Good afternoon from the Seychelles! I’ll be back in Burbank soon – so stop asking.
So – it appears Bob Greenblatt is leaving NBC because a) He needs another challenge; b) Life isn’t interesting anymore and he needs to climb a fucking mountain; c) I got enough money, ho; or d) He’d really like a chance to turn around Manka Bros.’ MBS network.
I know for a fact the answer is d) because running MBSis the ultimate job in television. The crown jewel in a town where most jewels are borrowed and bullshit.
MBS, as we all know (I don’t need to give everyone a fucking history lesson), was the first television network in history – which was born from the first radio network in history.
MBS is truly the reason all us all here today, making millions in Hollywood for putting out a (in general) sub-par product..
But, that said, even the greatest sucks ass on occasion (I mean, look at Jimmy Stewart and Mohammed Ali!).
MBS currently sucks ass – and needs new leadership.
You, Bob, are that leadership. If you’re looking for a new challenge in life – this is fucking it.
I mean there are challenges – like a cure for Alzheimers which, in my opinion, is doable – and there are CHALLENGES – like turning around the fucking lame ass MBS television network.
I really didn’t think I would make it this year. I had a medical procedure earlier in the day (no details other than it burns like a mother fucker).
I know you’re not supposed to drink after popping a couple of Hillbilly Heroins to dull the pain, but I couldn’t resist. It’s the freakin’ DRANKIN’ HOLE and I needed a dirty martini fix.
The greatest bartender in the world, Vin Tran, is still here – but it took me a moment to recognize him. I mean… HER. It seems that Vin Tran is now Jen Tran and has undergone what they call “gender reversal surgery.”
I grew up in Hollywood (which means nothing surprises me), so I congratulated her on her “awakening” and left it at that. As long as that fucker can make the best damn dirty martini in the world, I don’t care how many dicks you remove from your body.
The vibe at Sun Valley this year is, to put it mildly, very odd. Old moguls are pretty much done with their careers, and, let’s be honest, their lives.
I’ve made it very clear to Herbie Allen that Manka Bros. is not for sale. We don’t need to acquire anyone to survive. We’ll make it.
The one that has to be pissing blood is Les Moonves.
My great friend Jeff Bewkes is making his victory lap at his last rodeo in Sun Valley. He should be wearing one of those gold lamé suits that the dancers wear at the end of “A Chorus Line” – that $200 million looks good on you. You cashed out before the coming “great collapse.” Good for you. Godspeed, JB.
Even the tech guys are fucking old now. Zuckerberg, Brin, Sergey (whatever), that must all be fifty by now. “Look out you rock n’ roller. Pretty soon you’re gonna get older.” Bezos isn’t fooling anyone with those collagen injections.
Jen Tran set me up with another as Brian Roberts entered the bar. He looks exhausted. I would look the same way if I was preparing to overbid $30 billion dollars for fucking Fox. Rupert is another one that needs one of those gold lamé suits from “A Chorus Line.”
Just as I was starting to relax, Brian chatted me up.
Brian Roberts: Khan, how are you? How’s the syphilis?
Me: Ix-ne on the yphilis-se.
Brian Roberts: Sorry, I thought I read about in the trades.
Me: Nope. It’s not public like your penis enlarging.
Brian Roberts: OK.
Brian Roberts drained a fist of vodka and put his head in his hands.
Brian Roberts: What should I do, Khan? This deal is bullshit.
Me: Don’t do it. Let Disney have that nightmare. Buy Lionsgate, CBS and Viacom. Fucking consolidate everything else.
As though right on cue, Bob Iger enters the bar.
Bob Iger: What’s up, bitches?!
Brian Roberts sticks out his foot and trips him.
Brian Roberts: Have a nice trip.
Bob Iger falls hard to the ground.
Brian Roberts: See you in the fall.
Two Disney crew members quickly picked Bob Iger up and placed him on a barstool.
Bob Iger: Real nice, Brian. Khan Manka! Putting on weight I see.
Me: Fuck you, Bob. At least I didn’t screw up “Star Wars.”
And then the evening truly took a turn for the worst as Jeff Bezos entered the bar, shirtless, shining with a fresh coat of coconut oil on his jacked up pecks.
Jeff Bezos: Hey, old media, I’ve decided to consolidate all the companies of the world into one company. What company do you think that is?
He then flexed and did the peck up and down thing that body builders do.
Jen Tran served up Jeff Bezos the dirtiest martini I’ve ever seen. The kind of dirty martini you get when you have $150 billion.
This morning, I read in the New York Times that my good friend Jeffrey Katzenberg is trying to raise $2 billion from Hollywood and Silicon Valley to form a digital media company that focuses only on short-form video.
REALLY expensive short-form video. And it’s name… NEW TV. That’s like developing an alternative to water and calling it NEW WATER.
Genius, Jeff, when did that thunderbolt of creativity strike you? Always innovating. Never resting. (Here’s us talking at Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference about the future of entertainment.)
With $2 billion dollars you can make that “start-up garage” in your back yard really nice. It’s not a broken door placed on a couple of saw horses for you. Nothing but the best Malayan Banyan wood for your desk!
Reading about your completely fresh and original idea gave me an entirely new completely fresh and original idea.
[Cue THUNDERCLAP.]
MANKA BROS. IS GOING TO RAISE $3 BILLION SO WE CAN PUT YOUR MEASLY $2 BILLION START-UP OUT OF BUSINESS!
Who’s the innovator now?
If you pay George Clooney $1 million for a ten-minute short, we’ll pay George Clooney $2 million for a ten-minute short.
If you pay David Fincher $500K for a highly-stylized 15-second Instagram post, we’ll pay David Fincher $600K for an even more highly-stylized Instagram post.
When you’ve got brain damage like us, you’re willing to spend $10 million on a 5-second Snapchat post directed by Steven Spielberg that disappears forever after 24 hours.
When you’ve got brain damage like us, you’re willing to spend $3 billion of someone else’s money on a concept that has proven to be nothing more than a vast money pit.
THAT’S brain damage, my friend, and if you don’t have it, you will fail in an all-mobile content world!
Until we get an official name for the $3 billion start-up, I’ll have to go with the name and artwork that the idiots in my Theatrical marketing department came up with:
So listen up Silicon Valley, Manka Bros. is headed your way, get your Venmo apps ready. We also accept Apple Pay, PayPal, Bitcoin, personal check and even cash in paper bag.
And remember, this $3 billion first-round is not only helping to fund the world’s best content at Manka Bros., it’s helping to stop Jeffrey Katzenberg – and that should be reward enough.
We probably didn’t get that but I had a good time.
Last night (after a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs – with bottomless garlic bread – prepared by Mario Batali), we got the WORLD’S FASTEST MAN – USAIN BOLT. And he was unexpectedly hilarious. It was more of a stand-up routine than a motivational keynote. I would even call it DE-motivational after all the shots he took some of the bigwigs in the audience.
Here’s a transcript of an audio recording I made on my iPhone (which will never be released because Herb Allen and his thugs will put explosives under my car if I did).
[Thanks to my assistant Vicky Adler-Modry for transcribing the audio.]
Herb Allen: We’ve got a real treat for you tonight. This room is packed full of high-performing individuals. We’ve all become masters in the industry in which we are working but as great as our accomplishments have been, none of us can claim to be the “World’s Fastest Man” other than our keynote speaker tonight, Usain Bolt!
[Applause… “It’s Getting Hot In Here” plays as Usain Bolt goes to the podium.]
Usain Bolt: Thank you. Thank you so much. Great. Thanks to Herb Allen. Dinner was excellent. Really love the chocolate fountain. Very happy that I run fast because after that dinner, I may have to run the toilet. You know what I’m saying? Jeff Bezos knows – look at that painful smile – that’s from the marble cake, my friend! I saw you walking around earlier, Jeff, you’re supposed to check your guns at the gate. Bro, nice arms. You’ve been working out. Probably from lifting all those boxes and putting them in trucks.
[A few chuckles in the crowd.]
Usain Bolt: Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference. Whew, a lot rich people in here. Every person in this room could call the point one percent their bitches.
[More laughs.]
Usain Bolt: Sorry for my language. That’s not a nice thing to say. To the lady in the room here, I apologize.
[A couple of ‘boos’…]
Usain Bolt: You hear a lot about diversity. We’ve been trying to get more diverse in track and field. We’re starting to allow those who aren’t as fast or strong into competition just to give everybody a fair chance.
[Laughs.]
Usain Bolt: I see Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner are in the house.
[Some applause.]
Usain Bolt: Jared, I bet right now you wish you could run as fast as me.
[Laughs.]
Usain Bolt: Unfortunately, you can’t run from controversy, my friend. Colluding with the Russians, huh?
Herb Allen (off mic): We’re not talking about politics tonight, Usain.
Usain Bolt: OK, Herb. I’ll lay off the traitor. Funny, you never hear about governments colluding with the Jamaicans. We probably had a lot of the same information on Hillary but we’re always so baked it’s hard to keep it straight. Right? But I kid the people of my homeland…
[Laughs.]
Usain Bolt: Who else is here tonight? OK Google – where’s Sergey and Larry? There they are hiding in the back. Don’t worry don’t worry I have nothing but love for you guys. Somebody had to steal the world’s data and get wildly rich from it. I’m glad it was you guys and not that Zuckerberg fellow – oh, I suppose he did that, too. Damn… a lot of identity thieves in this room. Good for you. Data mining is the future. Much more valuable than gold. Without data – we have no data. And then where are we? Dataless. A world without data is like a world without sunshine. If we were in a world without sunshine, at least we have the data on the sunshine. But I’m a little out of my element here – I’m just the fastest man in the world. What do I know?
[Sighs and shuffling is heard. The crowd appears to be getting uncomfortable.]
Usain Bolt: A lot of Hollywood moguls here tonight. Are you guys gonna be OK? I worry about you guys. Are you behind on your rent? You need a loan – Warren Buffett is right over there – he writes checks to everybody in need. Every day people say movies are dead. TV is dead. I think that’s bullshit. You’ll be fine. I don’t have a joke – it’s just what I believe. Except Manka Brothers – where’s Khan Manka? Dude, you guys suck. I’m kidding my brother from another brother… except for that last thing I said, you guys really do suck.
[Laughs.]
Usain Bolt: I love the look on Herb Allen’s face. Not what you were expecting, huh, Herb?
Herb Allen (off mic): Not even close to what I was expecting.
Usain Bolt: OK, I’m not really a speech giver. I told you that. But you still wanted me to come for a hundred thousand dollars. So – I’ll finish up quickly so we can hit the vomitorium. Here’s some real advice this room can use going forward to make the world a better place. I’ve always said that if you have a dream, it can be achieved no matter how ridiculous. Going to the moon. Going to Mars. Self-driving cars. If it’s dreamed, it can be achieved. Anyone in this room could be the world’s fastest man if you tried hard enough and wanted it hard enough. No matter your age or how many legs you have. Even Rupert Murdoch could become the world’s fastest man. All you have to do it beat me! Good night everyone – see you in the hot tub!
[Light applause.]
Like I said, not very motivating. But when is anything at this conference ever motivating.
There are times when a media blackout for a meaningless conference like this is completely unnecessary.
But after what I saw last night (and can now never un-see), the media blackout was fortuitous and absolutely necessary.
No one outside of the (mostly) horrified people in that room can EVER see what happened last night. I just pray the GoPro dudedidn’t have his helmet cam going (and why must he always wear that goddamned helmet – even during dinner?).
A little backstory before I get to the narrative… Herbie Allen likes to shake it up a bit during these conferences. There is always one night that is completely fucked up, nonsensical and, frankly, bat shit crazy.
This year’s special night put us so far out of our comfort zone that, I’m sure, many contemplated suicide, murder (or both) or, at the very least, to gouge out their eyes with a fork.
On Barry Diller’s suggestion (which no one ever ignores), Herb decided to stage a concert version of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” starring, duh, Barry Diller as Dr. Frank N. Furter. Supposedly, Barry knew the part by heart after seeing hundreds of midnight screenings over the years.
We Hollywood moguls (and Silicon Valley punks) have seen a lot of fucked up shit over the years. But this promised to be the fucked-up-est shit we would probably see in our lifetimes.
Sheryl Sandberg was slotted in to play Janet (after Marissa Mayer was un-coupled unceremoniously from the conference by Herb Allen). Sheryl (spoiler alert) actually had an amazing Broadway-quality voice and a fearless stage presence. It was, yes, cringe inducing to see her in basically the exact costumes that Susan Sarandon wore in the movie – but she pulled it off.
Snapchat’s Evan Siegal, you would think, would be the perfect choice for the uptight, white bread jerk Brad but failed miserably due to his complete lack of any creative ability. Which is fine. He’s not an actor. But the look on his face as though he thought he was awesome was annoying.
Riff Raff, the creepy sidekick of Frank N. Furter was played by movie producer Brian Grazer (due to his ability to learn choreography fast) and his woman friend Magenta was played by a Silicon Valley guy in drag that I will not name for fear of being murdered. (Remember, not many women get invited to this conference unless they are a wife getting spa treatments – so there is a very small talent pool for key female roles.)
And, needless to say, the part that Meatloaf played in the movie – was attempted pathetically by Harvey Weinstein.
I could give a very long detailed review of this… event… but I will not. Key highlights as follows:
As soon as the lights black out to indicate the beginning of the show, the room full of drunken moguls make dumb jokes about renewable energy in Sun Valley. The power is fine it’s just the start of the show.
Herb Allen, wearing a mask with just red lips that seem to float in the air, starts the opening number. To get a better visual idea of what we saw – though less polished – I am embedding clips from “Rocky Horror” that are relevant. Remember while watching this that Herb Allen’s voice is fingers-on-a-chalkboard horrible:
The opening song was the longest four minutes of my life. Much longer than the four minutes I was locked in a steamer trunk without air in Singapore (off the record).
Well, that is, until Barry Diller came out as Frank N. Furter in, what I was told, was the actual costume – bought at auction by Barry – that Tim Curry wore in the original movie.
It didn’t quite fit Barry’s current frame which really made his first song “Sweet Transvestite” hard to watch. The song was staged by Herb almost exactly as the movie – so you can picture what was attempted here:
I just can’t go on with too many details.
I should have just let last night’s insanity die the death it deserved.
If it was all in fun, that’s one thing, but Herb was serious – and that makes him psychotic. He thought there was good work being done.
Just imagine Harvey Weinstein doing this scene – which he… did?
All this said, as horrific of a night as it was – and even the incredible Bin Tran could not serve enough alcohol to make it all go away – there was one moment that was sublime.
Once you had accepted that Barry Diller was wearing a ten size too small costume for Frank N. Furter and was badly stumbling through the songs and choreography, when he got to “I’m Going Home” – knowing the context of his real life – his impatience with idiots, stupid people and morons – his brilliance in media and his laser focus on the future – there was not a dry eye in the house when he was finished.
Tim Curry was a no talent hack compared to Barry last night:
It was a triumphal moment of “fuck you” to anyone that says attempting things that are unconventional and uncomfortable is foolish.
When I saw Rupert Murdoch tearing up when Barry Diller sang (sort of) “I’m Going Home,” I knew a break through of humanity had happen.
It was a crazy night of Herb Allen being Herb – well done, sir.
Evan Spiegal at Snapchat was the only punk bitch of the night only because Barry Diller got all the accolades and Spiegal got nothing but bad reviews and downgraded stock outlook by Morgan Stanley. At least you had a BMW in college, B.
Tomorrow should be fun – I think Usain Bolt is giving a speech on how we can all the fastest person in the world!
Another Herb Allen Sun Valley Conference, another week attempting suicide by alcohol consumption.
The plane approach at the Sun Valley airport was reminiscent to a “Top Gun” dogfight. Rupert Murdoch’spilot is a fucking maniac. They nearly crushed my plane trying to beat us to the landing.
My self-driving hover car or whatever it was (courtesy of Elon Musk) was no better. They have now incorporated an AI “driver” that chats in taxi cab driver-type small talk on the way to your destination. I know that fucking robot did not care how my flight was.
While the Silicon Valley guys (remember – no girls) roll into the Sun Valley Lodge like rock stars, we in old media get the reception of a singing waiter at a pasta joint… “yeah, yeah, I know you can fucking sing – but where’s my lasagna?”
I don’t know. This may be my last year in Sun Valley. Who needs this shit?
We moguls used to rule this school and now the new titans talk at us like we’re in a retirement home unable to control our bladders. (To be fair, there are a few here in which that is true… Rupert?)
My self-driving car made it without issue except for the weird little racist screaming that the AI driver yelled at an Asian man crossing the street illegally. Strange to program it like that – like a real taxi driver.
I walked past the media veal in their little caged square barely able to move and walked into the third best hotel in Sun Valley!
After check in, I did what any out-of-touch, cast-off-by-society, irrelevant person would do – I headed straight for the bar to reminisce about the “good old days.”
I entered The Duchin Lounge (aka “The Drankin’ Hole”) and wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, my old buddy, the best goddamned bartender in the world, Vin Tran, was right where he was supposed to be – behind the bar, ready to serve.
Vin: Mr. Khan Manka, Jr. – so great to see you. A friendly face.
Me: Not friendly till you get me goddamned drink.
Vin: Dirty martini?
Me: Two of ’em. I want them filthy.
Vin: Coming up.
I looked around the bar. Pretty slow start. Philippe Dauman playing Frogger in the corner, mumbling to himself (just like last year) and Jony Ive of Apple clicking furiously on his Blackberry.
Me: How have you been, Vin?
Vin: Terrible, boss. My wife is divorcing me. Say she going to take everything. She even said she was going to take my job.
Me: At least she didn’t get that.
Vin: She did! I’m training her. She starts in two weeks!
Me: Ugh, that’s awful. Divorce is terrible. I’ve stopped doing it. If you need a job and a new start, come to Burbank, I’ll set you up in the kitchen there.
Vin: Thanks, boss. You are a great man. Here are your dirty martinis – the dirtiest I ever made. Excuse me.
I sucked down the first one and immediately began to think straight. Why did I come here again? We, in Hollywood, used to dictate what people would see and how they would see it.
Now giant movie studios are simply looked at as a cozy acquisition target to be tucked away in the “Entertainment” division of a “much more important company.” A company that “small frys” like us could only one day dream to understand its complexity and importance.
Speaking on cozy acquisitions, Jeffrey Katzenberg entered the bar, looking tan, relaxed, a fidget spinner twirling in each hand.
Katzenberg: Khan! Wassup!
Me: Hello Jeff, you’re looking fit.
Katzenberg: $3.8 billion will do that to a person! Ha! Bin Tran, triple rosy!
Bin Tran starts making some sort of fruity drink with a splash of alcohol. Wearing his new media uniform of bald head and black turtleneck, Katzenberg glides into the seat next to me.
Katzenberg: How tricks, Khan? Same old grind? Same old media? Bloated movies and TV shows. Wishing it was 1975?
Me: Yes, to all of it.
Katzenberg: And what’s going on with your theatrical business? First you abandon your tentpole strategy, then you start it up again? What’s going on? Manka Bros. is a mess!
Me: The movie industry’s a shit storm right now. Just a crappy business. We just bought the rights to Lincoln Logs to make, you know, LEGO-type movies and video games. It’s all just crap.
Katzenberg: You’re in an unsustainable business, my friend. You’ve got $60 an hour Teamsters just sitting in trucks all day waiting to move a set from one three hundred foot sound stage to another. I’ve got an unpaid filmmaker who gets my coffee, shoots the video on her camera and edits it in fifteen seconds. Multiply that by thousands of times a day. Zero in production costs – fifty dollars in ad revenue over the life of the project. Do that a million times and you’ve got… fifty times a million. Fifty million dollars without having to do shit. I’m the future, Khanie. New media. My company is WndrCo –no “o” – no “e”–
Me: What?
Katzenberg: $600 million dollars has been given to me to create the future. Want a piece?
Me: That’s the future?
Katzenberg: Yes. Little videos, made by influencers… capisce?
Me: Like PewDiePie?–
Katzenberg: Fuck that guy! Nazi German prick.
The few moguls who had made to the bar look at Katzenberg.
Katzenberg: (lowering his voice) – Yes, like him… without the racism.
Katzenberg takes a drink of his fruit punch, resuming one of the fidget spinners.
Katzenberg: Oh, and VR. LOTS of VR! Shit’s gonna blow your mind.
He does the “mind blow” pantomime with his hand against his head.
As many of you know, the entertainment industry is in total disarray. Netflix is producing films that get praised at Cannes. Amazon is winning Emmys.
It’s a drop-kick to the groin to all of us in “traditional media.”
In Hollywood, we all thought – we’ll just outspend the competition because bigger means quality. High production values means you get the biggest audience because that’s what those mindless fuckers want.
The mindless fuckers have called “BS” on us.
So… Manka Bros. is going to “pivot.” That’s right, I Silicon Valley buzzworded that shit.
And this has nothing to do with all the production problems you have no doubt been reading about in the fake media. This is a full blown industry-changing strategy shift.
So, what does it mean for the average moviegoer?
Well, it means this year you’re not going to enjoy $200 million money pits such as “Sheetah: Harvest of Sorrow,” “T.O.R.N.A.T.O.: Midnight Storm,” “The Javelin 2: Heroes Unwelcome,” “Pebble Boy: Who Is Pebble Boy?”
It was a solid strategy when I came up with it – but then everyone in town had to do it also. It has gotten so bad that f-ing Arbor Day weekend is now a battleground for a release date.
Instead of one $200 million dollar movie – we are going to make fifty $4 million dollar ORIGINAL movies. That gives us fifty more chances to have a hit.
Hell, maybe we’ll produce 400 movies a year. The sky’s the limit when you don’t bet everything on one horse.
And, worse case scenario, if these stupid little movies suck as much as last year’s “Doctor Proctor: Aliens Unite” or “The Jacobeans: Copernican Revolution,” we won’t lose $400 million (including P&A), we’ll only loose $4 million (and we may not even have P&A), we might just stream this shit on our MankaGoNow platform and forget movie theaters altogether.
I mean, the hell with it, right? That’s where the industry is headed – might as well get a head start on my old media competition.
While my friends at the rival studios continue to struggle with how the hell a freak in a tiny costume with a bow and arrow can bring down Norse Gods and space ships, I’ve decided to go all Jane Austen on this bullshit.
Yes, I did. [the expletive “fuck you” has been deleted.] But times are changing. Audiences are bored.
Manka Bros. is going to unbore the audiences with a revolutionary approach to film production.
We’re going to produce a series of films based on Anthony Trollope books (dude wrote about 5,000 books – all public domain – and you can use the same costumes over and over).
We’ll do Nicolas Sparks-type movies where all you need are a couple of crying teenagers and old people walking on the beach one last time.
We’ll do horror movies featuring serial killer clowns and serial killers who kill clowns.
We’ll video tape high school productions of “Death of a Salesman.” Let the kids in the show tweet out the link to all their friends. That’s free marketing! Throw a couple of ads against that shit – make a few bucks.
The point is, everything is on the table.
I have seen the future. And the future is throwing shit onto a wall to see what sticks.
P.S. In the coming days / weeks, we will be releasing our revised slates from our various Theatrical Production Labels. In the coming months, you will see the other studios do the same thing.
First, we were allowed to sleep in to 6:15 a.m. and were awakened by the classic Michael Eisner version of “The Dawn Of The Mogul” (as Herb Allen’s Iggy Azalea experiment backfired even with the Snapchat dude).
There were no calisthenics and the bagels were much fresher than normal (not from the 2-day old Wonder Bread shop around the corner that they normally buy from).
[One observation about seeing all these business titans in casual clothes: There are those who wear the jeans and t-shirts and look like they work out. And there are those who wear the jeans and t-shirts and look like they are dying of something.]
Herb Allen appeared fresh – which is amazing considering how many Harvey Wallbangers he had the night before (I have been told not to write about our drinking at the bar – I think because the Canadian government didn’t appreciate the Justin Trudeau shrimp catching episode – so that’s all I will say about last night).
Herb Allen: Good morning, Seekers, Outliers and Dreamers…
Barry Diller: Get on with it, Herb.
Herb Allen: This morning, as we approach the end of our conference, we’re going to try something new. Something I’ve been passionate about for over 50 years. Pin trading.
If the incredulous looks on all faces could speak, they would say in unison – “What the fuck?!”
Herb Allen: I know, sounds like amazing, right? I’ve been trading pins since I discovered it at the Rome Olympics in 1960. I have missed one Olympic games since. I don’t watch the sports – I trade pins! At Disneyland, too, Bob!
Bob Iger gave a faint smile and looked to ground – feeling a bit sorry for Herb.
He went on and on about his love of pin trading which I won’t relate – but the gist was this: He had pins made up of all our companies’ corporate logos and gave us each a bag of them and, as a way to get to know each other better, we would go around and trade pins and put them on a Allen & Co. customized pin board.
Les Moonves and Shari Redstone exchanged high-fives for some reason (duh).
And the trading began.
Everyone started exchange their logo pins for other logo pins. It was exactly as boring as it sounds. I got a Disney, a Time Warner (which was sharp on the edges like a knife – very dangerous), a Facebook and a Canada pin (from Justin Trudeau) in the shape of Canada. I would tell all about all the others but I’m falling asleep as I dictate this.
Reid Hoffman and Jeff Weiner just stood there (a bit sad?), not trading, as Microsoft’s Satya Nadella traded the Microsoft pin which appeared to show the Microsoft logo eating the LinkedIn logo – which was a nice touch – I thought.
After a couple of moments, it became obvious to Herb Allen that this was not going as he planned. He looked on – near tears – as he could tell there was absolutely no interest by any of the other guests. It was as though no one else cared about his one true passion in life.
Herb Allen: When you’re all finished – or I don’t care – just want to stop – and are thinking about heading out to your planes to go home, don’t forget to pick up the box lunch which has been prepared for you. Thanks for coming.
Herb walked off, shoulders hunched, not looking back. He kept talking though his voice faded as he continued away…
Herb Allen: You’re free to go kayaking or play golf at the…
Is it possible this would be the last year of Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference?
Are we all just getting too old for summer camp?
Is it time for the GoPro dude to take over and only invite CEO who are millennials and plurals who can still ride bikes and climb mountains (oh, and also come up with NEW ideas)?
And while the conference this year ended with a whimper and not a bang like in years previous, it wasn’t so bad.
This week, I learned about self-driving cars and artificial intelligence, Canada and how truly fucked up the Argentinian economy is – I learned that my daughter is no longer allowed in Sun Valley (and she could not care less) – and I learned that Warren Buffett can hold a spoon on his nose longer than any one else I’ve ever seen.
But I one thing I had already learned years ago – Bin Tran makes best goddamned dirty martini on the planet! And I’m about to go get me five more – and that’s why I gotta say IT WAS A GOOD DAY.
This morning was, by far, the most dramatic and tense mornings I’ve ever had at Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference – and there have been many dramatic and tense mornings over the years.
We were jolted awake at 5:00am by a screaming, shrieking version of “The Dawn Of The Mogul” over the loudspeaker.
I am told Herb Allen wanted to shake it up a bit for the younger crowd (mostly for the Snapchat guy – Evan Spiegel – who he took liking to) and make it more “relatable” to them – so he had Iggy Azalea – a female Australian white rapper – record the anthem. My God, it was awful.
There was a note pushed under everyone’s hotel room door instructing us put on the military fatigues provided by Allen & Co. (emblazoned with the logo) and meet down at the Duck Pond in fifteen minutes.
Today, there would be no calisthenics.
Today, there would be nothing but war.
Supposedly, Herb Allen wanted to end this battle between Old&New Media; Hollywood& Silicon Valley; once and for all.
And his solution – was paintball.
When we all gathered blurry eyed looking ridiculous in Allen & Co.-branded military fatigues, Herb Allen was in complete Master Sergeant mode – chomping on a cigar and using kids’ sidewalk chalk to draw a thick red line down the middle of a pathway.
Herb Allen: Old Media on this side! New Media on this side!
Almost everyone started to move to the New Media side as no one wants to admit being on the “old” side.
Herb Allen: Stop! (he spit) If you work in Hollywood or New York go to this side (he pointed) over here – with the duck!
There was a duck sitting on the Old Media side.
Herb Allen: If you work in Silicon Valley or are under 40 – go over there!
The sides were split. All of us had no idea where he was going with this – though, I must say, the New Media group looked pretty pumped up – nodding their heads like bullies about to take down a bunch of weaklings.
Herb Allen: The game is paintball. The objective – VICTORY!
Old Media was given bright green paintball guns and New Media was given bright red paintball guns.
Herb Allen: You will be given ten minutes to strategize, pick a leader, and then I will sound the battle horn! You may not leave the property and please stay away from the pool where there are many families with young kids. Go!
Both groups broke off and went different directions. I (Khan Manka, Jr. – just so you don’t forget) went reluctantly Old Media (didn’t anyone see that we’re going Over-The-Top?) and we converged near a supply shed by the executive parking lot.
By the looks on our faces, you’d think we had already lost.
Bob Iger: O that we now had here but one ten thousand of those young men and women in Hollywood that do no work today!
Les Moonves (a former actor – remember? – in full Henry V St. Crispin’s Day mode): What’s he that wishes so? My friend, Bob Iger? No, my fair Bob, if we are marked to die, we are enough to do our Hollywood’s loss; and if to live, the fewer of us, the greater share of honor (and power and money!). God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one person more.
John Malone: What the fuck are you talking about?
Les Moonves: Proclaim it, Bob, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart – I’m looking at you, John Malone – his passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse; we would not die in that man’s company that fears his fellowship to die with us.
Several moguls look at each other – prepared to leave but decide to stay after a glare from Les Moonves.
Les Moonves: This day is called Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day. He that outlives this day and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, and rouse him at the name of Herb Allen.
A fire in the eyes of the moguls was clearly being lit.
Les Moonves: He that shall live this day, and see old age (well, I suppose most of us are already there), will yearly on the vigil have a dinner party with his neighbors and say “Tomorrow is Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day.” Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say “These wounds I had on Herb Allen’s Day.” Then shall our names, familiar in our mouths as household words – Les Moonves, Bob Iger, Jeff Bewkes, Rupert Murdoch – other Murdochs – Shari Redstone, Brian Roberts – be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
The fire is now mixed with tears in the moguls’ eyes.
Les Moonves: We few, we happy few, we band of moguls; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my mogul friend, be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.
Les Moonves stands, prompting everyone else to stand.
Les Moonves: And executives in Hollywood now a-bed – or at the gym – shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods (and womanhoods) cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day!
A massive cheer erupts from the band of moguls as the BATTLE HORN SOUNDS!
As we charged into battle we were immediately and completely surrounded by New Media.
Rupert Murdoch: Goddamn you, Moonves, and your fucking speech!
Old Media had been thoroughly outmaneuvered by New Media and the slaughter was horrific. Red paint splattered everywhere, bodies falling hard to the ground. New Media showed no mercy as the Old Guard fell.
My daughter, Connie, presented to a packed ballroom of slightly unhinged (mostly drunk) industry titans at the Sun Valley Lodge this afternoon. I’m not proud of her because that little monster is trying to destroy something my family has built up over the past 100 years.
My assistant, Vicky Adler-Modry has transcribed the presentation and attempted to include a bit of narration (and sanity) to the chaotic affair which will most likely go down as a total failure.
Herb Allen, looking every one of his 76-years in a fishing hat with lures dangling and a Allen & Co. fleece vest approaches the stage in the Great Hall Of The Moguls (The Limelight Ballroom) and calms down the raucous crowd.
Herb Allen: OK OK – quiet please. We’ve got a lot to cover today and I want to get to our adorable special guest speaker. First of all, I want to thank Justin Trudeau for eating ALL of the shrimp. Who knew a guy could eat so much shrimp? Just a freak of nature – unbelievable. That was a lot of shrimp, my friend. I haven’t seen anything swallowed like that since Microsoft swallowed LinkedIn! Am I right? OK OK – my apologies. OK. Let me bring out our little cutie keynote speaker this morning – Connie Manka. She is probably the youngest member – at fourteen – of any corporate Board in America. Just tremendous. Her father, Khan, we know – just a real jerk – right?
Khan Manka, Jr. (from crowd): Fuck you, Peaches.
Herb Allen: OK OK – let’s move on before the wheels fall off completely. My bad. Here she is, cute as a button, don’t be afraid, dearie, Connie Manka!
(Applause from the crowd as Connie Manka – dressed age appropriate – walks disinterested up to the microphone.)
Connie Manka: First of all, the Plurals Generation – myself included – does not give one fuck about anyone in this room.
(Slight commotion and a few gasps from the old white men in the crowd.)
Connie Manka: Second of all, the Plurals Generation – myself included – does not give one fuck about anyone in this room who is offended that I say “does not give one fuck.” Sorry, bluebloods, grandpas and old farts, Plurals swear a lot!
Rupert Murdoch (from crowd): Cut that little smart-ass off, Herb.
Connie Manka: Shut up, Mr. Murdoch! You’re on my list.
(The GASPS in the room are louder than when we found out “The Crying Game” girl was a dude.)
Connie Manka: We also don’t respect out elders. Especially you in this room who, with the content you have produced, have given us zero reason to respect anyone or anything! Hang on one sec.
(She picks up her cellphone and types deftly with her thumbs.)
Connie Manka: That is so funny, Maya! No, I’m not home. Blah. I’m here…
(Connie takes a picture of the unruly room of moguls and swipes it back to her friend.)
Connie Manka: … probably about four or so. (to the room) We are Plurals. Millennials are old. We can do more than one thing at once – duh, Plurals – and do it all well. Hey, Hollywood, we’re not going to watch your stupid over-the-top service – and we’re certainly not going to pay for it. Manka Bros., with great fanfare, announced our own over-the-top service – MankaGoNow – but you know, dad, no one is going to watch or pay.
Khan Manka, Jr.: You are NOT my daughter!
Connie Manka: That reminds me of something else – and I haven’t even started with the charts that shows why all of you in this room – even the kids at the cool table Facebook and Snapchat – are irrelevant… Hang on.
(Connie takes a moment to watch a video on her phone. The room is getting out of control. Connie finishes watching and apparently shares with some friends.)
Connie Manka: If you want me to finish, I’ll finish. I don’t care. So many of you in this room have young children – from your second or third wife. You have so many families yet you have no energy to raise them because you’re old. I mean, I am the 14-year-old daughter of a very old man.
Khan Manka, Jr.: I’m 56!
Connie Manka: Dad!
Khan Manka, Jr.: OK – 66! But I feel 56.
Connie Manka: 56 is old! But I will give you this, dad… (she quickly returns a text)
Herb Allen: Khan, what the hell is this?!
Connie Manka: I will give you this, dad, at least you didn’t remarry and start another family after mom disappeared eight years ago. Most of you guys don’t care much about your first or second families. You only care about your “youthful” image and power – well, guess what, geniuses, the Plurals are coming to shatter your image and take away your power. So I suggest you pick up your golf clubs and do what rich white people do. Play golf. Die.
(Rupert Murdoch, Les Moonves and many others are standing and shouting at the 14-year-old as if they were in “Casablanca” singing “La Marseillaise” to the Germans. Not to say that Connie Manka is a Nazi – just – you get the idea.)
Connie Manka: I’m done with this. I have so many more interesting things to do with my life than stand here with you dinosaurs. Here’s one chart that shows you the future. Dad, I’ll be on the plane.
(Connie Manka leaves the stage. The GoPro dude Nick Woodman and Jack Dorsey of Twitter run up to protect her as she makes her exit as dinner rolls thrown by the crowd bounce around her.)
(Khan Manka, Jr. takes the stage quickly.)
Khan Manka, Jr.: Just so you know, I don’t agree with one thing she said. We have a fraternity here that’s stronger than Skull & Bones and nothing can crack our resolve!
Khan Manka, Jr. – Chairman & CEO – Manka Bros. Studios – The World’s Largest Media Company
