Can Mel tame the monster within?

Larry Ellison CEO of Oracle delivers a keynote speech at the Oracle Open World 2005 conference at the Moscone Center

DURING MY RUN as a film executive at MGM, one of my jobs was to look after a Mel Gibson movie titled "Mrs. Soffel." I vividly remember the youthful star as a complete contradiction. On the set he was diligent and considerate of his colleagues. At night when he hit the booze he instantly transformed himself into a surly and belligerent drunk.

The word on the set was: Enjoy the "good Mel" and avoid "Monster Mel" at all cost.

That was more than 20 years ago, but now Monster Mel has emerged yet again. His behavior following his arrest for drunk driving over the weekend was truly (in his words) despicable. Damage control squads doubtless will rush to his side, but the fallout from his anti-Semitic tirades to the arresting officer will be formidable. The critics will forever kill him. Sectors of the audience will shun his work. His credibility as a filmmaker has been seriously compromised.

Battling alcoholism is a fierce struggle. But Gibson's demons go deeper than booze. A deeply religious man, Gibson has done his share of soul-searching, but it's his character that's at stake here, not his soul. Through his incoherent tirades, he has betrayed his friends and colleagues. But most importantly, he has betrayed himself.

Malibu dreamin'

This is the time of year when tourist hordes cruise Pacific Coast Highway, drawn here by the Myth of Malibu.

Somewhere in this showbiz mecca, they know, Lindsay Lohan is partying, while E! Channel superstars like Cisco Adler, Jesse Metcalfe and (of course) Paris Hilton are sunbathing and volleyballing along the luxuriant sandy stretches.

The question is, "where?"

The fabled PCH, visitors find, is about as glam as an In-N-Out Burger in Topeka. The citadels of celebrityhood are sealed from view. Even the paparazzi usually get lost, settling for a bad burger at Moonshadows.

Movies and TV have made Malibu a mythic place, but even when you penetrate the sanctum sanctorum, it proves vaguely disappointing. Walk the beaches along zillionaire row and the guys are talking weekend grosses. Agents at Malibu parties behave like refugees from "Entourage." The homes reflect the tastes of people whose main problem in life is one of excess: The amount of money at their disposal vastly exceeds their ability to spend it.

Besides, Malibu is suffering a curious erosion these days. Many of the richest and most famous are defecting to Eastern haunts like Martha's Vineyard and East Hampton, where they can assimilate the styles of a more established establishment.

Meanwhile, some of the best homes in Malibu are being voraciously acquired by someone who doesn't even live here.

The uniquely eccentric Oracle billionaire, Larry Ellison, has lately spread around some $200 million to acquire a dozen Malibu properties and is even negotiating to buy a shopping center. Ellison's most recent bargain buy is a 22-acre property owned by music producer David Foster and his wife, Linda Thompson, former star of "Hee Haw." The estate includes three recording studios, guest house, pool, spa, seasonal stream, nine bedrooms and 11 bathrooms. It went for a mere $20 million.

The dot-com king actually makes his home in a modest $200 million, 16th century Japanese-style villa in Woodside, a suburb of San Francisco, so his Malibu spending spree is puzzling. Some theorize he may himself have been seduced by the Myth of Malibu and may want to meet Lindsay Lohan and Cisco Adler. He may have to settle for that bad burger at Moonshadows.

Topsy-turvy toppers

When Viacom disclosed its plan to subdivide, amoeba-like, there was no doubt among the analysts about which side would be the stronger. Armed with the Paramount studio, MTV and other growth sectors, Tom Freston's company would easily roll over Leslie Moonves' stolid CBS wing. Displaying his customary gamesmanship, Moonves even compared CBS to Commonwealth Edison, the stuck-in-the-mud utility.

Over a year later, it's Moonves who has the chance to crow. Freston's company has been clobbered by the market; press reports are suddenly describing the 60-year-old hipster as being behind the times (see related story on MTV, page 13).

Meanwhile, Moonves, whose handling of the press is as cool as a Dr. Dog video, is doing his "aw shucks" routine while hinting that he may start making movies and otherwise doing Freston-like things, but more successfully.

None of this is especially pleasing to Sumner Redstone, who had theorized that two Viacoms would be stronger than one. Indeed, Redstone publicly rejects the rumored rivalry between his two lieutenants. Like the late Lew Wasserman, Redstone enjoys a little healthy competition, provided it encourages growth and doesn't hurt public confidence.

So is Les Moonves enjoying himself?

His close associates observe that what Moonves likes most of all is to win. He's winning now.