premiere.
Once, in passing, I mentioned how cool it was going
to be and said something like, “Send me some pictures.”
Luann then asked, “You want to come?” The next few minutes
are a blank. I think I mumbled something like, “Oh.
My. God. I’ll have to check my schedule and let you
know.” She said that there were 600 tickets reserved
for the premiere (and, as I recall, Nicholson had already
scarfed most of them), but that she thought she could
scrounge me a couple if I could make it to Hollywood.
Obviously, my mind began to try to figure out how I
was going to make the trip. But, then I remembered:
I work for Nintendo. I can’t afford cabfare to the airport,
let alone a ticket to California!” But I left it open
hoping there might be some miracle. After I hung up,
I was still in shock and quickly sinking into depression
as I realized that the odds were very much against my
going.
Just
then, I ran into my mentor who could see that something
was wrong. I told her that Luann had said I could have
two tickets to the premiere if I could make it. Then
I related the financial problem that was the monkey
wrench in the works. And then, this wonderful woman,
this generous angel, said, “Listen, I’ve got some frequent
flyer miles you can have. I’ll never use them. And you’ve
GOT to go. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
You HAVE to go!”
I
couldn’t believe it. Still, I’d been brought up to refuse
charity. And it kicked in. “Oh, that’s very nice, but
I couldn’t.”
“What?!”
“That’s
very generous, but I couldn’t use up your frequent flyer
miles.”
“Don’t
be silly. I’ll never use them. And I can’t think of
a better use for them. I know how much this means to
you. You’re going. Call Luann and confirm. I’ll call
the airlines and book your ticket. Go. Have the time
of your life and bring me back pictures. Maybe you can
write about it for Power. Go.”
I’ve
met a lot of crappy people in my career. Hell, in this
life. A lot of them. I’ve been witness to a lot of despicable
conduct. It’s overwhelming. It’s defeating. Almost.
But, it is the kindness in people like my mentor that
is the fuel that keeps my soul burning.
So,
in June, I went. And it was surreal. Warner Brothers
via Luann couldn’t have been nicer. Her assistant picked
me up at the hotel and delivered me to the premiere.
Now, I may be a city boy at heart, but I was born just
a hillbilly from the Ozarks, so I thought at premieres,
you are supposed to wear a tuxedo. I’d spent my last
“disposable” income to rent a very sharp tux and was
ready to mingle.
Well,
apparently, by the summer of 1989, tuxedos at a Hollywood
premiere was something out of a 50s movie and very cliché.
Everyone else was dressed nice, but nothing formal.
What you’d call business casual or dress casual. And
here I am (a nobody) in a monkey suit. Believe me, no
matter how hard you try, you just can’t blend. Somehow,
I didn’t care that much and the thrill of just being
there replaced any embarrassment.
The
premiere actually took place in two theatres in two
separate buildings on adjoining corners. The police
had roped off the entire block and the studio had placed
red carpet over the street and sidewalk. And I was given
a program. The police said that as long as we held on
to our programs and stayed on the red carpet, we would
be fine. If we went off the red carpet, they would be
unable to assure our safety. If we lost our program,
we wouldn’t be allowed inside the theatres. The police
were excellent in managing to keep the crowd of 8000
people behind the ropes.
Luann’s assistant was my escort and we walked around
the red carpet stargazing. There were plenty of stars
at which to gaze, too. Surreal is the only word I can
find. But, though my head was swirling, my eyes fixed
on the red carpet. I was not getting off the red carpet.
“I may never get off this red carpet.”
The
assistant introduced me to the Suits. That is my name
for several of the Warner Brothers bigwigs with whom
we enjoyed the film Very nice gentlemen who seemed to
know exactly who I was and were more than cordial to
someone that (for all intents and purposes) didn’t really
matter to them (at least, I thought I didn’t matter).
I found out from the assistant that they were interested
in my reactions since I was going to write the review
for the Batman video game that would be released soon.
Royalties from merchandising of a franchise like the
Batman results in gazillions of dollars for the owner.
A good review means more sales. More sales means more
royalty money.
We
went inside to wait for the movie. I couldn’t see, but
(I was told) that further down on my row was Billy Crystal
and further to the right was Barbra Streisand. Fours
rows back and ten seats to the right sat Sylvester Stallone.
Sly and his lovely date were surrounded by bodyguards.
Most everyone in the theatre were Hollywood types and
used to that sort of thing, so they kept their distance
and gave Sly his privacy. However, one little boy, about
8 or 9 years old approached with a piece of paper and
pen. The bulk of the premiere attendees in the theatre
held their breath, wondering how the bodyguards were
going to handle this little boy, but Sly motioned them
to part and motioned the kid forward. He smiled and
signed the autograph for the little boy and patted him
on the head. The entire theatre erupted in applause.
Not often you get to see this side of some people. Sly
is a class act. Quick sidebar: I once had corresponded
indirectly with Mr. Stallone regarding a screenplay
I’d written entitled “Harvey II” that had done well
at Robert Redford’s Sundance Institute, but we’d never
met and, as badly as I wanted to touch base with him,
this obviously wasn’t the opportunity, so I remained
seated with the Suits and the assistant.
One
other observation: You know how you go to the movies
and before they lower the lights, some kids will run
up and down the ailes? Same thing here, except that
the kids were the cast from the sitcom, “Head of the
Class.” Tell me that’s not surreal.
Then
the house went dark and the movie began. As the credits
rolled, each name was embraced with applause. Not just
the stars, but writers, cameramen, producers, and, of
course, the director. And the movie played out. Nicholson
stole it, course. Though, with that make-up and the
writing stilted toward his character, it would have
been hard not to steal it. But, for me, it was the Batman’s
gadgetry that salvaged the movie. When the lights came
up (actually before they were all the way up), the Suits
asked me for my opinion. They had been so nice to me
and they’d spent all this money on the movie and promoting
it, I just didn’t have the heart to tell them that I
thought Michael Keaton was a horrible choice for Batman.
So I didn’t. I talked up Nicholson. Mostly, I talked
up the gadgets and the imagry. I really talked up the
Batmobile (I still want that car). I gave a nod to Tim
Burton’s grim approach to Gotham, which was a welcome
contrast to the primary-colored festiveness of the unfortunate
television program (even though I’m anything but a Tim
Burton fan). I summarized by telling them that they
had a certified hit. That Batman fans and non-Batman
fans alike would be very happy with this film. The Suits
breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, actually in
unison.
I
thanked the Suits for their generous hospitality and
then I thanked the assistant for all her efforts on
my behalf and asked her to thank Luann and tell her
that I’d be in touch. As I headed for the exit, I could
see through the glass doors that the paparazzi was just
outside en masse trying to get reactions from the patrons
who were the lucky first to see the long anticipated
Batman movie—especially the celebrities. Flashbulbs
were popping to the point it looked like a strobe effect.
One of the paparazzi pushed his nose up against the
glass of the exit doors to try to peer inside. I heard
him say to his colleague, “Hey, Mitchie, get this one
coming out. He’s in a tux.” I couldn’t hear Mitchie’s
response, but the paparazzi guy said, “I dunno, but
he in a tux. He must be somebody.”
That’s
when I decided to have a little fun. I stuck the program
in front of my face as though I was desperately trying
to avoid the cameras. Of course, every camera instantly
zeroed in on me and, had it not been for the program,
I would likely be blinded to this day. At the peak of
this swarm, I quickly lowered the program and flashed
my stupidest smile. The shooting immediately ceased.
You could hear murmurs of, “What the hell?” and “Who
is…?” as they all looked bewildered at each other. It
was priceless. And then, they quickly prepared for the
next carcass…er, victim…er, fresh meat to come through
the doors. I never made it into the pages of People
magazine, but I was standing three feet from Kim Basinger
when the picture that People published of her was snapped.
What I’m trying to convey is that I was definitely in
a world that I was not used to. However, even without
the overstimulation of the crowds and the police and
the red carpet and the paparazzi and the limos and the
stars, it would have been a heady experience—just standing
three feet from Kim Basinger. It still would.
I
went back to the hotel and could hardly sleep. It WAS
surreal, but there was amazing logic to it all as well.
And a bizarre familiarity, too. An odd sense of belonging
that I haven’t experienced either before or since. But
my mentor was wrong about one thing: She will NEVER
know how much getting to go to the biggest Hollywood
premiere of its time meant to me. Class act. She still
is.
Next chapter: The Real Power Behind
Captain Nintendo
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