Trying to Realign the Planet

Robert Earl believed in celebrity. And parties.

He believed that if you put them together--with red caxrpets and spotlights--people would come. More importantly, they’d buy. Not only food, but T-shirts and sweatshirts and $14 baseball caps.

Earl called it “the formula,” and he kept believing in it even as good fortune turned to crisis at Planet Hollywood, the restaurant chain he founded with movie producer Keith Barish, but which the public invariably associated with a trio of movie stars who didn’t need last names, Arnold, Sly and Bruce.

That trio and a who’s who of guests waved to mobs of onlookers on Oct. 22, 1991, when the first Planet Hollywood opened on New York’s 57th Street, just down from Carnegie Hall, the restaurant’s walls and ceilings decorated with movie memorabilia such as Stallone’s boxing gloves from “Rocky,” Schwarzenegger’s motorcycle from “The Terminator” and Judy Garland’s dress from “The Wizard of Oz.”

By 1995, when the chain put an outlet in Hollywood’s backyard--Beverly Hills--there were 22 around the world. Three blocks of Rodeo Drive were closed off for that grand opening, and Elton John was flown in to perform, right on the street. Some 150 valets were needed to handle the Rollses, Mercedeses and limos that brought everyone from Shaq to Fabio, Jean-Claude to Cindy, Oprah to Brooke. Whoopi and Demi were there too, of course, for they had been among the first of 20-odd celebrities eventually given a piece of the action for use of their names and promotional work. “Nobody knew it would be this big!” exclaimed Bruce Willis, speaking not so much about the party as the proliferation of Planet Hollywoods.

A year later, with the number still climbing--and lines of customers at the doors--the chain hit Wall Street with a frenzy to match the night on Rodeo Drive. In the busiest opening for a Nasdaq public offering to date, its stock soared to $32.13 before closing at $26. At its peak that day, Planet Hollywood had a paper value of $3.5 billion.

At that instant, the 17% of the stock distributed to celebrities had a paper value above $500 million. And Robert Earl, the CEO whose own name was largely unknown to the public, was able to say, “I’m worth a billion dollars.”

He had reason to believe in his formula then, even if earnings began to slip. The very year of the initial public offering, there was a 2% decline in same-store sales, the measure of how business is faring at established locations. That dropped 11% the next year. When the slippage continued, the stock slid too.

A range of theories was offered by financial analysts and the media: Perhaps Planet Hollywood had opened too many units, some in non-tourist locales like Indianapolis. Perhaps it spread itself thin with costly side ventures such as All-Star Cafes packed with sports memorabilia from Joe Montana, Wayne Gretzky and others. Maybe customers became disillusioned when they didn’t see the famous faces after the parties--only their cardboard figures on a diorama.

Or maybe the entire theme-restaurant craze had run its course, overstuffing the public until it lost its appetite. At one time, you could pass a Harley-Davidson Cafe, a Motown Cafe and a Fashion Cafe--backed by celebrity models--as you walked to the stretch of 57th Street that already offered the first Planet and a Hard Rock Cafe, the pioneer of the genre.

As the bottom line continued to slide, others suggested a simpler explanation: the food.

This became almost a mantra--that Planet Hollywood couldn’t cook a decent hamburger.

Such talk enraged Earl, an Englishman. He saw it as mob thinking based on a fiction. He never pretended that people would flock to his places because of the burgers or the chicken strips coated with Cap’n Crunch--they’d come for the show, the alien spaceships hanging from the ceiling and the knickknacks from “Titanic.” But he was sure the food was fine, cooked by the same chefs who, if they weren’t working for him, would be over at TGI Friday’s.

The problem, as he saw it, was image. Planet Hollywood had lost its “cool.”

This showed up in the number whose dip worried him most--in sales of that logo gear. In good times, the T-shirts and jackets accounted for 25% of the take.

“The need to buy my clothing has disappeared,” Earl said. “They just say, ‘We don’t need to buy it.’ ”

He knew the solution, though. Wasn’t it obvious? He came up with it even before the company’s plunge reached that dreaded B-word, bankruptcy.

Earl’s answer was: new celebrities.

Arnold, Sly and Bruce needed help. He needed new stars. Younger stars. And not B-listers.

So even while his company was fighting for its life, he would go after the day’s hot names. He would use them to signal to the world that his restaurants were again “sufficiently cool to associate with.”

Getting these recruits was no simple matter, however, when their agents were whispering that your stock was heading toward zero, and your company was fast becoming a punch line for Jay Leno.

Yet Earl, now 49, was so sure he could do it, he invited a reporter to join some of his meetings and road trips leading up to what he called the “relaunch.” It would take only a few weeks, he promised.

Try 20 months.

March 1999, Orlando, Fla.

“Did you hear what Bruce did in Madrid?”

“I did not,” says Michael Montague, the Right Honorable Lord Montague of Oxford, a tweedy British industrialist and one of Earl’s mentors, here for a meeting of the board.

“He was amazing,” says Earl, just back from unveiling the 80th Planet, 48 owned by the company and 32 franchised. Willis brought his blues band to perform but first did a sound check at noon from the balcony of his hotel room, “in his dressing gown, singing to a crowd gathering below.” At night, it really got wild, with Wesley Snipes getting on the bongos and “flamenco dancers flying across the stage.” Then came the private party inside, with Bruce spinning records for guests including Spain’s leading bullfighter.

From there, they went to Paris, where Willis played his harmonica at a Planet party celebrating Fashion Week. Monaco’s Prince Albert came. “You should see the press we got,” Earl says.

He is curled up on a sofa in the living room of his home in the gated Isleworth golf community, his windows providing a view across the lake to where Shaq and Tiger Woods have mansions. Earl is in his usual state--disheveled. Jeans, a sweatshirt twice as big as needed, socks but no shoes, black hair unkempt. At 5 foot 5, he’s Dudley Moore with a paunch, punctuating his English-accented banter with giggles. Whether it’s just him or a shtick, it’s easy to see how celebrities--used to fending off Alpha Male slicksters--might take to him.

One says hello the next evening, in the middle of an Orlando Magic basketball game. Pat Riley, the Armani-clad coach--here with the Miami Heat--breaks from his game face and wanders over to Earl’s front-row seats.

“Rocky times,” Riley says, “but you’ll get through it.”

Planet’s problems are no secret. The glow he brought back from Europe can’t obscure them. The stock, now trading on the New York Stock Exchange, is barely above $1. Barish, his former partner--and the executive producer of “The Fugitive”--recently unloaded 10 million shares. The company just announced that Barish has resigned from the board, formalizing the split of the founders.

That leaves Earl to “save the Planet,” as some inevitably term the mission. He prefers to say “it’s a revival, it’s a resurgence . . . the relaunch.”

One move: The eight All-Star Cafes are on the market. Between meetings at the corporate headquarters here, he’s also taking calls about selling the chain’s 20% stake in a hotel near Madison Square Garden that was going to become the All-Star. Also being rethought are plans for a Cool Planet chain of ice cream shops and Sound Republic live music clubs, one under construction in Times Square.

Plans are continuing, however, for a 50-story Planet Hollywood Hotel, being built at the north end of Times Square. There are hopes of opening it by the New Year’s festivities marking the year 2000.

Lord Montague says Willis and his band should be unleashed then, “God willing.” Advertising guys from New York talk up a “Millennium Sweepstakes” to win tickets to “the biggest party on the planet.”

Earl usually is the salesman spinning grand visions. But he is muted on the hotel scenario.

“Times Square is where it is all happening,” he agrees. “But the demand to buy us out is huge. Lots of money being thrown at me.”

The hotel may have to go, in other words. He is thinking of the other coast for the relaunch.

“I want to repeat the taking over of Rodeo,” he says later in his living room, “to unveil the new celebrities.”

They might even be assembled on a stage and a curtain lifted “to show everyone who has joined the Planet family.”

He wants to send a message that there’s a whole “new Planet” with more subdued merchandise, downplaying the globe logo, and an overhauled menu, if only to silence the sniping about the food. But mostly he wants those new faces.

This week, Forbes magazine includes none of his founding Big Three on a “star power” top 100 based on earnings, magazine covers, TV mentions, etc. The issue centers on the notion that “celebrity these days isn’t just about being famous; it’s about converting fame into brand equity.” Who’s at the top? Michael Jordan, Oprah and a young movie star, Leonardo DiCaprio.

Has Earl approached the “Titanic” heartthrob? Of course. But nothing was signed. He throws out hints of other names. Nothing firm.

No worry, he says--talking as the salesman. But when others try to sell him. . . .

“What do you think of Cameron Diaz in ‘Rocky’ shorts?” one of the ad guys asks, pitching him on a campaign.

“I defy you to get her,” he replies.

That sort of challenge is only one reason it will take him nearly two years to relaunch.

Days later, on April 1, 1999, Planet Hollywood is unable to pay $15 million in interest on $250 million in bonds it had sold, in part to finance its hotel and other expansion plans. The accountants call this being in default.

By the time he throws his revival party, the second hotel will indeed be sold; his Sound Republic site will be sold too--and become a wrestling restaurant; his friend Lord Montague will be dead of a heart attack; and Rodeo Drive will not be feasible for a relaunch. The Planet at its foot will be no more.

*

Earl was born in London, “a fat baby” exposed to the entertainment and business worlds from the get-go. His mother ran a dress shop while his father was a ‘50s-style crooning tenor, “sort of the English Eddie Fisher.” He took his son to recording sessions and backstage to meet Peter Sellers and others.

By 16, Earl was helping his dad’s agent, booking acts. At the University of Surrey, he promoted concerts while studying hotel management. On graduation, he was hired by one of England’s richest men, Joe Lewis, who wanted to find more profitable uses for some large catering halls.

Earl turned them into theme restaurants for a class of customers often scorned by British eateries, tour groups. He gave one hall near the Tower of London a medieval theme, complete with jousting. Another was Cockney--guests stepped into scenes out of “My Fair Lady.” The Caledonian dressed them in kilts and gave them half an hour of unlimited whiskey drinking, along with bagpipe serenades.

The Romans, in gladiator days, called this panem et circenses, bread and circus. The modern phrase was “eatertainment.”

The show may not have been sophisticated, but the business strategy was. Earl came to the U.S. and got companies such as American Express to lock in visits by their tours a year in advance. The guarantee of a cash flow enabled him to take the enterprise public, then sell out in 1987. He was rich by 35.

In partnership with the company that took his over, Earl bought Hard Rock International, which controlled seven franchises of the music-themed chain in the Eastern U.S. and Europe. Consolidating operations in Orlando, he increased the number to 22 in five years.

He was still with Hard Rock when Barish sought him out in 1990, proposing they emulate its format but as “Cafe Hollywood.” Part of the Hard Rock approach was to take the money other retail businesses put into advertising, perhaps 4% of the budget, and use it for charity and promotional events. Good ones generated publicity--the media advertised you. Better yet were the shirts. Hard Rock customers “paid us,” co-founder Peter Morton recalls, to serve as walking billboards.

When Planet Hollywood surfaced, Morton sued for more than $1 billion, complaining that it was ripping him off. The suit was settled, but the bad blood lingered.

Planet’s approach was different in one fundamental way, though--its close ties to specific celebrities.

Barish had produced the 1987 Schwarzenegger film “The Running Man.” An intermediary hooked them up with Stallone, who may not have been a critics’ favorite but carried Rocky’s punch when Gallup asked moviegoers around the world to name their favorite actor. Willis was not yet of their stature and relatively new to film, but had shown his stuff in “Die Hard.”

Action-adventure was the ticket, no question, because it resonated overseas in ways that comedy or romance rarely could.

Although celebrity endorsements were hardly a novel concept--you could find Queen Victoria’s image on tins of cocoa 150 years ago--movie stars generally resisted renting out their names. So it helped that they had stock--the public could view them as “owners.” They got options too, which could have raised the celebrity stake to 19.6% of the common stock, if exercised.

But there was another inducement to get the stars--private planes.

This too was not novel. The movie mogul Jack Warner and the late Steven J. Ross, former chairman of Time Warner, had set the standard for wooing stars with perks. Ross had a fleet of planes to whisk them around and offered use of a mansion in Acapulco. It might sound like pure Hollywood indulgence, but it was done for the same reason salesmen take clients golfing. It worked.

Earl controlled several private jets. While they brought bodies to Planet openings, some stars also got “plane hours” to use as they wanted.

He promised that their involvement would be “an easy ride.” Most had to travel to promote films, anyway. Why not by private plane? Why not do the events at places in which they had a stake? Earl made sure the photo ops didn’t last too long, and that the stars’ privacy was respected once it was time to play. Both Willis and George Clooney met girlfriends on Planet swings. Why would someone like Prince Albert join them in Paris? “Must enjoy parties with models,” Earl says.

Stallone never got over how some Planet openings were “bigger than any premiere you’ve ever gone to--and this was for hamburgers. Mind-boggling. You’re in and out, and you think, ‘Did this really happen?’ ”

The courtship of stars eventually was one source of friction between Planet’s founders. Oddly, it was Barish, the movie guy, who thought Earl, the restaurant man, was focusing too much on them.

Barish thought the doling out of plane time was out of hand. “It got to be that anyone who screamed loud enough got whatever they wanted,” he once grumbled. And did the cost of moving a Tom Arnold from L.A. to Chicago really pay off? Did a TV item showing a glimpse of the Planet logo translate into sales of leather jackets?

Or should they be putting more effort into food? Barish, who lives in New York, noticed how the Zagat guide there went from gushing about the “surprisingly good” fare to calling it the “dining equivalent of ‘Ishtar.’ ”

Although the chain kept adding celebrities--a David Spade here, an Antonio Banderas there--the dispute came to a head when Earl wanted to sign a few who might serve as a younger generation’s Arnold or Sly. Barish worried about the cost--and whether the younger actors were inclined to work crowds of movie fans. Many seemed more at home in the grunge scene. He had negotiated with some who asked, “Do I have to wear the shirt?” “Is 10 minutes enough?”

Earl laments now that their squabbles set back his strategy. “Differing views. Had the debate. Didn’t get my way.”

He could, finally, after Barish severed his ties. Except he first had to alert his original trio to a press release reporting that Planet Hollywood was getting a $30-million infusion of cash to reorganize--oh yeah, and there was something on the second page about a Chapter 11 filing. The minor detail of bankruptcy proceedings.

September 1999, Toronto

Bruce Willis is sprawled on his bed in the Four Seasons, in his bathrobe, when Earl comes in. There’s a Planet party in the evening for participants in the Toronto Film Festival. Willis has a labor-of-love film, “Breakfast of Champions,” in the fest and it will barely make a dime. But he’s floating--the summer’s unexpected blockbuster, “The Sixth Sense,” put him back on top of the movie world.

“It sounds like a good time to buy stock,” he says, with a hint of that trademark smirk.

In fact, Planet stock--last trading at 75 cents--has been off the Big Board since the Aug. 16 announcement. Their old shares will be worthless. Earl owns 30 million.

“It’s had a career much like actors’,” Willis says, nodding his head up and down. “Now’s the time to throw rocks at it.”

Earl laughs. When he announced that Planet would reorganize under Chapter 11, he tried to argue that “the real story” was how it could use the bankruptcy proceedings to shed unprofitable units and “go forward.”

But the headlines trumpeted that b-word, and many people thought he was going out of business. His manager in Chicago got 21 calls asking if the restaurant was still open. Earl couldn’t believe that “in certain papers, this displaced the tragedy in Turkey”--an earthquake that killed thousands--”as the headline.”

Yet he found the premature Planet Hollywood obituaries oddly reassuring. “About the power of the brand,” he explained. “It supports my theory about celebrity and branding and the consumer’s desire to lap it up.”

Under the reorganization plan, which will have to be approved by a judge, holders of the $250 million in bonds will get 26.5% of a new Planet stock issue. Almost all the rest will go to the three sources of the cash: a trust Earl set up for his three children, and two investors, Saudi Arabian Prince Alwaleed bin Talal and Singapore billionaire Ong Beng Seng. But those three will relinquish 10% of the total stock to celebrities who sign on with the reorganized company.

Willis will. He even offers a business suggestion--that they keep some Planets open late into the night for dancing, especially in Europe. “During the day, tourists and family people,” he says. “At night, just go nuts.”

“Big crowd tonight,” Earl says. “Mr. Weinstein just asked to come to the dance.”

That would be Harvey Weinstein, the head of Miramax.

“OK, you can invite him,” Willis says.

“And Kevin Spacey.”

“Nothing can beat Hollywood,” Willis says.

Earl fills him in on the latest plans for the relaunch: New York. After the reorganization, the Planet on 57th Street will be moved into what has been the flagship All-Star Cafe.

“It’s double the space and faces the MTV window,” Earl says--the sign will be visible on the music network’s live shows. “Opening in April, May would be absolutely the big bang.”

“What am I doin’?” Willis asks.

“You’re going to persuade Mayor Giuliani to close down Times Square.”

January 2000, Los Angeles

The good news: The judge has approved the reorganization.

The other news: Arnold, after nine years, is out.

Earl says he phoned Schwarzenegger’s manager as soon as word came from the court--he was free to start doling out the 10% celebrity share. “I said, ‘I’ll be here to see you this week.’ And that came out when I was going on the plane.”

That was Schwarzenegger’s press release saying, “It was lots of fun. . . .” But he was leaving the family. Headline writers could not resist an “hasta la vista” tag line.

Earl understands. It was Arnold’s picture, not his, that Time put in its “Losers” column when Planet went for Chapter 11.

Despite the defection, Earl is in a good mood. With the Times Square hotel gone hasta la vista too, he was able to spend New Year’s at the Caribbean island resort he owns with Planet’s Singaporean investor. Parrot Cay is very exclusive. Bruce was spinning. And guess where Jerry Seinfeld spent his honeymoon?

Earl is shutting both Los Angeles-area Planets.

With the one in Beverly Hills, the million-dollar opening couldn’t rewrite a horrendous lease. In retrospect, it was crazy. But they were flying so high, they signed. Because that Planet was on busy Wilshire Boulevard and abutted residential condominiums, tour buses were not allowed to park in front. Nor could the restaurant serve alcohol after 11 p.m. They could not hold movie premiere parties at the Planet Hollywood closest to Hollywood.

The Planet in Orange County--outside Costa Mesa’s South Coast Plaza--was the second in the nation, opening in 1992, after New York. For a while, it claimed to be the highest-grossing restaurant in California, taking in $14 million two years running.

A few months ago, Earl had met here with the original franchisee at the site, Frank DiBella, who recalled how traffic leveled off, then plunged, in part because “other concepts come in and take away from your business,” like a Rainforest Cafe nearby.

But the glut--and the struggles of Planet--did not sour DiBella on theme restaurants. He was considering taking over some sites Planet was abandoning for a new chain: Baywatch Restaurants.

June 2000, Los Angeles

You hear it from his friends and enemies alike: How does he do it?

In this case, How did he get Shaquille O’Neal to wear that T-shirt on the Leno show? Right after he was named MVP in the NBA playoffs, there’s Shaq displaying a giant Planet logo.

Leno pretends not to notice. But for months, he’s been tearing into the chain. “Planet Hollywood is trying to come back from bankruptcy,” he quipped in one monologue. “They are trying to win back the public with an alternative to their $30 hamburger. In fact, this week they are starting the new $600 all-you-can-eat buffet.”

After the show, Planet announces that Shaq, who was affiliated with the All-Star Cafe, is on board to promote the movie-themed chain--now 66 restaurants--for an “undisclosed” amount of stock.

But it can’t be just the money. Earl has 1 million shares for celebs, according to SEC filings. Over-the-counter trading in the new stock began May 15. It closed that day at $1.25 and has averaged $2.84 since. Though the celebrities can pick up options and more stock can be issued, the numbers at the moment add up to chicken feed for an athlete who earns $25 million a year from the Lakers alone.

“He’s a neighbor!” is how Earl explains it.

Last year, he took Shaq to Columbus, Ohio, for the opening of what he hoped would be the first in a series of Planet Movies, a 30-screen joint venture with the AMC theater chain. The celeb crowd wound up at the home of Leslie Wexner, head of the Limited Inc. Earl dared Shaq to guess what one of the man’s statues was worth.

“He said, ’10 grand?’ I said, ‘$3 1/2 million!’ He said, ‘No [way]! Then he calls over Jimmy Caan,” Earl recalls.

“He says, ‘You’re an actor--you feign a heart attack. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna take it!’ ”

November 2000, New York

He still doesn’t have that list. He’s been talking forever about a roster of new names but still hasn’t worked out exactly who is coming over from the “old Planet,” much less what new blood will sign on a dotted line and take stock, even if they give it to charity. “It’s a sensitive time,” Earl says.

He does, however, have a deal with ‘N Sync, the boy band that leads any list of teen idols.

Earl is old pals with the group’s founder, Lou Pearlman, the Orlando-based mastermind of the Backstreet Boys and other teen-market acts. Although ‘N Sync had a nasty split with his friend, Earl sent over an offer of “some help” last year. “I’d help with their travel.” Meaning a plane.

‘N Sync wanted to get from a tour stop to a charity basketball game in Atlanta. Done. Then he took the band to New York, where Planet hosted a party for the release of Will Smith’s new album. The relationship was begun.

Now ‘N Sync has a small window in its tour. The boys can be here Monday, Nov. 13.

Ready or not, it’s time. He can’t wait any longer to relaunch.

Planet’s latest quarterly report lists revenues of $47.7 million for the 13 weeks ending Sept. 24, down 41% from that period a year ago. While most of the decrease is due to the closing or franchising of 26 locations, there was a continuing drop--17%--in same-unit sales. It’s definitely time.

“His star has been tarnished,” says Chicago-based restaurant consultant Ron Paul. He recalls how recently it was that Planet Hollywood “was going to be an entertainment company like Disney,” Earl wowing Wall Street with his scenarios for casinos and restaurants based on Marvel comics. Then “they raised the money, opened and people didn’t come back,” Paul says.

Hard Rock co-founder Morton, who does have a casino--in Las Vegas--still taunts his former rival by offering a theory: “At the end of the day, while atmosphere is important, people expect edible food.”

Earl expects such potshots. “I’ve given them the ultimate ammunition,” he says. “I’ve gone public . . . and I’ve under-performed.”

He also says, “I still subscribe to the view that the general public wants more than just a meal.”

So here’s his outline of a new Big Three: ‘N Sync from music, Shaq from sports and Bruce from film. Although Stallone remains on board, “Mr. Bruce Willis has now become our spiritual leader,” Earl says, with a “substantially increased” stake.

Willis comes to town two weeks before the opening. He wants to go to the World Series. Earl’s office is delighted to get the tickets, figuring the TV cameras will find him in his Planet cap in the crowd. They do.

The old All-Star site is a wreck. Walls are hacked open, cables everywhere. A Planet vice president, Patty Caruso, is talking to police about what kind of ceremony they will allow. Earl once hoped for a live TV special. But when she mentions ‘N Sync and the possibility of a tune or two, they say, “No way”--the kids would riot. Times Square can’t be closed either, only 45th Street and two lanes of Broadway. Spectators must be behind barricades, on the sidewalk. They can have only a tiny stage. No singing. That’s fine with Willis. “I’m too old,” the actor says.

On the big night, Nov. 13, the neon “H” in “Hollywood” won’t fully light. Workmen are still installing the memorabilia, from Darth Vader’s black suit to the cross Max von Sydow used to exorcise the demon from Linda Blair. A fire inspector in a white cap demands to see the temporary certificate of occupancy. No TCO, no opening.

“A man from the city is meeting us at 7 o’clock on the corner,” Earl tells him.

“You’re late,” the inspector says. “It’s 7:10.”

Earl has no time to go back to his hotel to wash or change from his jeans and sweatshirt. But the permit comes--and the procession begins. There are four Rockettes in polar bear caps and a woman dressed as a green Statue of Liberty.

Down the red carpet stride Bruce and Sly (“Yo! New York!”) as do Ben Affleck, Puff Daddy, David Hasselhoff, Armand Assante and Miss Universe. Donald Trump too, and wrestler Diamond Dallas Page. There’s no question who has the juice, however, along with the biggest bodyguards. While a few youngsters behind the barricades carry “Bruce for President” signs, most are here to shriek at Justin Timberlake and the rest of ‘N Sync.

Earl senses the boys are edgy. They may be tired from touring. Perhaps they caught the tense moment when their 300-pound guards tried to tell New York police “it’s OK” when their personal videographer started shooting the group from a restricted area.

Inside, the five singers don’t linger long in the shoulder-to-shoulder VIP room. Perhaps they’re annoyed to see their former manager among the party-goers. They’re gone in half an hour.

Earl doesn’t care. Not in the least. Outside, where it counted, where image is created, they wore the logo. They said wonderful things about the Planet. The kids adored them.

The party will get picture spreads in People and Entertainment Weekly.

The next night, Tuesday, the restaurant hosts the premiere party for Willis’ new thriller, “Unbreakable.” More memorabilia is in place, as is a rug decorated with movie names (“Amadeus,” “Forrest Gump,” etc.). With fewer bodyguards showing their attitude, it’s downright civilized. There’s even a significant Hollywood conversation--between Affleck and the young writer-director of “Unbreakable,” M. Night Shyamalan, both of whom could be forces in the industry for years. Earl introduced them at Monday’s opening.

“If you saw this in isolation, would you think this company has a problem in the world?” he asks.

“What would please me, and what’s driving me, would be to be able to go back to Orlando and sit there,” he says. “And for the world to see that the formula is still working.”

But when will he find out?

He is supposed to fly out the next day for a Britney Spears party at the London Planet, then hop to Hong Kong and Japan, for appearances by Sly and Jackie Chan, who is a partner in a company that has bought the Asian franchises. The Japanese event is a promising sign, a groundbreaking for a new Planet--at Disney’s Tokyo park.

Earl stays here instead. He films a skit for “The Tonight Show”--he’d be getting a little equal time, as they say. In the bit, he brings in boxer Evander Holyfield to clobber two cardboard film figures bearing Leno’s head. The message: We ain’t dead, pal.

Outside the restaurant, a security man is explaining to a mother and five teens that Planet Hollywood is holding charity events and will not open for real for a week or two. Earl stops him.

“This is what I’d like you to tell them,” he says. “Tell them that if they come back at 5, we’ll let them in. Let’s open to the public today.”

That was that. The Planet was relaunched.

So now he’ll find out: Were the bright lights of the parties blinding him from the numbers, or will they drive up the bottom line? Will the fans of Bruce and Shaq and ‘N Sync find his restaurants? Will they buy his T-shirts?

“They will,” he insists. “I think they’ll really like the hamburgers now.”