Word: aubrey
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...which focuses on wide-screen sex and power conflict in the television world, the anti-hero is Robin Stone, who advances to a top network job over the prostrate bodies of rivals and girls. Inevitably, show business insiders recognized in Stone at least a passing resemblance to James T. Aubrey Jr., 51. As president of CBS-TV for more than five years, Aubrey ruled with a high hand and a low common denominator of programming (The Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction) that for most of that time won CBS leadership in the ratings. After hours, Aubrey said of himself...
Last week Aubrey returned to power. Las Vegas Financier Kirk Kerkorian, who a month ago won control of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, picked him to be the company's new president to replace Louis ("Bo") Polk Jr., 39, who was fired. Polk had been chosen only last January by Edgar M. Bronfman, whose 16% holding in the company was the largest until Kerkorian bought roughly a 40% share for about $100 million. (Time Inc. owns 5%.) Bronfman and one of three other directors representing his interests quit the 19-man board last week...
Smelling the Public. Kerkorian hopes that Aubrey, whom he met for the first time only two weeks ago, can put new vigor into the ailing MGM lion. Kerkorian wanted a show business veteran to replace financial man Polk, but his choice for the presidency, Herb Jaffe, a vice president of United Artists, turned the job down. Gregson Bautzer, the Los Angeles socialite lawyer who counts both Kerkorian and Aubrey among his clients, introduced the two men at the Beverly Hilton and recommended Aubrey for the job. Bautzer's sales pitch: "Jim Aubrey has a real good sense of smell...
According to Bautzer, Aubrey told Kerkorian: "I don't want a contract. If I do a job on this, the contract will take care of itself. If you don't like the way I'm doing it, you can say 'Get lost, Jim' without any obligations." Aubrey will get $208,000 yearly, plus an option to buy 17,500 shares...
Plump Edwardians wander with suave decadence out of Aubrey Beardsley's world, and creatures consume them selves with Steinbergian detachment. There are silk screens from Warholville and numbers from Indiana. Psychedelia explodes and art nouveau swirls in the most unexpected places. Corridor doors are open on surrealist nightmares, Freudian symbolisms and early movies-all combined in a swiveting, swirling splurge of phantasmagoria, puns, pastiches and visual non sequiturs...