The King of The Deal, Super Agent Swifty Lazar

Chuck Pick at Spago's with Irving "Swifty" Lazar, super agent.

The 84th Annual Academy Awards air Sunday, February 26th on ABC. I am a writer, so when Oscar time arrives, I find myself filled with anticipation. I actually find that the build-up to the Academy Awards is maddening--I want to watch, I don't want to watch.

I want to be in that audience. I can't wait for that category--Best Original Screenplay--to be announced. Of course I want to win. In order to get my original screenplay produced, I need an agent--a super-agent. When I was a kid, besides reading books, I spent the remainder of my time in a movie theater. I had figured out that writers wrote movies. And writers need agents to represent their work. Irving "Swifty" Lazar was featured in one of my Academy Award books. Decades later I would read Michael Korda's great piece, "The King of The Deal", which appeared in the New Yorker in March of 1993. More recently, Lazar's appearance on screen in "Frost/Nixon" reminded me what a player he was--Swifty represented ex-President Richard M. Nixon. Korda is best remembered as an editor-in-Chief at Simon & Schuster.

Korda paints a picture of an agent, a short, perhaps foppish man with gigantic glasses who wielded power whether he was on the east or west coast. Korda writes, "At “21,” I had only to mention Lazar’s name to be treated like royalty. I was swept to a red-checked table downstairs, opposite the bar, and given a bowl of celery and olives on ice and a basket of rolls." Korda in his reportage, reveals the truth about this super-agent--Lazar never considered himself an agent at all. He saw himself as a deal-maker. Hollywood stars had an agent and Swifty Lazar to make deals for them. With big name authors, Lazar would offer them up to rival publishing houses whether he actually represented the writer or not. The story about Lazar offering up Truman Capote without his permission is a classic:

“Truman Capote,” Lazar said, way back at the beginning of our relationship. “Wanna do a deal with him?” At the time, Capote was high on the best-seller lists, and was one of the bright stars at Random House, while I was an unknown junior editor at a house not then famous for fiction. It seemed to me unlikely that Capote would want to leave Random House, or that Random House would let him go, and I said so. “I can see you don’t have the guts for this kind of thing, sonny,” Lazar sniffed—he always called me “sonny” when he was pissed off—and he hung up, no doubt to offer Capote elsewhere. (Capote was still a Random House author when he died.)

But back to the Hollywood angle. As a child, my parents indulged my love of Hollywood by gifting me a subscription to the Academy Award club. Each month a new volume arrived in an envelope and inside was a look at the awards by year. There were in-depth articles on the Best Picture winner, the Best Actress winner, etc. I was of course struck with the fact that there was a category for writers.  It was at this point in my life that I began to learn the names of screenwriters.

I learned about the Writer's Guild of America. I discovered that there was one on each coast, but it was the one on the west coast which interested me the most. There was a list printed with some of the best film scripts ever written. Lazar not only represented some of the top writers, he also made deals for screenwriters, directors, actors, and  producers whose work appeared on that list. I wanted my work on a list like that and I certainly wanted Lazar for an agent. However, his real claim to fame came Academy Award night time, when the A-list stars -- many of them his clients -- attended his Oscar party held at Wolfgang Puck's Spago's restaurant. 

When Lazar died, Hollywood lost not only an iconic deal maker, it lost one of its most glamorous parties. I lost an opportunity to be represented by one of the great deal-makers. I love the Oscars.

The stars gather at Spago's. (At left, Lazar and his trademark glasses.)