MOVIES : . . . Into the Frying Pan : Columbia Pictures’ new chief Mark Canton issues his moviemaking manifesto. (He also gives a piece of his mind to his critics.)

Early in October, 42-year-old Mark Canton became chairman of Columbia Pictures--adding his name to a list that includes such famous and infamous characters as Harry Cohn, David Begelman and David Puttnam. And he’s discovering, as the others did, that the power and the glory come at a price.

For months, Canton’s every move was monitored by a press that found drama in the prospect of this stylish, high-voltage pal of Peter Guber and Jon Peters--the chairmen of Sony Pictures Entertainment until Peters’ departure in May--replacing 61-year-old Frank Price, a methodical, low-key sort who, the chairmen acknowledged, was never their first choice. If Price--who had held the post for 18 months--was the Old Guard, an industry veteran brought in to stabilize the studio, Canton was the New Hollywood--a breed whose frame of reference and approach to material is framed by, and reflective of, pop culture rather than literature.

Canton’s judgment as well as his style has been the focus of attention. In “The Devil’s Candy,” a new book by Julie Salamon about the making of Warner Bros.’ “The Bonfire of the Vanities,” Canton is said to have forecast that the movie--one of the more glaring flops in recent memory--would be “the artistic pinnacle” of his career. That statement, whose accuracy is disputed by Canton--”I don’t talk that way”--led to a column in The Times criticizing the man, what he stands for and the type of system that puts a Canton in charge.

Such scrutiny testifies to the increasing pressure placed on studio chiefs--that handful of people able to “greenlight” films--as the stakes in this already muscle-bound industry bulk up. And to the cult of personality that has overtaken the business--behind the camera as well as in front of it.

“I’ve been picked apart more than I expected, and it concerns me,” Canton acknowledges during his first official interview in his new surroundings. His office in the newly refurbished Thalberg Building is small and temporary, his headquarters only until renovation of Price’s former office is complete. Two paint-by-numbers landscapes in Woolworth’s-type frames hang behind the simple wooden desk. A state-of-the-art phone system, which Canton has yet to master, is the only sign of modernity. “How’s it going?” one anxious executive inquires on a computerized telephone screen midway through the discussion.

Canton smiles, shakes his head, and types in a response before continuing his thought. “Much of the time, the press made mountains out of molehills. Sometimes they were simply inaccurate--and I was powerless to deal with it. In a time of industry malaise--declining profits, rising costs--the focus should be on the product instead of on whether Peter Guber and Mark Canton play tennis together. What’s lost in the process is the filmmaking end of the business, the artistic side . . . which is why most of us got into it in the first place.”

The son of Arthur Canton, a Madison Avenue marketing/public relations man who represented a number of filmmakers, including Alfred Hitchcock, Elia Kazan and Sam Spiegel, Canton has always had his eye on the prize.

“I’ve always been more ambitious than most--in a healthy way, not blindly, I’d like to think,” he says before ordering a cup of tea and “some chocolate--any form of chocolate imaginable” to get him through the afternoon. “This job, for me, isn’t as much a dream come true as the reality of a goal accomplished. It’s something I’ve been preparing myself for for quite a while.”

When he was a student at UCLA, the New York-born Canton worked summers in the Warner Bros. mail room. After serving as a production assistant on “Papillon” and “The Taking of Pelham One Two Three,” he held a series of studio jobs at United Artists and MGM before becoming executive vice president at the Jon Peters Co., where he co-produced “Caddyshack,” released in 1980. Joining Warners later that year as vice president of production, he moved up to president of that division in 1985. As the self-described “in-house advocate” for such movies as Prince’s “Purple Rain” (1984) and Tim Burton’s “Pee-wee’s Big Adventure” (1985), Canton saw the studio finish first in terms of box-office grosses four times during his 11-year stint.

One of those four was 1989, the year that “Batman,” the sixth highest-grossing film of all time, hit the big screen. Last year, however, was another story, as Warners finished in a three-way tie for third.

“After ‘Batman,’ we were very high-high--and it’s tough to stay up there, whether you’re a ball team or a movie studio,” Canton says. “I learned that you can’t get too up from success because it’s tough to get back to work. And that you’ve got to approach every movie--those budgeted at $2 million as well as those costing $40 million--with equal intensity and passion or you shouldn’t make it at all. They’re all hard work--and you never know where the hits will come from.”

If “Batman” was a commercial high for the Warners regime, 1990’s “Bonfire of the Vanities,” was, unexpectedly, a low.

“The movie wasn’t profitable or successful,” he says. “It wasn’t fun for anyone. But I’m not sure any director could have pulled it off. Was it an error in judgment to transfer such a great book to the screen? Were we the victim of changing times . . . were people just not in the mood? Who knows? But the failure of one movie isn’t justification for character assassination. You wouldn’t say (Brian) DePalma is untalented based on one film.”

Canton acknowledges that, after “Bonfire” was screened, he said that it was a good picture he wanted audiences to see. He has no recollection of the superlatives Salamon attributes to him and challenges her claim that DePalma had his hands full getting his vision on the screen. “As (Warners executive vice president) Lucy (Fisher) said, DePalma made exactly the movie he wanted to make and we went down the road with him. Our job is to have the courage to make movies. You never know if it will work until it’s assembled.”

Warner Bros., he says, had no idea that a book was being written about the film. By the time they found out, DePalma had already embarked on the venture and the studio was “trapped” into cooperating. Some of it is on target, some not, he says. It’s primarily the tone with which he quibbles. “I found Salamon’s references very personal, very nasty,” he says. “She talked about my clothes, my physical stature, things that had nothing to do with moviemaking.”

A story on Canton in the upcoming issue of Vanity Fair fans the flames even more. Interspersed with positive assessments by his colleagues are quotes from sources who allude to his less-than-”ethical” behavior in his early years and label him the “Dan Quayle of the movie business,” a name-dropping “Uber-wimp” who rose to the top by means of “hot air.”

Canton takes on the critics: “I’ve never considered myself a Duddy Kravitz,” he says, referring to the nakedly ambitious character portrayed by Richard Dreyfuss in the 1974 film “The Adventures of Duddy Kravitz.” “Yes, I was driven, but I always felt that if you want to go the distance, you have to look at the big picture. Being ethical and honest is a major criteria for success.

“As for Dan Quayle, he earns my respect as Vice President of the United States, but any association between him and me is erroneous. I’m not an empty vessel who has ridden on anyone’s coattails. I’ve earned this opportunity. Anyone who knows me knows I’ve done the work.”

And the name-dropping? “I do admit to getting excited about people in this business who are sometimes larger-than-life to me,” he says. “Sometimes I wear my enthusiasm on my sleeve, but I make no apologies for the kid in me.”

In 1989, three months after “Batman” was released, Canton’s desire to expand his horizons led him to bolt the head-of-production spot for a newly created post with the unwieldy title “executive vice president of Warner Bros., Inc. Worldwide Motion Picture Production.” His dissatisfaction continued to mount, however, as Warners Chairman Robert Daly and President Terry Semel refused to grant him parity.

“My departure wasn’t about autonomy or ‘greenlighting,’ ” Canton insists. “I’d just reached the point in my career and inside myself when I wanted to try to run an entire motion picture company from one end to another. Warners was the Bob and Terry Co. with a top dog or two, three or five and, in the course of conversations over a long time, it became clear that they didn’t want to change the system. I may have gotten there, but I think I stayed long enough to question it.”

His relations with Warners executives, Canton claims, were amicable throughout. Despite the fact that Sony had agreed not to recruit any more Warners executives after extricating Guber and Peters, Warners let him out of his contract with no money exchanged. Though Canton had been discussing the possibility of moving to Columbia “in theory,” he says, no concrete discussions began until the release was signed and sealed.

“Once I became available, Peter (Guber) came after me,” he maintains. “It was the right time for that to happen--and I say that with the greatest respect for Frank (Price). Frank did a good job. Between Columbia and TriStar, we’re No. 1 with 20% of the market. And a lot of good films were made or about to be made.”

Canton scoffs at suggestions that it was cronyism--his long-term friendship with Guber dating back to the late 1970s--rather than merit which brought him this far.

“My relationship with Peter grew out of the work, not vice versa,” he claims. “That’s where the mutual respect came from. Peter and I are both enthusiasts. People may mistake talking too fast for thinking too fast, but we’re actually very organized and thorough. I like to think of my relationship with Peter in the same terms as the legendary one between Katzenberg and Eisner . . . whatever the reality. Peter is a great leader, inspiring. I learned a lot from him and Jon Peters who, I feel, is the best hands-on producer I’ve worked with. Peter and I have been down a lot of roads together and I’d be happy to have him as my mentor.”

But that’s as far as it goes, Canton maintains. For all Guber’s expertise in the area of filmmaking, the studio chief job came with a guarantee of autonomy.

“Peter has the enormous job of putting together all the pieces of the puzzle--he’s got a company to run. My focus is Columbia Pictures’ motion pictures division. That’s not to say it won’t be collaborative, though. No one can do this job alone . . . and no one in the world would want to. This isn’t a narcissistic, egotistical venture. In fact, it helps to be ego-less.”

Though barely in place, Canton is said to be a breath of fresh air for a studio that, for months, had been suffocating in managerial limbo. Price, an “inner circle” sort disinclined to delegate, had become even more “hands on” in the face of rumors announcing his departure. For the past half a year, sources say, he consolidated his control over meetings, was slow making decisions and insisted on hearing every movie pitch himself. Outsiders, loath to deal with an unstable studio, had stopped calling. One bored production executive took to napping every afternoon.

“Phones are ringing now . . . we’re back in business,” observes one studio insider. “Canton’s on what Washington calls the ‘100-day honeymoon’--that period when the chief executive meets his staff, poses with Girl Scouts. Then, of course, reality will kick in. We’ll find out whether we have pictures or not.”

Guessing what pictures Canton will make has become one of the more popular pastimes in town. He calls his taste “eclectic,” an assessment borne out by his first major deals. The studio head has just signed Pen Densham, Richard Lewis and John Watson of Trilogy Entertainment, a trio responsible for two of this summer’s hits--”Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves” and “Backdraft”--to a three-year development, writing and production pact. Columbia has also cut an exclusive writing deal with Pat Proft, a comedy writer responsible for “Hot Shots,” “Naked Gun” and “Police Academy.” Currently, the studio is completing plans to work with Martin Scorsese, who will direct a film based on Edith Wharton’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book “The Age of Innocence,” set in the early 1870s. Canton calls it “a timeless story of guilt, betrayal, love and lust” and is negotiating with Michelle Pfeiffer, Winona Ryder and Daniel Day-Lewis to play the leads.

Though his Warners years suggest a fondness for physical comedy (the Pee-wee Herman movies, the “National Lampoon” series) and action (“Lethal Weapon,” “Lethal Weapon 2,” “Tango & Cash”), Canton is quick to parry the notion that he’s locked into high-profile, mass-appeal fare.

“I shouldn’t be tarred because of my success with ‘Batman’ and ‘Lethal Weapon,’ ” says Canton. “They weren’t derivative--or if they were, they took the genre to another level. Early on, I was considered a ‘friend of comedy,’ whereas my colleague Lucy Fisher was involved with Steven Spielberg and Francis Coppola. But I went on to do ‘Hamlet,’ ‘Accidental Tourist’--developing complex films and, more important, films that not only entertained but which could, potentially, make a difference. ‘Lethal Weapon 2’ dealt with apartheid; ‘New Jack City’ said something.

“Given the world we live in--Anita Hill taking on Clarence Thomas one day and a guy driving his truck into a Texas cafeteria the next--I’d like to try to give something back to the community. That’s a big agenda, though. It’s tough enough making a movie . . . period. In the end, what I’m hoping for is balance: movies that have stars, movies that don’t. I’d like to plant some seeds, grow some new trees.”

New trees are also cheaper than mighty oaks. That counts for a lot given these recessionary times and the considerable financial outlay by Sony since it bought Columbia for $3.4 billion two years ago. Though Canton insists that no cost-containment mandate has been imposed from above, no one need remind him that Sony was forced to lay out an additional $500 million to extricate Guber and Peters from their Warners contract when they were brought in to head up the company; to endure Sony Pictures Entertainment Chairman Peters’ well-documented extravagances before he left with an expensive settlement last spring; and to pay off Price, whose departure for independent production with three years left on his contract was said to have cost the Japanese electronics giant more than $10 million.

Canton refuses to talk about bringing in his own staffers or putting a number of Price’s projects in “turnaround”--moves which would increase Sony’s tab still further. He’s also mum about whether or not layoffs will be instigated in an effort to improve the bottom line.

“It’s too early to know if there will be cuts,” he says. “All companies have fat--but I don’t want that to be seen as a threat. I do know that this business isn’t recession-proof and if the numbers don’t add up, you can’t win. I also feel a need to give people value for their money and, cycles or not, there haven’t been that many great evenings out recently. I hope that will change soon. We have Macaulay Culkin in ‘My Girl’ at Thanksgiving; ‘Prince of Tides’ and Andrei Konchalovsky’s ‘Inner Circle’ at Christmas. I’m not surrendering.”

Last year’s spending frenzy, which had studios bidding exorbitant sums in an attempt to land the most promising screenplays and talent, was blamed, in part, on Guber, the new kid on the block who wanted to make his presence--and his deep pockets--felt. Though the industry has since questioned the wisdom of such excess, Canton insists that some of the fallout has been positive.

“What’s left is a group of talented people--Danny DeVito, Francis Coppola, Jim Brooks, just for starters--who are now associated with Columbia . . . and happily so. I believe in giving filmmakers respect. ‘Hands-on,’ ‘hands-off’ is no longer valid terminology. In this day and age, you need to be hands-on, but also to give writers, directors and actors credit for knowing what they’re doing. This is a communications industry, but so few people in it know how to communicate.”

Like TriStar Chairman Mike Medavoy, a former agent, Canton is a good “schmoozer.” He points to long-term relationships with talent such as Tim Burton, Mel Gibson, Chevy Chase and Barbra Streisand with great pride. His weakness, say some insiders, is the business end. It’s a charge the newly appointed studio chief denies.

“I think I understand how to approach the ‘business’ of show business as well as the ‘show’ part of show business. I want to grow, of course, but I have to remember to stick with the things that got me here. The New York Giants quarterback (Jeff) Hostetler was great because he ran the ball and wasn’t a drop-back passer like his predecessor, Phil Simms. In the first few games, when he tried to play like Simms, he started losing. Now he’s back to running and doing better. It’s not wise to change too much.”

Sony, and foreign management in general, Canton maintains, is no concern of his, more Guber’s domain than his own.

“I expect Sony, like Time Warner, to be supportive of management,” he asserts. “I’ve been told that I’m free to build this company as I wish . . . but I need time.”

Time, Canton acknowledges, is a luxury rarely afforded studio chiefs--or the films they are releasing. “The dilemma of the business today,” he says, munching on a chocolate cookie, “is that movies are so expensive that you don’t have many chances. In baseball, you lead the league if you bat .300. In football, winning 12 out of 16 is a great year. No one wins all the time. In the old Hollywood, they judged Alfred Hitchcock on the breadth of his career. He certainly had a clinker or two. Today, like in the rest of society, everything in the movie business is very ‘immediate.’ And that’s not good.”

Canton the Realist pauses for a moment and Canton the Enthusiast intervenes.

“I don’t mean to sound like a complainer,” he says. “I got a rush when I first walked in this building. There are memories in these halls. Years ago, I was an executive assistant to Mike Medavoy at United Artists--on the first floor. After that, I replaced Sherry Lansing as MGM’s vice president for creative affairs--on the second floor. Here I am, now--on the third floor--full circle. I’ve been lucky. I’ve had opportunities. It may sound corny, but I love this business.”