Someone from VH1 tells him that Elton John has agreed to donate the piano he’s playing for the auction.Lorne Michaels stops by, followed by the Capitol Records executive who asks him to tell Paul Mc Cartney to play MTV’s Total Request Live, even though the former Beatle has no idea what the show is. Before ground zero became ground zero, Harvey Weinstein was ground zero.Which is why a city full of incandescent fabulousness pivots around a man who looks like nothing so much as a bean-bag chair with legs.Like most titans, Harvey has a legendary sense of self, an annunciatory way of speaking and moving that suggests he knows he’s a big deal.
As I silently sound out the poster—Fist of Vengeance—he startles me into the present by proclaiming, “I’m back with a vengeance.” Despite an illness that took him out of the public eye for three months last year, he looks robust, sitting behind a desk in a blue sport shirt divided by a parallelogram of suspenders. But his eyes can also spot Zeitgeist long before it comes over the hill.
The most intimidating bar to walk into in Greater Seattle may not be a seedy dive downtown.
It might just be a juice bar in an obscure strip mall in Shoreline.
She thanks me as I’m beckoned back to see Weinstein.
Like a lot of rooms Harvey Weinstein inhabits, his office at Miramax seems on the small, uncomfortable side. On a day a few weeks before the planes hit the towers just south of his office, he’s in a fabulous mood, taking a meeting about Shanghai, a World War II noir that’s in development.She’s sitting here because she wants to make a movie.