Ubiquitous
2018-09-13 00:16:51 UTC
Linda Bloodworth Thomason, one of CBS' biggest hitmakers, reveals the
disgraced mogul kept her shows off the air for seven years: "People
asked me for years, 'What happened to you?' Les Moonves happened to
me."
This is not the article you might be expecting about Les Moonves. It's
not going to be wise or inspiring. It's going to be petty and
punishing. In spite of my proper Southern mother's admonition to always
be gracious, I am all out of grace when it comes to Mr. Moonves. In
fact, like a lot of women in Hollywood, I am happy to dance on his
professional grave. And not just any dance - this will be the Macarena,
the rumba, the cha-cha and the Moonwalk. You get the idea.
I was never sexually harassed or attacked by Les Moonves. My encounters
were much more subtle, engendering a different kind of destruction. In
1992, I was given the largest writing and producing contract in the
history of CBS. It was for $50 million, involving five new series with
hefty penalties for each pilot not picked up.
Designing Women was my flagship CBS show, and Evening Shade had just
been lauded as the best new comedy of the season. CBS chairman Howard
Stringer and president Jeff Sagansky attended many of the Designing
Women tapings, reveling in the show, quoting the lines and giving us
carte blanche to tackle any subject, including sexual harassment,
domestic violence and pornography. They even greenlighted an entire
episode satirizing Clarence Thomas' Supreme Court nomination. It was,
to say the least, exhilarating. Little did I know that it would soon
all be over.
By 1995, Mr. Stringer and Mr. Sagansky were gone and a new, unknown (to
me) president named Les Moonves had taken over. By then, I was
producing a new pilot, prophetically titled Fully Clothed Non-Dancing
Women. I was immediately concerned when I heard that Mr. Moonves was
rumored to be a big fan of topless bars. Then, someone delivered the
news that he especially hated Designing Women and their loud-mouthed
speeches. He showed up at the first table read and took a chair
directly across from mine (actress Illeana Douglas, who later accused
him of sexual harassment, sat next to me). Having been voted most
popular in high school, I felt confident that I would be able to charm
him. I was wrong. He sat and stared at me throughout the entire reading
with eyes that were stunningly cold, as in, "You are so dead." I had
not experienced such a menacing look since Charles Manson tried to
stare me down on a daily basis when I was a young reporter covering
that trial. As soon as the pilot was completed, Moonves informed me
that it would not be picked up. I was at the pinnacle of my career. I
would not work again for seven years.
During that period, because my contract was so valuable, I continued
trying to win over Moonves. And he continued turning down every pilot I
wrote. Often, if he would catch me in the parking lot, he would make
sure to tell me that my script was one of the best he'd read but that
he had decided, in the end, not to do it. It always seemed that he
enjoyed telling me this. Just enough to keep me in the game. I was told
he refused to give my scripts to any of the stars he had under
contract. Then, I began to hear from female CBS employees about his
mercurial, misogynist behavior, with actresses being ushered in and out
of his office. His mantra, I was told, was, "Why would I wanna cast 'em
if I don't wanna fuck 'em?" And he was an angry bully who enjoyed
telling people, "I will tear off the top of your head and piss on your
brain!"
Soon, I would hear how he had invited a famous actress to lunch in the
CBS dining room. Coming off the cancellation of her iconic detective
show, the star began pitching a new one. He informed her that she was
too old to be on his network. She began to cry and stood up to go. He
stood up too, taking her by the shoulders and telling her, "I can't let
you leave like this." She reacted, suddenly touched. Then he shoved his
tongue down her throat. I know this happened because the star is the
person who told me.
Over the years, even when an actress managed to get one of my scripts
through an agent, the deal would immediately be killed. It was like a
personal vendetta and I will never know why. Was it because I was
championing the New South? Or an admittedly aggressive, feminist
agenda? Or both? When the legendary Bette Midler informed Moonves that
she wanted to do a series with me, I'm told he denied her request. When
the singer Huey Lewis, whom Les had become enamored with, chose me to
write a pilot for him, his contract was canceled.
It would have been so easy, not to mention honorable, to simply tell me
he was never going to put a show of mine on the air. That was certainly
his right. But instead, he kept me hopping and hoping. When I finally
realized he was never going to put a show of mine on the air, I left.
It was never really about the money anyway, I just wanted to work.
People asked me for years, "Where have you been? What happened to you?"
Les Moonves happened to me.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I was walking the halls one day in
the original CBS building. In spite of no longer having gainful
employment, I still felt proud that I had been allowed to make a
creative contribution to the network I had grown up with - starting
with Lucy and Ethel, who had electrified me and inspired me to write
comedy. I never dreamed that I would become the first woman, along with
my then-writing partner, Mary Kay Place, to write for M*A*S*H. I took
pride in being part of a network that always seemed to be rife with
crazy, interesting, brash women, from Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda, to
Maude, to Murphy Brown, to the Designing Women. Many of these female
characters paved the way for women to be single, to pursue careers and
equal pay and to lead rich, romantic lives with reproductive rights.
As I walked, I noticed that the portraits of all these iconic women
were no longer adorning the walls. I don't know why and I didn't ask. I
just know that the likes of them have rarely been seen on that network
again. Thanks to Les Moonves, I can only guess they all became vaginal
swabs in crime labs on CSI Amarillo.
For years, Moonves loaded up the network with highly profitable, male-
dominated series, always careful to stir in and amply reward an
occasional actress, like the fabulous Patti Heaton or the irresistible
Kaley Cuoco. But mostly, he presided over a plethora of macho crime
shows featuring a virtual genocide of dead naked hotties in morgue
drawers, with sadistic female autopsy reports, ratcheted up each week
("Is that a missing breast implant, lieutenant?" "Yes sir, we also
found playing cards in her uterus.") On the day I officially parted
company with CBS, the same day Mr. Moonves said he would only pay a
tiny fraction of the penalties, my incredulous agent asked what he
should tell me. Mr. Moonves replied, "Tell her to go fuck herself!"
I was not surprised when Moonves finally admitted on Sept. 9 that he
"may have made some women uncomfortable" and that "those were
mistakes." Let's be clear. Shoving your tongue or penis down a woman's
throat during an office meet and greet is not a "mistake." It is an act
of terror. It cannot be corrected with a special Hallmark card saying,
"Sorreee! My bad!"
I had planned to make this a lofty piece about how we women in
entertainment can draw strength from our shared historical DNA as we
slowly dig our way out of Hollywood's darkest places. I could have
easily referenced Peg Entwistle, the young actress who jumped to her
death, supposedly rejected by a number of powerful men. Bette Davis had
gone to see her portrayal of Hedvig, inspiring Bette that very day to
pursue a career in acting - thus giving new purpose to the dead girl,
lying at the base of the Hollywood sign, who never knew she had already
passed the torch to arguably the greatest actress to ever grace the
silver screen.
I wanted to offer this story in stark opposition to all the women-
hating, slimeball men like Harvey Weinstein, James Toback and Les
Moonves to say, "This is how we, in the face of them, continue to lift
and inspire one another." But I don't feel inspired anymore. I just
feel angry.
The truth is, Les Moonves may never be punished in the way that he
deserves. He will almost certainly never go to jail. And he has already
made hundreds of millions of dollars during his highly successful and
truly immoral, bullying, misogynist reign.
Perhaps the best we can do is thank Ronan Farrow and all the brave
women who came forward to make sure a man like this is finally gone,
while putting all the other sexual predators who are still in our
business on notice. We are not going to stop until every last one of
you is gone. We don't care anymore if you go to jail or go to hell.
Just know at some point that you are leaving.
And as for you, Mr. Moonves, in spite of the fact that I was raised to
be a proper Southern female, and with your acknowledgement that I have
never, in my life, spoken a single cross word to you, despite the way
you treated me, may I simply say, channeling my finest Julia Sugarbaker
delivery: "Go fuck yourself!"
: Bloodworth Thomason is a television writer, author and documentary
: filmmaker. She is currently finishing her memoir, Rising Girl, My
: Adventures in Politics and Entertainment and penning the book for
: the musical First Wives Club.
disgraced mogul kept her shows off the air for seven years: "People
asked me for years, 'What happened to you?' Les Moonves happened to
me."
This is not the article you might be expecting about Les Moonves. It's
not going to be wise or inspiring. It's going to be petty and
punishing. In spite of my proper Southern mother's admonition to always
be gracious, I am all out of grace when it comes to Mr. Moonves. In
fact, like a lot of women in Hollywood, I am happy to dance on his
professional grave. And not just any dance - this will be the Macarena,
the rumba, the cha-cha and the Moonwalk. You get the idea.
I was never sexually harassed or attacked by Les Moonves. My encounters
were much more subtle, engendering a different kind of destruction. In
1992, I was given the largest writing and producing contract in the
history of CBS. It was for $50 million, involving five new series with
hefty penalties for each pilot not picked up.
Designing Women was my flagship CBS show, and Evening Shade had just
been lauded as the best new comedy of the season. CBS chairman Howard
Stringer and president Jeff Sagansky attended many of the Designing
Women tapings, reveling in the show, quoting the lines and giving us
carte blanche to tackle any subject, including sexual harassment,
domestic violence and pornography. They even greenlighted an entire
episode satirizing Clarence Thomas' Supreme Court nomination. It was,
to say the least, exhilarating. Little did I know that it would soon
all be over.
By 1995, Mr. Stringer and Mr. Sagansky were gone and a new, unknown (to
me) president named Les Moonves had taken over. By then, I was
producing a new pilot, prophetically titled Fully Clothed Non-Dancing
Women. I was immediately concerned when I heard that Mr. Moonves was
rumored to be a big fan of topless bars. Then, someone delivered the
news that he especially hated Designing Women and their loud-mouthed
speeches. He showed up at the first table read and took a chair
directly across from mine (actress Illeana Douglas, who later accused
him of sexual harassment, sat next to me). Having been voted most
popular in high school, I felt confident that I would be able to charm
him. I was wrong. He sat and stared at me throughout the entire reading
with eyes that were stunningly cold, as in, "You are so dead." I had
not experienced such a menacing look since Charles Manson tried to
stare me down on a daily basis when I was a young reporter covering
that trial. As soon as the pilot was completed, Moonves informed me
that it would not be picked up. I was at the pinnacle of my career. I
would not work again for seven years.
During that period, because my contract was so valuable, I continued
trying to win over Moonves. And he continued turning down every pilot I
wrote. Often, if he would catch me in the parking lot, he would make
sure to tell me that my script was one of the best he'd read but that
he had decided, in the end, not to do it. It always seemed that he
enjoyed telling me this. Just enough to keep me in the game. I was told
he refused to give my scripts to any of the stars he had under
contract. Then, I began to hear from female CBS employees about his
mercurial, misogynist behavior, with actresses being ushered in and out
of his office. His mantra, I was told, was, "Why would I wanna cast 'em
if I don't wanna fuck 'em?" And he was an angry bully who enjoyed
telling people, "I will tear off the top of your head and piss on your
brain!"
Soon, I would hear how he had invited a famous actress to lunch in the
CBS dining room. Coming off the cancellation of her iconic detective
show, the star began pitching a new one. He informed her that she was
too old to be on his network. She began to cry and stood up to go. He
stood up too, taking her by the shoulders and telling her, "I can't let
you leave like this." She reacted, suddenly touched. Then he shoved his
tongue down her throat. I know this happened because the star is the
person who told me.
Over the years, even when an actress managed to get one of my scripts
through an agent, the deal would immediately be killed. It was like a
personal vendetta and I will never know why. Was it because I was
championing the New South? Or an admittedly aggressive, feminist
agenda? Or both? When the legendary Bette Midler informed Moonves that
she wanted to do a series with me, I'm told he denied her request. When
the singer Huey Lewis, whom Les had become enamored with, chose me to
write a pilot for him, his contract was canceled.
It would have been so easy, not to mention honorable, to simply tell me
he was never going to put a show of mine on the air. That was certainly
his right. But instead, he kept me hopping and hoping. When I finally
realized he was never going to put a show of mine on the air, I left.
It was never really about the money anyway, I just wanted to work.
People asked me for years, "Where have you been? What happened to you?"
Les Moonves happened to me.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I was walking the halls one day in
the original CBS building. In spite of no longer having gainful
employment, I still felt proud that I had been allowed to make a
creative contribution to the network I had grown up with - starting
with Lucy and Ethel, who had electrified me and inspired me to write
comedy. I never dreamed that I would become the first woman, along with
my then-writing partner, Mary Kay Place, to write for M*A*S*H. I took
pride in being part of a network that always seemed to be rife with
crazy, interesting, brash women, from Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda, to
Maude, to Murphy Brown, to the Designing Women. Many of these female
characters paved the way for women to be single, to pursue careers and
equal pay and to lead rich, romantic lives with reproductive rights.
As I walked, I noticed that the portraits of all these iconic women
were no longer adorning the walls. I don't know why and I didn't ask. I
just know that the likes of them have rarely been seen on that network
again. Thanks to Les Moonves, I can only guess they all became vaginal
swabs in crime labs on CSI Amarillo.
For years, Moonves loaded up the network with highly profitable, male-
dominated series, always careful to stir in and amply reward an
occasional actress, like the fabulous Patti Heaton or the irresistible
Kaley Cuoco. But mostly, he presided over a plethora of macho crime
shows featuring a virtual genocide of dead naked hotties in morgue
drawers, with sadistic female autopsy reports, ratcheted up each week
("Is that a missing breast implant, lieutenant?" "Yes sir, we also
found playing cards in her uterus.") On the day I officially parted
company with CBS, the same day Mr. Moonves said he would only pay a
tiny fraction of the penalties, my incredulous agent asked what he
should tell me. Mr. Moonves replied, "Tell her to go fuck herself!"
I was not surprised when Moonves finally admitted on Sept. 9 that he
"may have made some women uncomfortable" and that "those were
mistakes." Let's be clear. Shoving your tongue or penis down a woman's
throat during an office meet and greet is not a "mistake." It is an act
of terror. It cannot be corrected with a special Hallmark card saying,
"Sorreee! My bad!"
I had planned to make this a lofty piece about how we women in
entertainment can draw strength from our shared historical DNA as we
slowly dig our way out of Hollywood's darkest places. I could have
easily referenced Peg Entwistle, the young actress who jumped to her
death, supposedly rejected by a number of powerful men. Bette Davis had
gone to see her portrayal of Hedvig, inspiring Bette that very day to
pursue a career in acting - thus giving new purpose to the dead girl,
lying at the base of the Hollywood sign, who never knew she had already
passed the torch to arguably the greatest actress to ever grace the
silver screen.
I wanted to offer this story in stark opposition to all the women-
hating, slimeball men like Harvey Weinstein, James Toback and Les
Moonves to say, "This is how we, in the face of them, continue to lift
and inspire one another." But I don't feel inspired anymore. I just
feel angry.
The truth is, Les Moonves may never be punished in the way that he
deserves. He will almost certainly never go to jail. And he has already
made hundreds of millions of dollars during his highly successful and
truly immoral, bullying, misogynist reign.
Perhaps the best we can do is thank Ronan Farrow and all the brave
women who came forward to make sure a man like this is finally gone,
while putting all the other sexual predators who are still in our
business on notice. We are not going to stop until every last one of
you is gone. We don't care anymore if you go to jail or go to hell.
Just know at some point that you are leaving.
And as for you, Mr. Moonves, in spite of the fact that I was raised to
be a proper Southern female, and with your acknowledgement that I have
never, in my life, spoken a single cross word to you, despite the way
you treated me, may I simply say, channeling my finest Julia Sugarbaker
delivery: "Go fuck yourself!"
: Bloodworth Thomason is a television writer, author and documentary
: filmmaker. She is currently finishing her memoir, Rising Girl, My
: Adventures in Politics and Entertainment and penning the book for
: the musical First Wives Club.
--
Dems & the media want Trump to be more like Obama, but then he'd
have to audit liberals & wire tap reporters' phones.
Dems & the media want Trump to be more like Obama, but then he'd
have to audit liberals & wire tap reporters' phones.