Part 01: Divergence
“Now the WB is doing for orphans raised by apes what Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Smallville did for vampires and Superman, namely reviving a tired franchise with a healthy dose of angst, melodrama, and forbidden love.”
July 15, 2004.
Philip Segal, Senior Vice-President for Scripted Programming and Development at Tribune Entertainment, nursed a cocktail, for once enjoying negotiations with those WB assholes. The lounge’s sweeping nighttime view of the Chicago skyline kept the atmosphere mellow and the heavy food kept their guests sedate. The swanky party was an effort by the higher-ups at his company to mend fences with The WB, in which the Tribune owned a minority 22.5% stake.
It was an important if increasingly acrimonious business partnership. Unlike the Big Four networks, The WB relied on affiliate stations to carry their programming. They didn’t own and operate their own stations, while Tribune Entertainment ran 19 affiliates and monopolized the airwaves in a chunk of the country. As the party gradually tapered down, Segal found himself sitting in a corner table with Garth Ancier, Chairman of the WB Television Network. It was a rare quiet moment with Ancier, who had spent several months angling for Tribune Entertainment to become a full 50-50 stakeholder in The WB. Which wasn’t going to happen. There just wasn’t that kind of money left in The WB with its declining viewership and stale programming. Not that Tribune Entertainment was that healthy itself.
Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the whiff of rot lingering over their respective companies, but something got him and Ancier talking about their own professional failures.
“No, no. You were one hundred percent right to cancel Freaks and Geeks,” Segal said. “With the ratings it had? Anyone would make that call.”
“You see Anchorman yet?”
“No.”
Silence.
Belatedly, Segal allowed, “I hear it’s good.”
“Judd Apatow produced that. You think he’s going to forget the guy who crushed his baby?”
“I think it’s really Will Ferrell’s hit. In ten years? Nobody will know who Judd Apatow is.”
Ancier shot back, “Do those nerds still remember Paul McGann?”
Segal’s blood cooled at that quip.
“Nobody forgives anything in show business,” Ancier added, gloomy.
Before he could formulate a response, David Janollari, The WB’s President of Entertainment slipped into the chair beside Ancier. He pressed a bubbly short glass into his colleague's hand — Segal half-suspected it was ginger ale — and casually pushed the half-finished cocktail sitting on the rich wood table out of Ancier’s reach. He met Segal’s inquiring gaze.
David Janollari. A sober-looking man, literally and figuratively. He had orbited The WB practically since its inception, but it was only lately that he’d assumed the true mantle of power at the network. The WB’s previous President of Entertainment, Jordan Levin, had lasted a mere twenty-six days. He’d made the press in all the worst ways, like after Lori Loughlin yucked it up with reporters about Levin doing vodka shots with her and other WB actors. The WB’s corporate culture was more unbuttoned than most networks, a product of its youthful staff, but even that had been too much for Time Warner’s executives.
The party tonight was ostensibly in his honor, not that he’d done anything notable yet besides not make the papers. Janollari had come onboard too late to order pilots for the 2004-2005 season, so The WB (and thus her affiliates, such as Tribune Entertainment) had some real crap to air over the next twelve months. They’d probably be in for even more crap over 2005-2006. New network presidents had a reputation for splurging on too many pilots. They’d put any old crap on the air just to make their mark on things.
“Hope Garth wasn’t chewing your ear off,” Janollari said.
“We were just talking about Doctor Who,” Ancier said, a little sulkily.
The WB’s head asked, “What’s that?”
Pointedly ignoring Janollari kicking his colleague under the table, Segal decided it was best to play off the regrets of the past. This didn’t need to become a public fiasco. “It’s this old British sci-fi show. I tried reviving it back at Fox in ‘96 but we never got past the TV Movie.” He forced himself to smile. “But these days I’m just looking forward to seeing what Peter Jackson does with it.”
Janollari frowned thoughtfully. “Isn’t he doing King Kong?”
“No, it’ll be after Kong.”
“Ah, well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I have it on good authority that Jackson and Fran Walsh are buying the rights to The Lovely Bones. It’s supposed to be their next film.”
Segal couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward. “You’re sure?”
“My friend’s never been wrong in the past.”
“Jesus.”
“Needs a break after four back-to-back blockbuster projects, I suppose.”
Segal suddenly felt lightheaded. “That... wow, heads will roll at the BBC!”
Janollari raised his eyebrows. Even Ancier, who had taken his superior’s rebuke and was staring out the window, now studied Segal with curiosity. He felt compelled to explain. “So, the rights to Doctor Who were a mess for a long time, okay? But the last few years? There’s been a pissing match inside the BBC over which branch gets dibs on the IP, but the film project put the kibosh on talk of reverting the rights from BBC Worldwide.”
“What kind of contract did they have Jackson under?” Janollari asked.
“Not a good enough one, apparently.”
“So Jackson dropping the movie means BBC Worldwide has egg on its face,”
“Oh yes. Apparently, the BBC was launching this new studio in Wales and wanted a big—” Segal stopped, reminding himself that it was unlikely either of these men could find Wales on a map, let alone care about the nuances of Doctor Who’s torturous development history. “Well, it’s gonna be a shitshow when this hits the fan.”
A comfortable silence settled over their corner of the longue, at least Philip Segal hoped so. He was hoping that wasn’t the liquor getting to his head, like it had Garth Ancier.
Janollari swirled a drink in its glass. “So, BBC Worldwide has the rights to... this show... and they’re gonna look like major league assholes unless someone bails them out?”
“Not that anyone will, but yeah.”
“Hmm.”
The conversation drifted onto less serious topics.
That weekend, out of the blue, David Janollari left a message on Segal’s home telephone. How he got a hold of an unlisted number, Segal wasn’t sure, but the message was even more intriguing. Janollari had watched a few DVDs and wanted to talk shop about Doctor Who.
Segal called back, and discovered the conversation wasn’t about a newly converted fan.
“I do keep in touch,” Segal replied, feeling a touch dizzy, “but there’s been turnover. I’m not on a first-name basis with the people who’d matter.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” Janollari said. “You were shepherding that TV movie for years. A personal touch counts for a lot in this business.”
“If you’re trying to butter me up, you can stop. I won’t be bribed.”
“I appreciate the pressure that Garth and I have put the Tribune under in these contract talks, but we’ll bid for Doctor Who regardless. I’d just like to know more about who’s who at the BBC. Peter Jackson should’ve been locked down by an ironclad contract, but they screwed up. Like you said, they’re gonna look like real assholes. But a thirteen episode commitment with The WB would make a pretty decent apology to Queen and Country, don’t you think? And frankly, we really do need a genre show to pair with Smallville. It’d be crazy to leave an established IP on the table when we can get it for cheap.”
For years to come, Philip Segal would dwell on this exact moment. Sometimes the memory would fill him with despair or anger. As he grew elderly, he would start to feel sanguine about the whole affair. Segal would — eventually, begrudgingly — admit to himself that David Janollari was not actually Satan in human flesh, even if he himself was most definitely a Faust.
But in that moment, Segal grew thoughtful as temptation filled his quickening heart. “Enemy Within got — sorry, the TV Movie got a 5.6, which is on the upper tier of what Smallville gets on a great week. But The WB isn’t Fox. No offense.”
“Everyone ‘knew’ Superman was a tired property, but Smallville revitalized it.”
“Didn’t go so well trying the same with Tarzan, did it?”
Segal could practically hear Janollari’s shrug. “Eh, we’ll get better writers. Anyway, the important thing is to get the right leading man. People — Americans — at least knew who Tarzan was, but we’ll need to get the biggest name we can to sell Doctor Who.”
“They’ll demand a Brit,” Segal said. “The BBC wouldn’t budge with Fox on that issue. And you can’t argue that point if you want something signed before the Jackson thing blows up.”
“Any suggestions?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You’re the Doctor Who expert, and you know our roster of actors.”
Despite its many shortcomings, The WB had some positive attributes. A deep roster of older male actors wasn’t among them, let alone older British actors. But one did come to mind.
“...well,” Segal said, a little wistfully, “Anthony Head would be pretty much perfect.”
“Didn’t he play the librarian on Buffy?”
“Yeah.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t remind our viewers that UPN exists?”
Segal made a disgruntled noise in his throat. “Fair point. Anyway, fantasy casting will only jinx us at this point. You still have to get BBC Worldwide to agree to this. They’re gonna be desperate with Peter Jackson bailing on them, but not that desperate.”
- Excerpt from ""The WB’s Take on Tarzan," Slate, 2003 (OTL)
July 15, 2004.
Philip Segal, Senior Vice-President for Scripted Programming and Development at Tribune Entertainment, nursed a cocktail, for once enjoying negotiations with those WB assholes. The lounge’s sweeping nighttime view of the Chicago skyline kept the atmosphere mellow and the heavy food kept their guests sedate. The swanky party was an effort by the higher-ups at his company to mend fences with The WB, in which the Tribune owned a minority 22.5% stake.
It was an important if increasingly acrimonious business partnership. Unlike the Big Four networks, The WB relied on affiliate stations to carry their programming. They didn’t own and operate their own stations, while Tribune Entertainment ran 19 affiliates and monopolized the airwaves in a chunk of the country. As the party gradually tapered down, Segal found himself sitting in a corner table with Garth Ancier, Chairman of the WB Television Network. It was a rare quiet moment with Ancier, who had spent several months angling for Tribune Entertainment to become a full 50-50 stakeholder in The WB. Which wasn’t going to happen. There just wasn’t that kind of money left in The WB with its declining viewership and stale programming. Not that Tribune Entertainment was that healthy itself.
Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the whiff of rot lingering over their respective companies, but something got him and Ancier talking about their own professional failures.
“No, no. You were one hundred percent right to cancel Freaks and Geeks,” Segal said. “With the ratings it had? Anyone would make that call.”
“You see Anchorman yet?”
“No.”
Silence.
Belatedly, Segal allowed, “I hear it’s good.”
“Judd Apatow produced that. You think he’s going to forget the guy who crushed his baby?”
“I think it’s really Will Ferrell’s hit. In ten years? Nobody will know who Judd Apatow is.”
Ancier shot back, “Do those nerds still remember Paul McGann?”
Segal’s blood cooled at that quip.
“Nobody forgives anything in show business,” Ancier added, gloomy.
Before he could formulate a response, David Janollari, The WB’s President of Entertainment slipped into the chair beside Ancier. He pressed a bubbly short glass into his colleague's hand — Segal half-suspected it was ginger ale — and casually pushed the half-finished cocktail sitting on the rich wood table out of Ancier’s reach. He met Segal’s inquiring gaze.
David Janollari. A sober-looking man, literally and figuratively. He had orbited The WB practically since its inception, but it was only lately that he’d assumed the true mantle of power at the network. The WB’s previous President of Entertainment, Jordan Levin, had lasted a mere twenty-six days. He’d made the press in all the worst ways, like after Lori Loughlin yucked it up with reporters about Levin doing vodka shots with her and other WB actors. The WB’s corporate culture was more unbuttoned than most networks, a product of its youthful staff, but even that had been too much for Time Warner’s executives.
The party tonight was ostensibly in his honor, not that he’d done anything notable yet besides not make the papers. Janollari had come onboard too late to order pilots for the 2004-2005 season, so The WB (and thus her affiliates, such as Tribune Entertainment) had some real crap to air over the next twelve months. They’d probably be in for even more crap over 2005-2006. New network presidents had a reputation for splurging on too many pilots. They’d put any old crap on the air just to make their mark on things.
“Hope Garth wasn’t chewing your ear off,” Janollari said.
“We were just talking about Doctor Who,” Ancier said, a little sulkily.
The WB’s head asked, “What’s that?”
Pointedly ignoring Janollari kicking his colleague under the table, Segal decided it was best to play off the regrets of the past. This didn’t need to become a public fiasco. “It’s this old British sci-fi show. I tried reviving it back at Fox in ‘96 but we never got past the TV Movie.” He forced himself to smile. “But these days I’m just looking forward to seeing what Peter Jackson does with it.”
Janollari frowned thoughtfully. “Isn’t he doing King Kong?”
“No, it’ll be after Kong.”
“Ah, well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I have it on good authority that Jackson and Fran Walsh are buying the rights to The Lovely Bones. It’s supposed to be their next film.”
Segal couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward. “You’re sure?”
“My friend’s never been wrong in the past.”
“Jesus.”
“Needs a break after four back-to-back blockbuster projects, I suppose.”
Segal suddenly felt lightheaded. “That... wow, heads will roll at the BBC!”
Janollari raised his eyebrows. Even Ancier, who had taken his superior’s rebuke and was staring out the window, now studied Segal with curiosity. He felt compelled to explain. “So, the rights to Doctor Who were a mess for a long time, okay? But the last few years? There’s been a pissing match inside the BBC over which branch gets dibs on the IP, but the film project put the kibosh on talk of reverting the rights from BBC Worldwide.”
“What kind of contract did they have Jackson under?” Janollari asked.
“Not a good enough one, apparently.”
“So Jackson dropping the movie means BBC Worldwide has egg on its face,”
“Oh yes. Apparently, the BBC was launching this new studio in Wales and wanted a big—” Segal stopped, reminding himself that it was unlikely either of these men could find Wales on a map, let alone care about the nuances of Doctor Who’s torturous development history. “Well, it’s gonna be a shitshow when this hits the fan.”
A comfortable silence settled over their corner of the longue, at least Philip Segal hoped so. He was hoping that wasn’t the liquor getting to his head, like it had Garth Ancier.
Janollari swirled a drink in its glass. “So, BBC Worldwide has the rights to... this show... and they’re gonna look like major league assholes unless someone bails them out?”
“Not that anyone will, but yeah.”
“Hmm.”
The conversation drifted onto less serious topics.
* * *
That weekend, out of the blue, David Janollari left a message on Segal’s home telephone. How he got a hold of an unlisted number, Segal wasn’t sure, but the message was even more intriguing. Janollari had watched a few DVDs and wanted to talk shop about Doctor Who.
Segal called back, and discovered the conversation wasn’t about a newly converted fan.
“I do keep in touch,” Segal replied, feeling a touch dizzy, “but there’s been turnover. I’m not on a first-name basis with the people who’d matter.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” Janollari said. “You were shepherding that TV movie for years. A personal touch counts for a lot in this business.”
“If you’re trying to butter me up, you can stop. I won’t be bribed.”
“I appreciate the pressure that Garth and I have put the Tribune under in these contract talks, but we’ll bid for Doctor Who regardless. I’d just like to know more about who’s who at the BBC. Peter Jackson should’ve been locked down by an ironclad contract, but they screwed up. Like you said, they’re gonna look like real assholes. But a thirteen episode commitment with The WB would make a pretty decent apology to Queen and Country, don’t you think? And frankly, we really do need a genre show to pair with Smallville. It’d be crazy to leave an established IP on the table when we can get it for cheap.”
For years to come, Philip Segal would dwell on this exact moment. Sometimes the memory would fill him with despair or anger. As he grew elderly, he would start to feel sanguine about the whole affair. Segal would — eventually, begrudgingly — admit to himself that David Janollari was not actually Satan in human flesh, even if he himself was most definitely a Faust.
But in that moment, Segal grew thoughtful as temptation filled his quickening heart. “Enemy Within got — sorry, the TV Movie got a 5.6, which is on the upper tier of what Smallville gets on a great week. But The WB isn’t Fox. No offense.”
“Everyone ‘knew’ Superman was a tired property, but Smallville revitalized it.”
“Didn’t go so well trying the same with Tarzan, did it?”
Segal could practically hear Janollari’s shrug. “Eh, we’ll get better writers. Anyway, the important thing is to get the right leading man. People — Americans — at least knew who Tarzan was, but we’ll need to get the biggest name we can to sell Doctor Who.”
“They’ll demand a Brit,” Segal said. “The BBC wouldn’t budge with Fox on that issue. And you can’t argue that point if you want something signed before the Jackson thing blows up.”
“Any suggestions?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You’re the Doctor Who expert, and you know our roster of actors.”
Despite its many shortcomings, The WB had some positive attributes. A deep roster of older male actors wasn’t among them, let alone older British actors. But one did come to mind.
“...well,” Segal said, a little wistfully, “Anthony Head would be pretty much perfect.”
“Didn’t he play the librarian on Buffy?”
“Yeah.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t remind our viewers that UPN exists?”
Segal made a disgruntled noise in his throat. “Fair point. Anyway, fantasy casting will only jinx us at this point. You still have to get BBC Worldwide to agree to this. They’re gonna be desperate with Peter Jackson bailing on them, but not that desperate.”
* * *
BBC NEWS: Doctor Who returns to TV
2 August, 2004.
The much-loved cult science fiction series Doctor Who is returning to TV. The revival will be a co-production with American television network The WB, whose president of entertainment David Janollari said: “Great television doesn’t come along every day, let alone great science fiction. We’re so proud to become part of this show’s history.”
[...]
No casting is yet available. Filming will take place in Vancouver in early 2005, with thirteen episodes to begin airing in September 2005. According to sources close to the BBC, nine further episodes may be produced for the first series.
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