I had been overseas for the last few months and arrived home to Los Angeles to the media fusillade regarding Charlie Sheen. While I was away, my morning regimen consists of a stiff cup of coffee and the International Herald Tribune. The Tribune gave scant lineage to l’affaire Sheen and was much more intent on reporting the fall of fashions bad boy, John Galliano.
Galliano’s racist fulminations were in the paper ever day after the initial report and video evidence, then his suspension by Dior then swiftly his dismissal from his lofty position as their Head of Design. Dior’s decision to remove him from view (”I love Hitler!”) went faster then CBS’ endgame.
Now both individuals are without those six-figure paychecks, and who’s to say if we will ever see them return to their star status. To me this was more then professional suicide, more then wanton self-destruction, it was professional homicide, perpetuated on themselves. They both willfully committed grievous hair-raising acts with little thought of repercussions, feeling safe in their personal orbit, free from reproach. The “winning” has now moved into the loss column.
Listening to one of Sheens screwball rants, I grew anxious and quickly flipped off the program. I realized that what made me so uncomfortable, beside the obvious reasons; exposure to madness, what prompted my willies, was it cast me back to My Season In Hell, when I ran an earlier Chuck Lorre creation, “Grace Under Fire.” Grace was portrayed by a stand-up converted to an actress by the name of Brett Butler. Brett was plucked from relative obscurity to be the namesake of a new ABC comedy hammocked between juggernaut programs, “Home Improvement” and "NYPD Blue."
Initially grateful for this once in a lifetime opportunity, Brett rapidly took on the less than grateful diva characteristics. I came on the show in the second season, after Chuck had had his fill of Brett’s unflagging bad behavior and he moved on to work with Cybill Shepherd, which by most accounts, turned out to be a further warm up to working with Mr. Sheen. It was my first experience running a show, and it was like learning to shoot a gun by firing it into your own thigh.
It is remarkable how certain individuals, handed the Golden Ticket of success, proceed to bludgeon everyone with their new-found power. In Brett’s case, the more successful the show became, the more difficult she became. Brett never personally attacked me, and I don’t know why I enjoyed this immunity, but I was the exception. When we would assemble on the stage for our run-through, there was always a fun atmosphere, actors and crew looking forward to showing off the work in progress.
Then Brett would walk on to the set and the tone would alter, she could chill a room down in a matter of seconds. Often braying at the writers or her fellow actors, unchecked by anyone, we were on an emerging hit show and no one who could control her was anxious to kill the star goose.
