I jumped into my Alfa Romeo and raced home. The phone was ringing as I walked in the door. Nick was calling to hammer out my deal points. All actor deals are struck before you go to the network for a final test, so that no one can hold the production up for more money should the pilot lead to a hit show. My contract was prenegotiated then and there for five years. (Nowadays, it’s usually seven.)
The next day, Friday, I dressed in a different T-shirt but kept the jeans and tennis shoes (that’s what we all wore back then). I drove to the network meeting on the FOX lot, where I sat in a different waiting room with the other two final contenders. One of the guys I knew by sight, just seeing him around auditions, and one of the guys I didn’t. None of us spoke.
When it was my turn, I entered the office and Aaron himself greeted me. He pulled me aside to a corner of the office. From inside his jacket he pulled a page torn out of a recent People magazine; it was a small column item about me on Sister Kate. “I just showed this to everyone,” he whispered. “Don’t worry—I’m looking out for you.” He winked and clapped me on the back.
Then he took me over to meet everybody—including Barry Diller, FOX’s chairman and CEO. Shannen wasn’t there so I read with the casting director. My audition seemed to go well enough and once again I said my thank-yous and left.
I have no idea what Aaron did or said once I left the room, but he wasn’t kidding about being in my corner. Late that afternoon I had the role, along with an invitation. Everyone in the cast was gathering at Aaron’s home Sunday night for a table read. It was time to meet my “classmates.”
Bel Air
90077
The Spellings had not yet built their famous fifty-six-thousand-square-foot “Manor,” and the family lived in a large, beautiful but still regular-sized home. Regular-sized for Bel Air. The new cast all gathered in the huge living room that featured more shag carpeting. That man loved his shag carpeting. There were crystal ashtrays and holders full of cigarettes all over the place; a slight haze of smoke in the air; beautiful paintings and luxurious furnishings. It was just fantastic. I was in somewhat of a daze, knowing that the very next morning I would be reporting to the set to star in a pilot. It had all happened very quickly.
I was happily surprised to see Jennie Garth again—a perfect choice for the stuck-up rich girl she was going to play. Shannen I had already met, and I was sure we could work well together in the brother/sister relationship we would have on the show. Ian Ziering was the embodiment of the Beverly Hills jock, and Brian Austin Green and Tori, Aaron’s daughter, seemed much younger than the rest of the cast; they were both actually still in high school at the time. They really were the geeky little kids looking on with wide eyes! Everyone was friendly, happy, and excited about this new project.
We did a quick read-through of the script, and the chemistry was strong and immediate. Everyone started riffing as soon as we began reading the script, playing off each other, and the banter all went so smoothly. Any show runner will tell you . . . casting is nine-tenths of the battle. If you can assemble the right group of people, it’s like catching lightning in a bottle. Everything sure felt right. We broke up early with everyone feeling happy and optimistic.
A mile or so away from the house, I was heading east on Sunset Boulevard and glanced to my right to see Gabrielle Carteris driving in her rental car. She was from New York and rarely drove. She was sitting with her back ramrod straight, hands clenched tightly on the wheel, looking neither to the right or the left. She was clearly absolutely terrified to be driving down winding Sunset Boulevard. I, of course, was racing full speed, cigarette going, stereo blasting. I took one more look and had to shake my head at Aaron’s genius. Where did they find that girl? I wondered. She is an absolutely perfect shy and timid Andrea!
I gunned the engine and pulled away in my Alfa Romeo. I had a 6:30 call to be fitted for wardrobe the next morning. I could feel it in the air; something new and big was coming down the line. My life was about to change forever—and I wanted to be ready for it.
FOX Private Jet
New York
10019
We shot the pilot over the next two weeks. As is often the case, the pilot was somewhat different from what the actual show would become. It had been written by Darren Star and was directed by Tim Hunter, who was an independent film director. He had shot The River’s Edge starring Keanu Reeves. Because Tim had an indie-film sensibility, the pilot had a slightly darker, moodier feel as opposed to the slick, shiny beautiful-kids-in-beautiful-locations TV show that 90210 would eventually become.
The final product was called The Class of Beverly Hills. The show opened with me, as Brandon, lying fast asleep in a bedroom filled with half-unpacked boxes, hitting the alarm as it goes off at 6:30 A.M. As his stereo blasted Brandon awake, he rolled over and said, “First day of school. Strange city. New house. No friends . . . I’m psyched.” Then he dropped his head back into the pillow and went back to sleep. Ninety minutes later, after romantic escapades for both Brandon and Brenda, there I was, having a heartfelt talk with Brenda about the great teenage preoccupation: “doing it.” The show closed with Brandon lying in the dark, hands behind his head, thinking over their strange new life at West Beverly Hills High.
My reaction to this pilot was basically, “Huh. Well, that was fun,” and in my mind I pretty much moved on to the next thing. I thought the pilot was okay, and my performance had been okay, but there was no way that show was going to get picked up. Robyn and I headed off to Hawaii for a quick vacation. I couldn’t believe it when just a few weeks later, in May, Nick called to tell me that the show had been picked up. By shooting the pilot, of course, we had all contractually agreed to be in the show if and when it was picked up. I had a new series, a steady job. It was great but surprising news.
The FOX network was still quite new at the time; the so-called fourth network was not even five years old and had plenty to prove. The next step was the upfronts. I had been through this with Sister Kate, but I was playing a bigger role this time. Shannen and I were basically the two actors chosen to be paraded in front of all the advertisers to generate interest for our show. We were told to jump on the FOX jet to fly to New York. A number of FOX people, including Jamie Kellner, Brad Turrell, and Sandy Grushow, were on this flight as well.
Now, this new show had just barely been picked up. Shannen and I were not stars. We were both young working actors—period. We were a last-minute addition to the passenger list on this jet, which was carrying major industry executives, including Jamie, the head of the entire FOX network. I could not believe my ears at Shannen’s very first words after she boarded. Her butt had barely hit her seat before she said loudly to the PR person, “Really? A town car? You send a town car to take me to the airport, not a limo?” She sighed a very put-upon sigh. I laughed, as I couldn’t really tell if Shannen was kidding or not.
But that was just the beginning. I looked on, becoming more uneasy by the minute as she began bitching about the short notice and the food on board and the temperature in the cabin and everything else. I tried to play it off. I laughed like she was joking, then took her arm and dragged her to the back of the plane.
“What are you doing?” I said. Shannen looked at me blankly. “Stop talking. Just sit here for the rest of the flight and be quiet.”
I shook my head; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Meanwhile, she had no idea what my problem was. She honestly could not understand what I was so worried about. It was a long, long flight.
All of us stayed at the Peninsula Hotel on Fifth Avenue, a gorgeous five-star property with every possible amenity. FOX put on an extravagant show for the advertisers. After we completed our duties, both Shannen and I were anxious to go shopping. We had an entire day off before returning to L.A. that night, so I asked a staffer at FOX if we could get a car for a few hours that day to take us around town. The doorman held open the entrance door on Fifth Avenue as Shannen and I headed outside, where we happened to see Brad Terre
ll waiting for a cab. A shiny black town car was there waiting for us. Perfect.
Shannen glanced at Brad, looked at the car where a uniformed driver was opening the door for her, then turned back to Brad, and said, “Really? Again? A fucking town car? Again, I don’t get a limo?” To say I was staggered by the sheer nerve of a nineteen-year-old girl, whose show had just been picked up and had no track record on this network, speaking to our head of PR in this manner would be an understatement. Once again I tried to play it off, smiling at Brad as if to say, Oh, isn’t she a riot. I put my arm around Shannen and guided her firmly down the stairs to the waiting car. “Get in the car, Shannen,” I hissed. This girl was freaking unbelievable. That was the start of four years working closely with Shannen Doherty.
There were many similar rides ahead for me and Shannen, and not all of them were fun. But some of them actually were. Shannen, obviously, also had her good side; she was an amusing and entertaining girl, and we had a lot of good times together. We actually had a blast in New York City that afternoon, once we got going. A large part of her quirky charm was the fact that she really and truly did not give a shit. She would say or do anything. It was a very cool attitude, until it wasn’t. I quickly realized that Yugo and town car—in her eyes—were one and the same.
Beverly Hills
90210
Everywhere I looked around me in Beverly Hills were designer boutiques like Cartier, Versace, and Hermès, along with upscale eateries like Mako and hotels like the Beverly Wilshire. The pressure to spend on luxuries was powerful. But I wasn’t the kind of guy to throw my first big earnings away on Ferraris and yacht trips; that kind of rock star spending would never be me. My grandfather had been a highly successful Realtor in Canada, and my mother had eventually segued from teaching into real estate as a career. I’d grown up hearing about properties, mortgages, financing, curb appeal, and fixer-uppers, so I probably knew more than the average twenty-year-old about real estate.
I absolutely knew better than to just throw my money away on rent every month; the importance of owning property was ingrained in me. Why pay somebody else’s mortgage? For the long haul, in an uncertain career, I needed a permanent place to live. With the money I’d saved from Sister Kate, I bought a sensible town house in a desirable area of Sherman Oaks, just south of Ventura Boulevard with its hundreds of shops and restaurants. It was centrally located, about ten minutes away from my new job. Official shooting on Beverly Hills 90210 began immediately after the Fourth of July holiday that summer of 1990, and I was ready.
It was exciting. I was finally moving into my own place. And it truly was my place; I owned it. I had actually bought my first home at the age of twenty. And I was starting production on my first television series where I was the star—number one on the call sheet. I was working very hard to stay focused and prove to everyone that their belief in me was well founded.
As we prepared to shoot the first episode, called “The Green Room,” our executive producer hosted a table read at his house, so we could all get to meet one another and be a little more comfortable before showing up to the first day of work the following day.
I parked my Alfa in the street and walked up to Chuck Rosin’s house. There was a guy standing on the front porch . . . the new guy who’d been added since the pilot. I stuck out my hand and said, “Hey, man, I’m Jason.” He shook my hand and said, “I’m Luke; I’m playing Dylan.”
“Great, great . . . so listen, Luke.” He cocked his head. My character, Brandon, was to befriend this mysterious surfer-dude character Dylan. “Do you surf?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Never surfed in my life.”
“Good. You and I are going to get along just fine.” It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Many good times lay ahead in our future.
I FELT AARON SPELLING’S warmth and caring from my very first day on the set, and partly out of respect for him, I took my work very seriously. As number one on the call sheet—meaning the star, the cast member whose name was first in the credits every week—I took ownership of my job, and the show, from day one. Even before we went into production, I walked around the studio talking to the crew members, introducing myself, getting a feel for who did what at my new job.
I was incredibly happy to find out that my old friend David Geddes from Vancouver had been hired as the director of photography for the show. Just having David there gave me extra confidence and also gave me the inside scoop on what was happening with the show from a “below the line” perspective.
I discovered that our show was to be a nonunion show, as FOX was not a “network.” After talking with Dave and several of the crew about the situation, I went into the front office to meet our producer.
For whatever reason, this guy started lying right to my face. I couldn’t believe it.
I walked out of his office and called Aaron Spelling. Aaron took my call, and I said, “Mr. Spelling, I don’t know who this guy is who you have as our producer here on the stages, but you need to get rid of him.” I was furious but kept my tone calm.
Aaron thanked me for calling, and when I showed up twenty-four hours later for the first day of work, the man had vanished.
I had ambitions far beyond acting; someday I wanted to direct as well. I knew that in Aaron I could have a mentor with an absolute wealth of wisdom about the business. I meant to show him that I was ready for any challenge. He surprised me one day by showing up on set with a football jersey that said QUARTERBACK on it. “You’re my quarterback, Jay. Every show needs one. You keep this show together—you’re my MVP here.”
I took the responsibility and his faith in me very seriously.
Chasen’s
West Hollywood
90048
We were young, we were beautiful, we lived in glamorous locales and lived dramatic teenage lives—but nobody was watching us. The ratings were so-so, and the reviews were absolutely brutal. Every single TV reviewer in the country, it seemed, felt the need to unload on just how dreadful television programming could be, using our show as their prime example. There were no Kids’ Choice Awards back then; at that time it was quite revolutionary to aim a show at high schoolers. Teenagers and young adults still watched the same shows as their parents, often with their parents. 90210 was prime time for young people, focusing on issues young people cared about, in a very glamorous setting. Man, how the reviewers hated it. They hated it: the scripts, the writing, and the acting. They were particularly cruel to a bunch of young actors.
I kept my eye on the prize: the work, the work, the work. If what we as actors and producers and writers were doing on that soundstage was no good, there would be no fans. The better we could make the show, the more fans we would win and the more adulation we would get. Hopefully, we would even gain a little respect along the way. It was an uphill battle, believe me. Adult viewers hated our show. As the number one guy on the call sheet I felt the pressure. I carried the weight of all those reviewers who demolished us and said our acting was shitty. I took pride in my profession, and I was going to do my best to prove all of them wrong.
The bond I had established with Aaron continued to grow. Our relationship and the show were still new as the year came to a close and the holiday season rolled around. Probably only five or six episodes of 90210 had aired when I received an invitation to the Spelling Entertainment Christmas party.
Aaron, ironically, was Jewish, but he loved Christmas more than anybody I have ever known. He was simply fascinated by all things Christmas. There were no limits to what he would do to celebrate. This was the man who hauled snow to Bel Air so that his kids, Tori and Randy, could have real snow in their yards when they were children. There were a hundred stories like this, all well chronicled in the press, all true.
His annual Christmas party for Spelling Entertainment employees during the first year of 90210 was held in the back room of the show business hangout called Chasen’s. Aaron hadn’t had a show on the air for a couple of years, so he had a small staf
f. Before we came along it was generally assumed Aaron was finished; he would ride off into the sunset with his money.
The party was a fun, intimate affair. There was one little food table, with a beautiful turkey on display, and two tables for ten, which was enough seating for his entire staff plus invited guests, including Robyn and me.
Eight years later, when I attended my final Spelling Entertainment Christmas party, there would be more than four hundred people packed into the big events room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
La Jolla Avenue
West Hollywood
90069
I could not even begin to estimate how many different people had passed through that house on La Jolla over the years; Brad was the mainstay. Once he got his own place, he refused to leave. He lived there for years while everyone came and went around him. The place itself was your basic two-bedroom duplex furnished in late ’80s frat house. There was frequently a third roommate for varying amounts of time who crashed on the sofa, and guests who might stay for a night or two weeks. Brad had a number of girlfriends who came and went . . . a supersweet girl named Jill, then actress Juliette Lewis.
When Bernie eventually left, Top Forty Gordie moved in. Gordie was a former male stripper from Vancouver whom I’d known forever. We’d been on a 21 Jump Street episode together. He, along with Bernie and me, Paul Johansson, and Bruce Corkham, were the Canadian contingent of our group. Then there was Dave Sherrill, of course, and Bill “Bring-me-down-ziger” Danziger, a young agent at a small agency called Triad who represented Brad and Bernie. This was our core group of guys.
Jason Priestley Page 5