When I got the call from Harvey's assistant Fortuna, I was stunned to say the least. Honestly at this point, having done only a single interview with a cable company phone rep, I'm surprised anybody knew about this column. I promptly cancelled my upcoming Q & A's with my sushi delivery man and local laundromat attendant, and prepped myself to sit down with the Tinseltown Tycoon, the Sultan of Cinema, the Supreme Lord of La La Land himself: mega-producer Harvey Weinstein.
Harvey: I don't like that last one - the La La Land garbage - what's that supposed to be? Dump it.
CC: I apologize Mr. Weinstein, all I was trying to s----
Harvey: Listen moron, you have 2.5 minutes for this interview. You understand? One hundred and fifty seconds. Don't waste your time apologizing like a little baby giraffe.
CC: What are baby giraf--ok nevermind. So Mr. Weinstein, with over 200 groundbreaking, lucrative films under your belt and multiple Academy Awards on your shelf, what more could you possibly hope to accomplish in this town?
Harvey: First of all, 'under your belt?', is that some kind of jab at my weight? You realize that this belly is not from Rolling Rock and Buffalo wings my friend. This is from 20 years of fois gras pancakes and truffle-fried lobster tails. Everyday. This is champagne recovered from the wreck of the Titanic every morning for breakfast. This is Mario Big-Boy Batali following me around with a solid gold pasta machine and making me homemade toretillini wherever the hell I might want a bowl of fucking homemade tortellini. I have him use zebra's milk for the cream sauce. Why? Because my daughter likes Marty from Madagascar - and she asked me to.
CC: Sir with all due respect I wasn't----
Harvey: Shut your mouth. Listen to that for one second. Did you hear it? That was the sound of another hundred million dollars falling into my bank account. Puuuffff. It makes a nice, soft, sound these days, like when you drop a Whole Foods tote bag full of blow onto a feather bed.
CC: I see. So this year you produced another excellent film, The Master, which has been generating quite a bit of Oscar buzz. Can you tell me a little bit about the movie and why you decided to get involved with it?
Harvey: Excuse me for just one second please. "Fortuna, can you push my steamed coconut meat scrub to 2 o'clock? Yes. Right before my chlorophyll soak. Thank you." So what were we talking about? Oh right, The Master. I've never seen it. I don't know anything about it except that when you watch it, I'm told the Oscar statue literally gives you a handjob in your seat. It's that good. You understand what I'm saying to you? Phil Hoffman, crazy-faced Joaquin, all of PT's gorgeous, indecipherable bullshit - it's an Academy sweep across the board. Sign, sealed, delivered. Speaking of signed, do you know what the world's most valuable autograph is?
CC: Actually I do, it's thought to be Julius Caesar's; because one has never been found.
Harvey: Oh, look! We have a boy genius in the house - Mr. Good Will Hunting ladies and gentleman! Which I also produced, as you obviously should know. So look up on the wall behind you Wikipedia...you see that? That's Julius Caesar's autograph, on the back of a Dead Sea Scroll. You know where I got that? WHO CARES. That's where. I get my lunch flown in everyday from a beach bar in Dubai. Why? Because I like the little goji berries they put in their tabouleh. Could I just get my own goji berries and put them in the tabouleh from the falafel truck out on the corner? Probably. But I like the way they taste after flying 8000 miles.
CC: Don't you think that's an extreme environmental burden and a reckless waste of fuel to do that everyday?
Harvey: It would be, if I hired a jet. But I'm on Team Obama. Which means I support clean energy all around my friend. I pay the delivery guy triple to go green. He flies it all here on his big, floppy, magic carpet. Steers that sunuvabitch right in through my window, fringes and all. Don't ask me how. Don't know, don't care. What I do care about is my next film. It's the story of a gritty, down-on-his-luck, Philadelphia boxer who fights his way to the top and gets a shot at the world champ. There's even a love story going on after he falls in love with his trainer's cute, mousy little sister. It's gonna be huge. I predict five sequels.
CC: Sir, forgive me for asking, but isn't that the same exact----
Harvey: Get the hell out of my office.