ICM

"ICM’s Sue Mengers would sign you, then invite you to the cocaine parties at her house in Beverly Hills. She’d also gossip about you—she called her stars “sparklies”—to her other clients. We built our business as her opposite: we’d take tables in the back of restaurants, where we couldn’t be overheard, lean in, and present ourselves as very square. “You won’t have a big social life with us,” I’d say. “We’re here to make you independent in every direction, to strategize for you. So what are your dreams?”"

"I was obsessed with the Spartan phalanx, the idea that you were only as strong as the colleague on your left. We’d go to meetings as a group, we’d go to screenings as a group, walking down the aisles together half an hour early, ten or fifteen strong, a show of power. I drove our people hard to sign at least two clients a week, and after we got up and running, our signing machinery was a thing of beauty. Let’s say you were a promising screenwriter and I met you at a dinner at Morton’s. I’d call you the next day for a quick chat—not about wanting to represent you, but about the virtues of your work (which three of our literary agents would have briefed me on). I’d casually toss in the names of a few well-known actors and directors who’d be a perfect fit with your sensibility. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you’d want to talk some more, and I’d suggest lunch or a drink. There we’d talk further about your work and your hopes and dreams. The killer move, as you got up from the table or were handing your parking ticket to the valet, was to say, “Why don’t you come in and meet our crew?” A few days later, when you drove in, one of our parking concierges (who’d been given a photo of you) would open your car door, greet you with a big smile, and say, “Mr./Ms. X, great to see you. Really hope you join the family!” or “Hope you have a great meeting!” (They switched up the patter to keep from going stale.) An assistant would escort you to the conference room, where five to ten poised, well-dressed agents would be waiting. They’d already have had a premeeting to script the ideas we’d be presenting, and now, for an hour, they’d pepper you with notions for developing your books and screenplays and shower you with the names of our clients who were eager to be in your films. At the end, we’d finally say, “We want to represent you.” It was hard to resist. If you raised a serious issue—“I’d love to, guys, but I just signed with ICM for two years”—we’d always say, “Not a problem, we’ll deal with it.” We’d let ICM commission you for those two years as we packaged your work with our other clients, playing the long game."