Promises and pitfalls of celebrity rehab

The staff at Promises, the Malibu rehab center known for its luxurious accommodations and Hollywood clientele, is well versed in the perils of cocaine, methamphetamines, alcohol and prescription drugs, but these days, the tony facility finds itself bedeviled by a different toxic substance: snark.

Thanks to relapsing starlets and rehab stays that seem more public relations strategy than medical decision, many who read the tabloids have come to regard celebrity rehab as a joke, and Promises, with its $54,500-a-month price tag and roster of famous and not-always-sober alumni, makes an easy punch line.

Promises is routinely skewered by gossip bloggers and comedians -- Jay Leno never seems to tire of zinging the addiction center. In a recent “Tonight Show” bit about a terrorism detainee who rejoined Al Qaeda after his release, Leno told his audience, “Apparently, Guantanamo Bay has the same success rate as the Promises Rehab Center in Malibu.”

On the center’s carefully manicured grounds, no one is laughing. Promises’ CEO insists bookings have remained strong in the face of the potshots and an ongoing state investigation into whether it provided medical care without a license. But the facility recently launched a public relations campaign emphasizing the seriousness of its program. The effort included inviting reporters to tour its normally ultra-private property on the condition that they not identify or speak with clients staying there.

“This is not a celebrity flophouse,” said publicist Jonathan Franks, who himself got sober at Promises, as he stood in the living room of one of four residences on a picturesque hill above the Pacific. “There is just a disconnect between the way people perceive this place and the way it is.”

In some ways, Promises has only its clients to blame. Two of Hollywood’s biggest media magnets -- Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan -- chose Promises to get sober, but as was well documented by packs of paparazzi, their problems outlasted Promises. Lohan later went to a Utah facility and her troubles remain a staple of the checkout-aisle racks. Spears continued in free fall until a court gave her father control of her affairs.

Celebrity clientele

Their experiences fed into a public cynicism that veteran publicist Howard Bragman, the author of “Where’s My Fifteen Minutes?,” said was rooted in a fact of life in Hollywood.

“Certain celebrities go to rehab because they recognize they need help. But certain celebrities go to rehab to get the heck out of Dodge, to escape the scrutiny of the media and the blogs,” he said. For them, places like Promises provide “a place that has walls and privacy and where everything they do is not filmed with someone’s videophone.”

Dr. David Sack, Promises’ chief executive and a UCLA-trained psychiatrist, said confidentiality rules prevented him from discussing particular clients, but he acknowledged that bad press was a hazard of catering to the rich and famous.

“When you make your living treating people who are conspicuous and in the public eye, you have to expect that you are also going to be in the public eye when they fail, and not everybody succeeds in treatment,” Sack said.

High-profile clients, including Ben Affleck and Christian Slater, have credited Promises with helping them get and apparently stay sober, but Sack said train wrecks get more attention than triumphs.

“The ones who succeed are boring and the public has less interest in them. The ones who fail spectacularly, who do things that are reckless and show poor judgment, are going to wind up in the papers,” he said.

The hits to Promises’ image have not been confined to the center’s relapsing clients. In December, Star magazine reported that the enrollment at the facility was down due to the economy and that in an effort to get more publicity, Promises had “asked around Hollywood to see who wanted to stay there for free.” The magazine claimed “American Pie” actress Tara Reid, a notorious party girl, was getting her treatment comped.

Promises immediately and vehemently denied the story and Star later removed it from its website. Sack said the matter was in the hands of an attorney.

“It was untrue and it was offensive. The truth is, I couldn’t afford to treat people for free,” he said.

In a February interview with In Touch magazine, Reid touted her new sobriety and Promises, but was not asked who paid for her treatment. Reid did not return messages seeking comment.

Asked if the negative publicity has hurt the center’s bottom line, Sack said, “Not really. It sort of becomes yesterday’s news after a while.”

Sack’s company, Elements Behavioral Health, acquired Promises in February 2008 from its founder, Richard Rogg. Before the sale, Promises was among a handful of Malibu rehab centers cited by state regulators for providing medical care, which is beyond the scope of their licenses. A spokeswoman for the state Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs said the state has an open investigation of Promises and hopes to complete the probe next month.

Sack said Promises now makes clear that physicians on the property are independent contractors paid by clients and are not staff members.

“It’s a subtle distinction. Our clients are allowed to have medical care while they are here. [The doctors] just can’t be our employees,” he said.

‘Relaxed’ setting

As he showed a visitor around the facility, Sack at times sounded more like a real estate agent than a physician. Walking across the front lawn of the main house, where a crew of gardeners tended to bougainvillea and agave, he noted sweeping views of the ocean and a canyon. Inside, he showed off a gourmet kitchen where chefs were preparing a lunch of sea bass. Upstairs, he opened the door to the house’s largest room, a suite that includes a Jacuzzi and two balconies and goes for twice the regular monthly rate -- about $100,000.

Sack makes no apologies for the cost or the facility’s tennis court or the pool or the 300-thread-count sheets. Why should the wealthy have to endure “bunk beds and lousy food and no privacy” when “none of those things make treatment better,” he said.

“The assumption is that because we have nice rooms we have a laissez-faire program with people just camped out here to dry out,” Sack said. In reality, he said, “the environment is relaxed, but the program is not.”

Steve Owens, an entrepreneur who got clean at Promises in 2003, said that he had been to more than 30 rehab facilities ranging from “country clubs” to boot camps and always returned to drinking and using drugs.

At Promises, he said, “they treated me well, they fed me well. They gave me clear direction on what I should do if I wanted to remain sober.”

As described by the Promises staff, clients’ days start with a 7 a.m. wake-up call and move through mandatory group and individual therapies, trips to the gym, off-campus 12-step meetings, meditation sessions and classes in avoiding relapse.

The overall cushiness does have its critics -- including some in Promises’ target audience. In an interview with People magazine about her recent return from another rehab facility, Kelly Osbourne recalled an unsuccessful trip to Promises in 2004.

“For me it was too comfortable. It was like a vacation without a bar,” she said.

Promises is working on setting up a database to track past clients so it can answer criticism with hard evidence about its success rate, Sack said. “Our goal is to set up our own outcomes studies that would be managed by a third party,” he said.

In the meantime, the jokes continue. A day after Sack led the tour of the rehab center, Leno told his audience St. Patrick’s Day was such a big holiday in L.A. that “the Promises Rehab in Malibu had a happy hour.”

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harriet.ryan@latimes.com