Compass? We Don't Need No Stinking Compass!

Before Big X achieved fame, glory and untold wealth as a writer-producer, he spent a decade or so as an executive in the financial industry. So when I read Mr. Weinstein’s comment that “Hollywood has the best moral compass, because it has compassion,” I couldn’t help but choke and spray a fine mist of Starbucks all over my laptop screen.

In comparison to “real” businesses, I think I can say from personal experience inside and outside the bubble that Hollywood is the most systemically ruthless, amoral, deceitful, cruel and thuggish enterprise outside of Mexican drug cartels and (possibly) D.C. Politics. For all its self-proclaimed “progressiveness,” compared to the daily operations of corporations in the real world, management practices in Hollywood exhibit all the “compassion” of a mid-19th century Dickensian sweatshop.

When I first “broke in” (note that the very term for initiating one’s career in entertainment is synonymous with criminal trespass), I was shocked at how terrified everyone seemed to act. It was as if the whole machine was lubricated with a mix of adrenline and flop-sweat.

For example, early in my career, on location, I accidentally spilled a full 16 ounce cup of lemonade on one of the supporting actors. Before I could blurt an apology, the poor man, aware that I was a producer, shouted, “It’s okay! Really! It was all my fault!” As he staggered toward the costume trailer, frantically waving off a swarm of angry (possibly Africanized) bees attracted by his newfound lemony-fresh scent, I just stood there, flabbergasted, wondering, “Huh…?”

Then there were the P.A.’s and various assistants, all of whom seemed to deal with me as if I was a.) a hair-trigger homicidal psychopath; b.) a road-side I.E.D.; or c.) a rabid, meth-crazed pit-bull. It was as if they were frightened I would fly into a rage and fire them at the slightest provocation.

At first, I wondered whether I was putting out some kind of serial-killer vibe. Eventually, I realized their terror had nothing to do with me, but with others they’d worked for in the past–the screaming, telephone-hurling, profanity-spewing, tantrum-throwing, raging monster sociopaths that are more a rule than an exception in this wonderful business–jerk-sticks that would be tolerated for exactly five minutes in any other line of work.

But in Hollywood, not only are these trolls tolerated, but celebrated. Operatically crude, nasty, cruel behavior simply “adds to the legend” in a town where notoriety is routinely granted greater cache than talent. After all, who is more likely to command respect in a classroom full of ill-mannered children: The juvenile delinquent or the math-whiz?

Meanwhile, for the last quarter-century in the “real world,” contemporary management techniques have stressed the carrot over the whip. Companies have found that productivity is inexorably tied to employee morale. Furthermore, happy employees incur fewer sick-days, injuries and lawsuits. Low or no-cost incentives such as a clean working environment that encourages creativity, independence and mutual respect are the hallmarks of the modern corporate success-story.

Is it, then, any wonder why marriages between major entertainment conglomerates and modern tech-based companies are often acrimonious and doomed? Trying to wed contemporary corporate culture with old Hollywood is like introducing a trickle of fresh water into a vast stagnant open sewer. Sure, it may smell a little better, but I sure wouldn’t drink from it.

And then there’s the lying! Not just little, inconsequential lies, but big, bold, beefy, I-don’t-care-if-you-know-I’m-lying-I’m-gonna-lie-anyway lies.

In the corporate world, I found that honesty–at least a reputation for honesty–is a critical asset to a company if it wants to build a clientele. Dishonesty was fairly rare, and usually assumed the form of omissions or misleading statements. Hollywood-style bald-faced deception was virtually non-existent and was considered very bad form. A former corporate colleague of mine once put it succinctly when we discovered we were lied to by a marketing representative: “It’s not just that he lied, but I was able to expose it with one lousy phone-call!”

In Hollywood, such is the corruption that being openly lied to is not only tolerated, but welcome, often with a smile from the recipient. Because in Hollywood, being addressed with honesty and directness is the surest sign that one’s career is dead. As a writer friend groaned after being fired by his agent, “I can’t believe it! The sonofabitch didn’t even respect me enough to lie to me!”

I’ve also been stunned by the prevalence of corporate misconduct that blithely continues in Hollywood as if the last thirty-five years had never happened. Nepotism; discrimination; ageism; sexual harassment; retaliation and the practice of blackballing have been largely vanquished from the “real world” by the risk of expensive lawsuits and fines.

But Hollywood’s culture of fear has effectively inoculated it against legal recourse. How often have we all heard an aggrieved industry colleague threaten to sue, only to met by others with the hushed admonition, “Are you crazy? Don’t you want to work again?”

I long wondered why Hollywood is so crooked. My personal theory is that it was built on a foundation of larceny. In order to cheat Thomas Edison out of royalties on his Kinetograph, the original moguls placed a continent between themselves and the Wizard of Menlo Park’s fancy-pants east-coast lawyers.

As a crooked foundation inevitably gives rise to a crooked house, I believe Hollywood’s corruption is as unfixable as it is immutable. So thorough is its baseness that one could argue that it cannot be further debased–after all, a cancer cell cannot contract cancer.

But despite the fact that I’m a “when-in-Rome” pragmatist when it comes to playing in the Hollywood sandbox, accepting Weinstein’s statement that Hollywood has “the best moral compass” to judge a man who drugged and raped a 13-year-old is a little too much like going for thirds at the all-you-can-eat irony buffet—even for this grizzled hack.

To Harvey, to you and to myself, I say. “Shut up and keep living the dream.”