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Autumn of the Moguls by Michael Wolff

 

Rating: (Read only if your interest is strong)

 

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Vacuous

If you’re a regular reader of Michael Wolff’s “This Media Life” column in New York Magazine, you already know what’s in his new book. Autumn of the Moguls. If you don’t read that column, your interest in the media probably isn’t large enough to lead you to bother reading this book. Anyway, here’s an excerpt from the beginning of Chapter 10, “Not Getting It,” (pp. 92-96):

My problem, my analytic failure, is in always thinking this is the end That it must be the end. That it has to be obvious to everyone that this is the end. That we have reached the point at which reformation must begin. That the moral of the story is clear.

 

By July 2002, there was the absolute logical certainty that AOL Time Warner, the largest company in the media business, among the largest companies in the world, could not survive. The collapse of Vivendi was nearly a fait accompli. Bertelsmann was in deep retreat, they would surely sell Random House, its vast over-the-top acquisition (again, that problem of foreigners and due diligence)1 if only there were a buyer. Disney had become one of those isolated nation - Romania of the Ceausescu era, or North Korea - held together only because its own despot had so thoroughly isolated himself from reason and the rest of the world. Viacom was a company caught between two warring chief executives who would sooner see each other dead than save the enterprise. News Corp. was run by the ancient mariner, almost mystical in his leadership. (What happens when the mystical leader dies?) All this together with the full of Enron, WorldCom, Global Crossing, and Adelphia. and an epochal challenge to the cult of corporate personality—a post—Maoist climate, almost.

 

If I had briefly thought Heilemann and Battelle had an extraordinary opportunity—a chance to seize an antibehemoth Zeitgeist—now I began to think, Who would even come to a media conference? Who would want to? The media was dead—everybody knew. Must know.

 

And yet, certainly I was the shortsighted one.

 

When you listen to the journalists and analysts covering the media business, you can actually think it’s an orderly. self-correcting world we work in. Reporters might spend a day ripping Messier or Pittman or Middelhoff to shreds, but then, shortly. return to defending Vivendi or AOL Time Warner or Bertelsmann.

 

“In fact.” said the Times. “once all the broken promises about being a new breed of company for a new millennium are discounted, AOL Time Warner does not seem to he in such had shape. considering the economy.”

 

Reporters resist following to the end the cold logic of breakdown and collapse - even for the fun of it. They can’t seem to help thinking that invariably, rationality will emerge out of the current mess. If Martha Stewart goes to jail, the world will have been righted. It’s all ultimately part of a healthy process. After this period of resignations, terminations, investigations, and reorganizations, normalcy will return.

 

The rules of reporting and analysis are that even if you have good reason to suspect that the end is near, that events are largely out of control, that very bad things will invariably happen to very bad companies, you’re not allowed to say it. There’s just no formula or model for applying any sort of chaos theory, or even gut sense, to business reporting or corporate analysis.

 

You couldn’t say what seemed pretty obvious: that nobody knew how to run the superaggregated and radically transformed companies that came into being during the past decade. That these companies defied control, were too vast and far-flung and composed of too many recalcitrant people and inimical functions. This, together with the fact that the guys who ran these companies often clearly had no idea what they were doing.

 

Everybody but the most literal-minded knew this.

 

But to be a respectable business reporter, you have to pretend the world is a coherent, rational, by-the-numbers place. You can’t report that everything is up for grabs, that the greatest likelihood is that we’re deep into a process that will cause the reordering of most of the basic structures of the media business—that the sky is falling.

 

Now, each of the management coups at AOL Time Warner, Vivendi, and Bertelsmann during the summer of2002 was reported as a function of internal travails, and that is obviously the case— each enterprise was reporting its own variation on a looming cash crisis, which, in business terms, is the mother of all crises. On the other hand, three is a trend. Three indicates a mass movement, a systems issue, a rapidly spreading condition. It is not just a function of bad management but of larger, converging forces. History is turning against you—and is probably out to get you. And there’s no way to manage yourself out of the mess.

 

But responsible reporters can’t say that.

 

Which is why I started to wonder if I might have special powers.

 

I wondered if I didn’t see the natural unfolding of the business narrative just as the most self-absorbed and megalomaniac CEO might see it: as an existential drama that, by the sheer force of bravura narcissism, can be bent to one’s will—or not, and then you lose control of it. That’s the game. All or nothing. Play it well or blow it.

 

What we had surely learned was that all of these companies that have seen themselves as part of some new, freer, liberating economic condition are emotional creations—they are psychological as much as management case studies. And to understand them, to be able to analyze them, you have to have some appreciation of the unique dysfunction of their top managers—the nuances of their hyperacquisitiveness and unsettling mood elevations. But even now, business reporters can’t break the habit of assuming that even the most imperial CEO is a tempered and rational being. And if he isn’t, then he must be a crook—an anomaly, a terrible and unfortunate exception.

 

Now, you’d be hard-pressed to get anyone to accept my theory (to accept it as an analytic model, at any rate) that the larger and higher-profile the company, the bigger the nutcase who runs it.

 

But let me push it.

 

Many of my journalistic colleagues, an earnest and respectful lot, seem to be of the mind that what has happened at the various media companies that have replaced top executives is a generally healthy move from personality-oriented management to—in the figures of phlegmatic Richard Parsons at AOL  TW, austere Jean-René Fourtou at Vivendi, and bland Gunter Thielen at Bertelsmann—less charismatic, more nuts-and-bolts, more rational leadership. Well, yes, possibly—perhaps everything works out nicely in the end. “AOL Time Warner’s biggest problem—the one that its new management team is bound to tackle first—is its credibility with investors and customers, not the soundness of its various divisions,” wrote Saul Hansell in the Times, giving the adults-are-back-in-charge analysis.

 

I, on the other hand, would theorize that what has happened at these companies is merely a reverse psychosis—the flip side of the same condition. We have just moved from the manic phase into clinical depression.

 

At Vivendi, the company is now run, in effect, by the French government, depressed for half a century.

 

At Bertelsmann, the company is now run by the guy who, until just before his surprise elevation, pressed the CDs.

 

And at AOL Time Warner, you have in Richard Parsons a canny imitation of the walking dead.

 

For argument’s sake, and in the interest of developing a method by which we might accurately predict the coming apocalypse of the media business, let’s assume that these men will not deliberately disassemble what has so irrationally been assembled. Let’s assume, too, that the hubris that created these companies does not naturally convert to reason—rather, it converts from mania to helplessness. In my model, then, these companies are now being run by men much less temperamentally suited to run them than even the overblown figures they’ve replaced. The situation has not gotten better; it has gotten worse (and less fun too). More chaos.

 

The worst case, you have to figure, always gets worse.

 

And yet, everybody who should have been running screaming into the night or hanging their head in shame would be showing up at Heilemann’s and Batelle’s and Rattner’s conference.

 

Wolff’s role as both participant and observer makes the reading of Autumn of the Moguls more or less interesting, depending on your reaction to personal anecdotes. By the end of the book, I knew more about the media players than I ever desired to know. If you have an interest in media, or curiosity, especially about the mighty mergers, give this book a try. Otherwise, take a pass.

Steve Hopkins, February 23, 2004

 

ã 2004 Hopkins and Company, LLC

 

The recommendation rating for this book appeared in the March 2004 issue of Executive Times

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