In Programming, Demand for New Executives Exceeds Supply of Wisdom

Fox network officials will meet with television reporters and critics this week, and--reliable in its instability--will again put a new president of programming, Gail Berman, on display.

Fox’s revolving door moves at a faster clip than most places, making pronouncements by the latest programmer-in-residence more suspect than most. Berman’s predecessor, Doug Herzog, lasted a mere 15 months in the job, barely enough time to get in all his change-of-address forms, much less devise and execute a cohesive programming scheme.

Still, if history holds true, the press will hungrily absorb Berman’s every word, as if strategy on when to schedule programs with the titles “Freakylinks” and “Dark Angel” was just being brought down from Mt. Sinai.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Perspective seldom survives the crush to keep up with what’s happening in the television business--both among those within spacious executive suites and the ink-stained wretches who chronicle their every move, housed in cramped cubicles with only a laptop computer and “South Park” mug as company.

Contemplating Berman’s first crack at playing “meet the press” brought to mind John Matoian, whose own utterances about the state of the TV business a few years ago were consumed as eagerly as Herzog’s were and Berman’s will be, largely because he occupied the same office. (At Fox only the furniture changes, one reason the network is well-loved in the interior design community.)

Unlike many of his contemporaries, Matoian wore the mantle of “network entertainment president” somewhat reluctantly. Having worked as a high school teacher before entering the TV industry--holding down high-profile positions heading CBS’ made-for-TV movie department, the Fox family films division and, after the customary two years at Fox’s network, HBO’s original movie unit--he viewed show business as a job, not the definition of who he was.

Perhaps for that reason, Matoian at times appeared ill-suited to the Fox straitjacket, coming off as too honest for a job in which public relations spin is a chronic concern. Asked once at a press conference why he canceled a series, Matoian responded offhandedly, “Wouldn’t you have?”

No one has sought Matoian’s insights on programming lately, largely because, at present, he is happily doing nothing. Lucky to be set financially, he recently spent time volunteering at Cedars-Sinai Hospital and just returned from a trip to Europe. And though entertainment or new-media jobs still beckon, so far he’s content saying no.

“There’s not a single aspect of it that I miss. I haven’t picked up a trade paper since I left,” Matoian said, adding in regard to his current freedom, “The business was incredibly good to me . . . , [but] for the moment, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

This ability to step away from Hollywood’s siren call seemingly stands in stark contrast to TV’s existing roster of power brokers, a breed that, more often than not, exhibits more passion for amassing power than for generating programs.

The profile of these positions has evolved, in fact, from a mix that left room for programming nerds who know what time and where “Manimal” was on to an environment that favors slick corporate suits governed by a win-(translation: make more money)-at-all-costs mentality--a mind-set that makes it easier to put on whatever will garner an audience at that particular moment, conscience-free.

For many, the late Brandon Tartikoff was the embodiment of the TV nerd, manipulating his programming squares--each little block representing a show on the big prime-time programming scoreboard--like a little kid playing with blocks or trucks.

Right up until he succumbed to Hodgkin’s disease in 1997, Tartikoff remained obsessed with the game, so much so he would pound out guest columns for The Times or call to vent about what he deemed a boneheaded programming maneuver even during his hospital stays.

Tartikoff’s friends and progeny still exist, deriving real joy from the rare alchemy that produces a worthwhile series as well as being able to laugh, at least in hindsight, at the noxious results of their programming concoctions gone bad.

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The sad truth, however, is that TV aficionados appear to be losing out lately to the bottom-line approach of bean counters. Take NBC, skewered for being too slow to hop on the bandwagon that’s been misleadingly dubbed “reality” programming (translation: put ordinary people in a weird setting where they know they’re being taped and see how they behave--or, rather, “perform”).

NBC’s initial reaction, which made some sense, was that the public might be inoculated to this flu-like programming strain by the time the network could join the parade. Nevertheless, under pressure from corporate parent General Electric, the network ultimately dove into the muck because the genre is winning right now--meaning programmers must hold their noses and hope they don’t accidentally kill someone or inadvertently thrust a sociopath into the national spotlight with the next mutation.

This shortsighted attitude is generally reinforced by the entertainment press, which has let itself be hypnotized by television’s horse-race aspect (“CBS is catching up among adults age 18 to 49!”) while lazily taking their lead from those in seats of power. Writing about TV? Call up the heads of the major networks and see what they think. After all, they’re in charge--for the moment, anyway, until the next batch of bright-eyed candidates takes its turn in the mush pot.

It’s a tired cliche to remind these seat-fillers that the term “show business” consists of words often fundamentally at odds with each other and that with the “business” part in command, the “show” element needs protection and tender loving care.

Small wonder the entertainment industry’s present ruling class inspires so much thinly veiled hostility--usually delivered off the record, in fear of career-deflating retribution--from those who perceive them as being willing to forfeit Hollywood’s glamour and fricassee its golden goose in pursuit of instant results.

Someone like Tartikoff understood this basic struggle, as do Matoian and others disenfranchised not by choice but rather because they had the audacity to grow older in a world where the latest hairstyle on “Felicity” fills newspaper columns and TV magazine shows. Yet such voices remain silent at a time when there’s frequently a great divide between those asked for their opinion and those who genuinely have something to say.

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Brian Lowry’s column appears on Tuesdays. He can be reached by e-mail at brian.lowry@latimes.com.