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Since the earliest days of silent film, Hollywood's prime movers have often been the men and women in the shadows: the studio heads, producers, superagents, and top-tier directors, whom novelist Harold Robbins once christened "the dream merchants." Herewith, an array of classic images by ANNIE LEIBOVITZ and others—all taken on assignment for Vanity Fair—depicting some of the titans of cinema's past century
DREAM MERCHANTS
Since the earliest days of silent film, Hollywood's prime movers have often been the men and women in the shadows: the studio heads, producers, superagents, and top-tier directors, whom novelist Harold Robbins once christened "the dream merchants." Herewith, an array of classic images by ANNIE LEIBOVITZ and others—all taken on assignment for Vanity Fair—depicting some of the titans of cinema's past century
POWER LUNCH
There was a time when Lew Wasserman's name was not uttered or printed without his full title in tow: the most powerful man in Hollywood. The long-reigning agent and executive is often credited with being the pioneer of the back-end deal, which began to shift authority and profits from the moguls to the stars. Wasserman also helped dismantle the old studio system during his 60-year career—33 of them as C.E.O. and chairman of MCA. From entertainment to media to politics, Wasserman held sway over power brokers of every stripe. (Though a prolific contributor to the Democratic Party, he shared a friendship with Ronald Reagan, which began when Wasserman was the young Gipper's agent.) As Vanity Fair's Dominick Dunne would decree: "Of all the legends of the industry—Louis B. Mayer, Sam Goldwyn, Harry Cohn, Jack Warner—Wasserman had the longest ride in the No. 1 spot." (He passed away in 2002.) It's good, they say, to be king. —MARY ALICE MILLER
Lew Wasserman (second from left) with MCA president and C.O.O. Sidney Sheinberg (right, in glasses) and executives David Weitzner, Tom Wertheimer, and Slap Paul, photographed by Annie Leibovitz at the lunch table—at Universal's Studio Restaurant—where Wasserman dined for 30 years, 1995.
CAPTAIN CLOONEY
In a town impervious to career arcs, George Clooney has had a disconcertingly drama-free rise from the small screen to the big one and, eventually, the folding canvas chair. As Dr. Doug Ross, the shorn heartthrob in scrubs on ER, he anchored NBC's vaunted Thursday-night lineup for half a decade. But it was his unexpected role in Out of Sight, Steven Soderbergh's screwball thriller featuring a pre-Gigli J.Lo, that would reveal a rare triple threat: Clooney could do comedy, sure, and he could do drama, but he also knew how to share the screen. It was the last, perhaps, that led to a series of memorable ( and lucrative) collaborations with other great stars of his era—Pitt, Wahlberg, Damon, Swinton, Kidman—and foretold his deft touch behind the camera. In Syriana, Michael Clayton, The Ides of March, and The Monuments Men, among other acclaimed films, the former ER doctor has positioned himself as one of the most successful actors and producers of his generation. Not bad for a fictional pediatrician. —JON KELLY
George Clooney, photographed by Annie Leibovitz, on Italy's Lake Como, 2003.
MGM GRAND
In 1932, Norma Shearer was fresh off her Oscar win for The Divorcee, Her husband, Irving Thalberg, was the "boy wonder" head of production at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Four years later, the 37-year-old Thalberg—who had steered the careers of an array of stars (Garbo, Gable, Crawford) and launched a string of hits (The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Grand Hotel, Mutiny on the Bounty)—would be dead from pneumonia. Shearer subsequently "discovered" a 26-year-old named Robert Evans lounging near the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, persuading him to portray the late Thalberg in the 1957 film Man of a Thousand Faces. (Evans, in a case of life-imitates-cinema, would go on to become the head of production at Paramount.) Shearer, whatever other talents she possessed, had impeccable taste in moguls. —DAVID FRIEND
Norma Shearer and Irving Thalberg, photographed by Edward Steichen, in Los Angeles, 1932.
THE UNSINKABLE MR. MURDOCH
If Rupert Murdoch had a mantra, it might be "Full speed ahead." The Australian-born newspaper baron turned media titan-overseeing News Corp., 21st Century Fox, Fox Broadcasting, BSkyB, HarperCollins, Dow Jones & Company, et al—has weathered Sturm und Drang over the past few years that would seemingly sink even your most robust billionaire. There's that pesky hacking scandal—a saga of a redheaded Kryptonite editor, government inquiries, and pie throwing. Then there's the breakdown of his 14-year marriage to Wendi Deng, a woman nearly 38 years his junior (alleged to have had trysts with Britain's Tony Blair). But Murdoch's businesses, and spirits, are buoyant, as evidenced in his existentially airtight tweet from last summer: "Sorry, I have been busy lately with many preoccupations!" He has also been atwitter with a 21st-century, glass-half-full attitude: "In Silicon Valley. What a different perspective one gets. Optimism, risk, brilliance, innovation at all ages. Success, failure, no fear." So despite the fallout from the News of the World debacle, the social-media-friendly, 84-year-old Murdoch remains the very definition of global domination—and a latter-day Captain Courageous on the media's rough seas. —CAT BUCKLEY
Rupert Murdoch, photographed by Annie Leibovitz, on his 158-foot ketch, Morning Glory, near Ketchikan, Alaska, 1994.
THE GLORY OF O
Her empire began inauspiciously, in 1986, with The Oprah Winfrey Show, a syndicated daytime-chat program. The broadcast and its empathetic host broke the mold, and by the end of Year One she was drawing 10 million viewers, setting a trend that would last 25 seasons. Oprah, as she is known the world over, not only transformed television but also created a media juggernaut, amassing a $3 billion personal fortune along the way. During those heady years, the entrepreneur, philanthropist, and Hollywood player—with Oscar nominations for The Color Purple (best supporting actress) and Selma (best picture, as a producer), along with a Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award—rolled out Harpo Productions; Oprah's Book Club; O, The Oprah Magazine; Oxygen Media; the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy for Girls, in South Africa; and Oprah's Angel Network, which raised more than $80 million for charitable programs. And after her show's 2011 finale, when the Santa Barbara deck chairs might have beckoned a lesser creature, she instead moved on to cable, launching the Oprah Winfrey Network. It has succeeded despite a chorus of naysayers. Rarely, so history has it, has destiny said no to Ms. O. —LENORA JANE ESTES
Oprah Winfrey, photographed by Annie Leibovitz at Harpo Studios, in Chicago, 1994.
FAMILY AFFAIR
In July 1930, three years before Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Joan Crawford divorced, he wrote of his wife in Vanity Fair: "She demands the things to which she knows she has the right.... This is particularly true of her professional life." Born Lucille Le Sueur, Crawford made her name (gathering three Academy Award nominations—and one best-actress award, for Mildred Pierce), while Fairbanks, son of Douglas Fairbanks Sr., inherited his. The older Fairbanks, with 46 film credits to his name, belongs in the annals of Hollywood Power not for his grinning portrayals of Zorro and Robin Hood and Don Juan but for his role in creating what is so commonplace in Hollywood these days: the independent production company. In 1919, Fairbanks Sr., Mary Pickford (whom he would later marry), director D. W. Griffith, and Charlie Chaplin formed United Artists to get out from under the oppressive studio system. (Upon hearing of the union, the president of Metro Pictures said, "So the lunatics have taken charge of the asylum.") Though U.A. has changed hands and business models over the years, from 1919 to 1925 it produced Fairbanks's The Three Musketeers, Pickford's Little Lord Fauntleroy, Griffith's Broken Blossoms, and Chaplin's The Gold Rush. Not a bad run. —JAIME LALINDE
Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Joan Crawford, photographed by Nicholas Muray in Malibu, California, 1929.
THE FOUR KINGS
They defined a generation of American filmmaking. Sometimes considered the "movie brats" of 70s cinema, this quartet has collectively directed more than 100 features, amassing nine Oscars—including four for best director, for The Godfather: Part II (Coppola), Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan (Spielberg), and The Departed (Scorsese); four best-picture statues; and, for good measure, three Irving G. Thalberg honors recognizing "creative producers" of high distinction (Lucas, Spielberg, Coppola). Lucas's Star Wars franchise alone has pulled in more than $4 billion at the box office worldwide—not counting the forthcoming Episode VII (The Force Awakens) or the $20 billion haul from product spinoffs. In their downtime, they have individually launched studios, foundations, TV series, resorts, and vineyards. For nearly half a century now, the Force, unequivocally, has been with them. —D.F.
Directors Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, and George Lucas, photographed by Annie Leibovitz at Lucas's Sky walker Ranch, in Marin County, California, 1996.
