
Monday, February 1, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
ryan kavanaugh.


Ryan Kavanaugh's office lobby, on the fifth floor of a formerly modern building in West Hollywood, looks like a lot of office lobbies: Under a battered foam ceiling, a receptionist sits behind a high counter, answering a phone that never stops ringing; on either side of her there are some neglected potted plants, dusty in the fluorescent light; in front of her a glass table has been covered with the type and vintage of magazines normally found at a dentist's. The only difference between Ryan Kavanaugh's office lobby and your office lobby is that Ron Howard is sitting in his, in hiking boots, declining politely the receptionist's offer of a bottle of Yosemite water. "I'm A-okay," Howard says. He's come here this afternoon looking for more than something to drink.
The chances are good that Howard has come here, like many of the people who come here, looking for money. For the most part, money has become hard to find in Hollywood, even for men like Ron Howard. Plagued by a combination of rising costs, the credit squeeze, investor flight, digital piracy, the repeal of arcane German tax laws, and too much crap, the usual vaults have gone empty. The Weinsteins have been told by consultants to cut back their slate to ten films a year, New Line has all but disappeared into the maw at Warner Bros., and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, founded in 1924, is on the verge of bankruptcy. No one has any money anymore — no one, it seems, except Ryan Kavanaugh: a thirty-four-year-old onetime venture capitalist and wannabe rock star with messy red hair, a man who refuses to wear anything on his feet but blue Converse All-Stars, even on those rare occasions when he wears a suit. About thirty feet away from the chair presently occupied by Ron Howard, Kavanaugh sits behind a curved zebrawood desk and on top of an estimated $2 billion in liquid assets, much of which comes courtesy of Elliott Associates, a venerable New York — based hedge fund that has $13 billion more where that came from. Which means that if you see a movie sometime in the next twelve months, it's even money that it's been financed at least partly by Kavanaugh through his company, Relativity Media, LLC.
The majority of the movies made by giants Sony and Universal — three quarters of them, in fact — rely on his financing. Warner Bros. has been known to dip into his kitty, and so has Marvel. Atlas Entertainment, where Batman was born, recently struck a coproduction deal with him. Earlier this year, Relativity bought Rogue, Universal's horror imprint, and it will also put out a dozen of its own films — "single pictures," in the local lexicon — next year. All told, Relativity, and thus Ryan Kavanaugh, will produce or coproduce as many as thirty-five movies in 2010.
But what separates Kavanaugh from most producers is not just that he's making movies, it's how he's making movies. Ron Howard has to wait in the office lobby because, at the moment, Kavanaugh is delivering his own pitch to an author who has written a book that a lot of people want to turn into a movie. The author has been making the Hollywood rounds and has spent the last several minutes dropping the names of the famous directors he has met. (Kavanaugh seems unimpressed: He has 10,476 numbers stored on his phone; later, when he goes to the Chateau Marmont for dinner, it takes maybe sixty seconds for Baz Luhrmann to appear out of the foliage and give him a hug.) Kavanaugh counters by telling the author that he, too, knows lots of famous directors — there might even be one waiting in the office lobby — and then he explains to the author why he would be foolish to sell the rights to his book to anyone else. "We might not give you $10 million up front," Kavanaugh says. "But if we tell you we're going to make a movie out of your book, we'll actually make a movie out of your book."
Sunday, January 24, 2010
mayer stoned.




"...I remember reading biographies of my favorite musicians [when I was in Atlanta] — Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimi Hendrix, Buddy Guy — and I always knew growing up, "Let's be really badass and really nice," because if you're badass and you're nice and you're engaging, then no one else has an excuse. It became part of the thing I wanted to do — to be excellent and kind.
It's ridiculous to be able to have a $20 million vintage watch collection, and it's also ridiculous to be able to have somebody climbing the hill across from your house and taking pictures of you. And it's ridiculous to worry about your friends from high school, them getting upset for you not calling enough, then denouncing you. I used to want to repurpose the word "douchebag." If somebody's going to keep calling me one, I'm going to own it..."
It got to the douche point when he said $20 million watch collection. I just threw up on my keyboard.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
kid cudi


Monday, January 18, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
keeping it in the family.


Sunday, January 3, 2010
blake mycoskie



Tuesday, December 29, 2009
plastic aviators?


Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
the heiress

As the fashion-obsessed daughter of Bernard Arnault, chairman of the luxury-goods company LVMH Moet Hennessy Louis Vuitton, Delphine Arnault has long had a front-row seat at LVMH fashion shows. But last fall her father decided that the time had come for her to have a front-row seat in his LVMH business dealings too. Delphine, 28, was appointed to the board of LVMH, becoming the only woman alongside 15 men.
Delphine has undergone a quiet fashion apprenticeship over the past three years. After graduating from the London School of Economics, she worked for two years at McKinsey in Paris before joining LVMH in 2000. She learned the business with John Galliano, working on product development and marketing for his label and then switching to Dior. Now Delphine heads Dior's women's shoe division, one of the company's fastest-growing sectors. "She's got a very good sense of product, a very good eye," says Sidney Toledano, chief executive of Dior Couture, who says Delphine is treated the same as anyone else at the company. "Her father insists on that."
The Dior job takes Delphine out on the road frequently, checking in with Dior factories, ensuring that retailers are giving suitable prominence to her merchandise and trying to gauge the public's reaction to new products. People at the company who know her say she can be shy on first contact but that she's a careful observer who appears to have inherited her father's determination to get the job done.
Bringing a young and inexperienced family member onto the board of a public company can be touchy in the U.S., but in France it is common practice, and company insiders say Arnault had no qualms about it. Through a complex holding structure, the family owns 65% of the voting rights and 48% of the capital of LVMH. With Delphine, the family has three of the 16 board seats; Bernard Arnault's father Jean, 83, is the third. If Delphine can prove herself, she could be well placed to succeed her father one day. But Dad's only 54 and shows no sign of relinquishing power to anyone. --By Peter Gumbel FOR TIME MAGAZINE


























