Gunfight At The O-Tay Corral (1987)
At the outset, a few disclaimers are in order. Frankly, I did not participate in or witness the trial which took place in early 1987 in a packed courtroom in the Nassau County Supreme Court building just a few blocks from my office. (I did, however, have the opportunity to sit in the packed parking lot of the aforesaid court -- a nasty experience by any stretch of the imagination!)
Similarly, I have not reviewed either the court file or the actual contract which gave rise to the litigation.
Finally, I have not discussed the trial with either Eddie Murphy (although he did tell me to "get out of [his] way"), his attorneys or other representatives.
So, you might ask, what then is there to talk about? Or, as we say at Passover, why is this trial different from all other trials?
This trial, competing only with the Baby M case for intensity of media coverage in 1979, seemed to capture the hearts and minds of the public. Throngs of people gathered to see "The Murph" and bask vicariously in the accolades bestowed upon him by press and public alike.
On a sociological level, the Murphy phenomenon imparts a subtle yet inescapable message. We seem to live vicariously through our pop icons, using our superstars as the catalysts for the Walter Mitty in each of us. Who among us doesn't harbor hidden thoughts of being mobbed by adoring fans, of Lear jets and limos, hotel suites as well as the concomitant accoutrements of a superstar lie (that was the most inconspicuous way I could think of to say sex, drugs, 'n' rock 'n' roll). When a box office megastar purchases a multi-million dollar home in Beverly Hills, we who shelled out five and a half bucks (that's right sports fans, eleven simoleons for you and the little missuz to take in the latest cinematic fare -- fourteen in Manhattan) feel somewhat like limited shareholders in the purchase of that house. (Inquiring minds do want to know!) Conversely, there are still those who harbor resentments and feel personally slighted by Yoko Ono, insinuating that she "broke up the Beatles." Weren't they entitled to do with their lives as they saw fit? (Hey, wait just a minute there, buddy. Look, I don't buy her albums either, but let's give the lady a break already, f'chrissakes!)
Yet while others are content merely fantasizing what they would do if they had the money of an Eddie Murphy or a Paul McCartney, countless fall into that gray region between oblivion and superstardom -- mere scuffmarks on the sidewalk of success. We have witnessed a proliferation of nationwide competitions such as Star Search (a legitimate venture), a myriad of lip-sync contests, and open-mike nights at local comedy clubs which are often pre-booked for weeks, all of which attest to this seductive offshoot of the American Dream (and I'm going to resist, albeit unsuccessfully, the urge to cite that "former" actor whose Lear jet for eight years was better known as Air Force One).
Many superstars, including Eddie Murphy, Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen, began their forays into the entertainment industry as young, naive, unsophisticated artists. Within the industry, horror stories abound concerning managers and producers who still enjoy profit participation in their former clients' careers, even though the no longer work for the artists.
Given the inherent disparity in relative bargaining strength between the new artist and the (purportedly) sophisticated manager or producer, the New York State Legislature has enacted statutory safeguards which not only protect an artist, but which give an artist certain criteria with which to evaluate a prospective industry deal.
Of major significance to up-and-coming (or down-and-going) artists is Section 37.07 of the Arts and Cultural Affairs Law. This little-known (even to many attorneys) statute is entitled "Performing artists; ads for availability of employment," and in essence prohibits anyone holding themselves out to the public by any designation indicating a connection with show business (including but not limited to talent agents, talent scouts, personal managers, artist managers, impresarios, casting directors, public relations advisers or consultants, promotional advisers or consultants) to a) represent that they can secure employment in the entertainment industry when an advance fee of any nature is a condition of such employment; and more significantly, b) to accept from a member of the public any fee, retainer, advance payment or other compensation of any nature for services other than i) repayment for advances actually incurred, or ii) agreed commissions, royalties or similar compensation based upon payments to an artist as a result of entertainment-related employment.
Essentially, the statute forbids advertising or similar practices which promise entertainment employment where front money is involved, presumably taking into account the difference in bargaining power between the neophyte and the high-powered impresario with his (or her) pictures of famous friends and clients on the walls. How many times have you seen ads in the back of national periodicals promising fame and stardom at reasonable rates?
Interestingly enough, a similar situation arises in the area of spec deals. Of times, someone will agree to shop a tape for a specific cash fee, which in my mind raises questions whether such behavior is even permissible under the New York statute. It seems to me that the person who refuses to take less (or no) front money in exchange for a substantially higher point participation upon the signing of a deal must have little, if any, faith in the tape he or she is shopping!
A second set of statutes central to the Eddie Murphy litigation are found in Article 11 of the General Business Law. These statutes define a "Theatrical Employment Agency" and require licensing as a prerequisite for procuring employment. Exempt from the licensing requirement, however, is the manager who incidentally procures employment for an artist as part of his/her managerial functions. New York's law is less rigid than the comparable California statute which requires licensing for all booking activities, thus correctly taking into account the need for the manager of a fledgling group to do a limited amount of bookings as an incident of employment.
I spoke with Frank Shellace, law secretary to Judge Kenneth Molloy, who presided at the Broder-Murphy trial. He mentioned that as a result of the ambiguities as to the amount of booking a manager may do before a license is required, the statute is going to be reviewed in Albany and perhaps the State's lawmakers will resolve some of the trial's unanswered questions.
In conclusion, I personally find King Broder's claim that he was unaware of the contents of Article 11 utterly amusing yet hardly surprising. In his well-written opinion, Justice Molloy addressed Broder's claim with the case law equivalent of the maxim "Ignorantia legis non excusat," which translated means "Ignorance of the law is no excuse." This is just another example of why artist and manager alike need to seek competent counsel while making an agreement, so as to avoid similarly distasteful situations. Yet, when all else fails, keep in mind that other time-honored Latin maxim, "Illigitimi non carborundum" ("Don't let the bastards wear you down").
