by Warren Littlefield, Former NBC President of Entertainment
CNBC and MSNBC had direct revenue streams from subscribers. In the nineties, you had all sorts of new people becoming cable subscribers, and that added more money to the network’s bottom line. That was really the beginning of NBC’s cable bet.
Warren: Meanwhile, cable television, after living primarily off of network reruns (like Law & Order on TNT) and theatrical films (HBO’s primary thrust in the early years), made the strategic decision to invest their profits in original series programs. As the cost of failure continued to rise in network television, the response by the large corporations that ran the networks was to tighten the creative reins, add more layers of supervision, and manage the process more aggressively.
Program development became “systemized” with more controls in place than ever before. Story area documents and story outlines were written again and again. Once they’d been okayed to go to script, writers discovered there was no time in the process to experiment or detour from the approved documents.
Teams of well-intentioned, industrious studio and network executives all put their imprint on the material. But breakthrough success in television has never been about control. It’s about nurturing and guiding and allowing creative people to flourish. It’s about taking risks. I encouraged an environment where mistakes could be made, where boundaries could be pushed and even broken. Cable television has embraced this philosophy and is proving an extremely seductive alternative to the networks.
Cable TV offers freedom in language and far fewer restrictions on violence and nudity. After HBO broke through with The Sopranos and Sex and the City, the world of television changed.
Eric McCormack: Nowadays, it’s all a crapshoot. There is no brass ring. There’s no obvious place to aim for, and everything is second place.
Max Mutchnick: There’s no bedside manner left anymore. None. And it shows itself in very strange ways. You used to go up to Warren Littlefield’s office, and the big move was you go behind the glass doors. That’s a big move for a writer, and then you’re waiting in the small anteroom before you get into the big office.
Now you’ll sit at the guard gate for forty-five minutes, and then maybe you’ll be brought to the third floor for another thirty minutes, and then you’ll be brought in. There are all of these little slights that make you feel like shit.
When you’re interacting with the guy making the decisions at the network, you feel invested, you feel better about your work, and you work toward making it better.
David Kohan: We’re not that adaptable. We write what we think is good, and the networks say no. We go in now and ask the networks what they want.
Jason Alexander: When I go in and pitch shows, and they’re laughing and they get the characters, and the guy says to me, “What happens in season four?” I say, “I renegotiate for more money, because apparently we’re in season four.” That’s a great problem to have. Why not figure it out when you get there?
I can’t tell you how many times people have told me, “This is so good. It’s not for us.”
Warren: I couldn’t sell Friends or Mad About You today to a network. No hook.
Sean Hayes: I remember a phone call to Jeff Zucker. It was toward the end of Will & Grace, and the ratings weren’t that great, and I called Jeff. He said, “Yeah, Sean. What’s up?”
He talked fast to let me know he didn’t have much time.
“What can we do for marketing?” I asked him.
He said, “It’s over, Sean. Nobody cares about the show anymore. It’s over.” I couldn’t believe he was telling me that.
I hung up on him.
Steve Levitan: It’s been very depressing to watch NBC sink. Zucker’s tenure at NBC, that really got to me. From the first minute I met Zucker, I knew he was a guy who didn’t love TV. He didn’t love entertainment. Didn’t love Hollywood.
David Kohan: The upfronts in the nineties were fun to go to. It was a party, a kind of celebration. Now there’s a pervasive sense of “I hope we made the right choices. I hope we didn’t screw this up.”
John Wells: When Zucker started making noises about canceling Southland in 2009, I called him up and said, “Jeff, don’t do it. You’re not in a position to cancel shows that ABC and TNT both want. They’re going to put it on the air, and it’ll be terrible for you. Just the PR of it is terrible in the creative community. You’re already the fourth or fifth place people pitch anything. Even if Southland doesn’t work, at least it looks like an interesting television show.” He just doesn’t get it.
He had no idea when he took over, and he had too much ego to admit that he didn’t know.
Steve Levitan: If you’re a network president, you’d better believe in what you’re doing. You’d better believe broadcast television is relevant and can be what it was. If you don’t believe in the network, nobody else will either. If you don’t bet big, you become a niche.
Jeff just wanted to go back to New York from day one. You knew it. He didn’t want to be here. You could feel it. Why am I at the kids’ table? He wanted to be in New York with Jack Welch and Bob Wright.
David Kohan: The president of Warner Bros. [Peter Roth] loves television, and he loves to make the sort of TV he enjoys. There’s something nice about that.
Steve Levitan: Look at the Emmys this year. Jimmy Fallon came out and said, “I love television. I love this stuff.” You have to believe it.
Max Mutchnick: They’re not happy unless it’s horny guys trying to score with a slut. Be a nerd who wants to fuck a blonde, and you might get on the schedule. There’s no quality or level to the people you get to write.
David Kohan: We recently wrote a show about a strong woman. They said it’s too alienating, and we don’t want an older woman at the center of the show. It was an Auntie Mame story. I asked the executive, “Did you like it?” He said, “Yeah.” I asked, “Well, what makes you think nobody else will?”
Max Mutchnick: It’s comical now to go to a network and watch all of the lower-level execs. They wouldn’t dream of saying what they thought. At one network, you’re not allowed to laugh. At another, you look at the shade of red of the head of the network’s face.
Bob Broder: Jeff Zucker’s NBC has been going down a long ski jump, and they fell off the end. Like the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. From 1982 until two years ago when Scrubs came off NBC, I or my agency has represented a successful half hour or more on NBC every year.
Steve Levitan: Jeff Zucker is the worst thing that ever happened to network television.
Max Mutchnick: The script we’re about to do notes on we call Chipped Beef in a Cone. I call it that because I saw a PBS documentary about scientists in London who were trying to devise a food that the most people would respond to—in terms of texture and taste. It was a croissant-like cone filled with a creamy whipped beef. What we’ve just written is chipped beef in a cone.
Jason Alexander: When we went off the air, Fox was really starting to come alive. So it was the networks, HBO, and Showtime. There wasn’t much entertainment on the Internet. Now if you have four million viewers, Woooo!
Dick Wolf: It’s still the same-size pie. Total viewers haven’t gone up. The slices are just getting thinner and thinner.
Tom Werner: In the days of Cosby, because there were so few channels, it was possible for America to sit down and watch something all together. American Idol gets a third of the Cosby audience, even though it’s the number one show on TV.
Dick Wolf: Monk did a 6.8 for the finale. You put on a public execution, the last episode of Monk, or Tiger’s home movies, then you’ll get a number. But that’s not programming.
Tom Werner: Rick Rosen told me a story recently. He talked to fifty people about some show they all watched, and he asked how many had watched it live, during its regular time slot. Two people raised their hands.
Warren: To complete the circle, remember Paul Klein? He of the “big-event” philosophy at NBC and LOP? Least objectionable programming?
Dan Harrison: Paul Klein’s th
eory was that the network that had the best second choice was the one that was going to win. You had a very passionate first choice that would lock in a specific audience, but if you had the most popular second choice, people would gravitate toward that in large numbers. Today that would never work. It’s a larger passionate base, but people are never looking for their second choice. If you love shows about cooking with margarine, there’s a show about cooking with margarine. If you love shows about Hitler’s bunker, there’s a show about Hitler’s bunker.
Now you can zero in. There is no second choice anymore. This is my passion at this moment, and I’m going to find a show to satisfy that. If I change my mind and tomorrow I’m passionate about something else, there’s another channel that will serve me that. That’s how the viewer watches television now, and that’s a big change from the Must See era.
Steve Levitan: During the darkest of the years, at least for me—Bush in the White House and Zucker in the NBC chair—I wondered if the magic era was gone. Too many choices, a fractured audience. Can we ever get back to the days when something means as much as those shows did? I think people are rediscovering some of the quality work that’s out there. I’m hoping we can recapture that Must See TV feeling.
Warren: Ultimately, it is the programmer’s creative instincts that determine what shows get the love and the promotional support at the network. There are easy calls when the research document screams hit show—like Cosby and The Golden Girls—but most are harder, murkier, gray instead of black or white.
In deciding what got on our air and what didn’t, I went back to the guiding principles of Grant Tinker. Respect the audience, he told us, and they will come. Grant taught us to get into business with the best-quality writers and producers the industry has to offer and let them do what they do best—create and execute. “First be best, then be first” was his mantra. And rather than fear change, as I did with the loss of Cheers, I learned to embrace it. It meant opportunity. These were lessons that served us well during my tenure running NBC in the nineties.
I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth but I was always curious about how the world tasted. I’ve been a teamster truck driver, shoveled coal in a plastics factory, and poured cement with a crew of French Canadian ex-cons. Those were hard jobs, but not nearly as hard as television and not nearly as much fun.
The Zuckerization of the network in recent years has been marked by the belief that viewers exist to be manipulated rather than nourished. In the Zucker worldview, the audience doesn’t count. Only the dollars do. This philosophy in practice resulted in Jay Leno at 10:00 five nights a week, and we all know how well that went.
In January 2011, Comcast took over controlling interest of NBCUniversal, and their senior management group did not include Jeff Zucker. They reached out instead to Bob Greenblatt—producer of Six Feet Under and past president of Showtime—and the creative community breathed a collective sigh of relief. I breathed one myself.
Here’s hoping the peacock struts again and NBC does indeed recapture that Must See TV feeling. Cheers!
Acknowledgments
It began with my mother. She first figured out that despite the fact I loved sports, I didn’t have the talent to be a professional athlete. Thankfully, she encouraged me to join the junior wing of the Montclair Dramatic Club during my high school years. That program was run by Charlie Mortimer, who, after many years in advertising in New York, launched his own production company, Westfall Productions. My first job in the industry was working at Westfall as a gofer on a television pilot, The New Little Rascals. It was during that production that I realized I didn’t want to go to graduate school in psychology because I’d have a lot more fun in the wonderful world of entertainment. I never looked back. Jonathan Bernstein was the line producer who mentored me and taught me the art of TV and film production.
My father was a humble and loyal man who taught me many of the values I try to continue to embrace.
Through the years my wife, Theresa, and our children, Emily and Graham, have hopefully understood by my words and actions that they come first. I acknowledge that my career is a close second. Without their flexibility, support, love, and understanding I never could have accomplished what I did.
My sister, Pam, has never worked in television, but she loves to watch it and with my mom has always been one of my biggest fans.
In addition to being my valued and trusted assistant through my NBC years and ever since, Patty Mann gave the creation and execution of this book her laser focus and commitment.
Brian Pike, my friend and agent, suggested I write this book and then put me in the skilled hands of the literary agent David Black. David knew how daunting a blank page could be for a nonwriter and had the wisdom to introduce me to the writer T. R. Pearson. Writing partnerships are like marriages; some work, and others end up in court. With Tom the honeymoon is still going on.
To bring this book to life, Tom and I conducted over fifty interviews with actors, writers, producers, agents, and executives. To those who participated, thank you for your time and unedited truthfulness. The Must See story is as much yours as mine.
Michael Zinberg hired me as manager of comedy development at NBC in December 1979. Why, I’ll never know.
Brandon Tartikoff was a tough boss but brilliant broadcaster whose infectious love of the medium was a gift.
Fred Silverman was an inspiration as a legendary television executive and prolific producer.
Grant Tinker was our compass at a time when NBC had none.
Bob Wright introduced a discipline of strategic thinking to an industry that mostly chased after hit shows.
Don Ohlmeyer chose not to fire me when he walked into NBC, and I’m grateful. It wasn’t an easy ride with Don, but it was historic and as memorable as these pages reveal.
Preston Beckman and Dan Harrison remain valued friends and invaluable resources of knowledge of the history of the television medium. Their contributions were significant.
Without Jimmy Burrows there could not have been Must See TV. His talent runs through much of the Must See content, and his passion for his work is unequaled.
Chris Connor, Jimmy Burrows’s indispensable assistant, expertly aided us in getting “must have” interviews.
Sari DeCesare was always a highly valued resource from the research department at NBC in New York, particularly on the long days and nights in preparing the upfronts. She’s still there (senior vice president of TV network audience research) and was invaluable once again in clarifying what the TV world looked like and what we accomplished.
Barbara Tranchito, a senior NBC publicist during the Must See years, brought her wit and wisdom to helping us gain access to key talent.
Many entertainment executives embraced my quest to tell this story, and while they were not formally interviewed, their knowledge was readily supplied. Special thanks to Steve Mosko, president of Sony Pictures Television; Bruce Rosenblum, president of Warner Bros. Television Group; Joel Berman, former president of Paramount Worldwide Television Distribution and founder of Wavelength Media; and Jerry Petry, former executive vice president of NBCUniversal Television.
The guys I grew up with in New Jersey and remain close to today have always reminded me that I have no skills whatsoever. Any success I may have enjoyed in my career is pure luck. They are wise men.
Mark Streid came into my life when I became president of NBC Entertainment. He is a good friend and taught me that a strong body was needed to survive the job and would help build a strong mind.
Jill Young brings an energy and creative spark to my company’s development and brought that same attitude to helping me accomplish this.
Rebecca Marks, executive vice president, NBC Entertainment Publicity, embraced our historical journey. Also at NBC, Jennifer Hozer and Julie Gollins were critical in retrieving from the NBC photo archives the wonderful shots that capture the Must See era.
Tom and I wish to thank Bill Thomas, our editor at Doubleday, who
enthusiastically embraced our pitch like a good network executive and helped steer us into print. Working closely with Bill have been Todd Doughty and Cory Hunter, who both gave countless hours and unbridled support. And finally, many thanks to Elizabeth Bohlke for her tireless work transcribing interviews.
The cast of Cheers, from left to right, George Wendt (as Norm Peterson), Kelsey Grammer (as Dr. Frasier Crane), John Ratzenberger (as Cliff Clavin), Shelley Long (as Diane Chambers), Ted Danson (as Sam Malone), Woody Harrelson (as Woody Boyd), and Rhea Perlman (as Carla Tortelli).
Ted Danson and Warren Littlefield at an NBC event. In the fall of 1991, just as Warren assumed his new role as NBC president of entertainment, Ted Danson called to say that this would be his last season on Cheers. Panic set in.
From left to right, George Wendt, Cheers creators Les and Glen Charles, and Ted Danson on the Cheers set. As Warren tells it, NBC was so desperate for quality programming in the mid-eighties that it guaranteed Les and Glen Charles and Jimmy Burrows “thirteen episodes on the air even though they had never developed a show.”
Ted Danson and Shelley Long discuss dialogue with the legendary television director Jimmy Burrows. Six finalists auditioned for the parts of Sam and Diane. “It was obvious it was Ted and Shelley,” remembers Burrows.
Ted Danson and Kirstie Alley (as Rebecca Howe) on the Cheers set. Jimmy Burrows recalls, “When Shelley left Cheers, we hated her for that. We went back to the original concept of the show—Sam Malone working for a woman. We told Jeff Greenberg, our casting director, what we wanted, and the first name out of his mouth was Kirstie Alley.”