The air in the Atari workshop was thick with the scent of ozone, solder, and youthful optimism.
Duke Hauser stood in the center of the room, watching a group of engineers in flannel shirts talk while "It's my party" track buzzed through a tinny radio in the corner.
Nolan Bushnell, wiped a smudge of grease onto his jeans and beckoned Duke toward a massive, plywood-framed behemoth in the corner.
"Forget Pong, Duke," Nolan said, his eyes bright. "This is the future of arcades."
He slapped the side of a machine labeled Speedway.
Unlike the austeresimplicity of Atari's first hit, Pong, this cabinet featured a steering wheel, a gear shift, and a seat.
Nolan explained. "We're using a projection system combined with discrete logic. When you turn that wheel, the road moves. It's the closest thing a teenager can get to a driver's license without a permit."
Duke ran a hand over the steering wheel.
He knew that in a few years, the world would say this was normal, but right now, it was a mechanical miracle. "The immersion is the key, Nolan."
"Exactly," Nolan grinned. "But if you want immersion, look at the project in the back. We're calling it Killer Shark."
They walked to a second prototype.
It was a light-gun game, but instead of targets on a screen, it used a complex system of mirrors and a physical plastic shark that moved behind a transparent window.
When the player pulled the trigger, a flash of light registered the hit, and the shark would "move" in a programmed sequence.
"It's mechanical, Duke," Nolan said. "The kids love the predator-prey dynamic. We're working on the timing, making it feel like the shark is actually hunting you."
Duke watched the mechanical beast circle its blue-tinted tank. He saw the potential for a cross-media explosion that Nolan couldn't yet fathom.
"Keep pushing the mechanical-electronic hybrid, Nolan. The more advance it is, the more it feels like an event. We're going to need a lot of these for my next film."
Duke couldn't help but be shocked by the ingenuity that these machines worked with.
Duke returned to the Paramount lot in Hollywood forty-eight hours later.
He walked into his office to find a man.
Clive Davis sat in one of the leather armchairs, his suit sharp. Duke mostly remembered him cause he was the alleged future mentor of P. Diddy.
Clive had been the king of CBS Records until a messy, political ousting left him a free agent. Duke had moved to offer him a job before anyone else.
He needed a capable person to run the label back into shape.
"Clive," Duke said, sitting behind the mahogany desk.
"I'll be brief. Dot Records is a mess. I've also already retired the name. As of this morning, it is Paramount Records. I've cleared the dead weight of executives, and the budget is sitting in a holding account."
Clive leaned back slightly, "And the mandate? Every studio wants a label, Duke."
"Usually, they just want a place to dump their film scores and keep their stars happy. If that's what this is, I'm the wrong man."
"I don't care about keeping people happy, Clive," Duke said with a disarming frankness. "I care about the charts. Paramount Records needs to be an independent powerhouse. I'm giving you total autonomy."
"I don't want to hear about the day-to-day. I don't want to approve your A&R signings."
"My focus is on the films, comics, and the television wing. If you make the label profitable and culturally relevant, I'll stay out of your view. If you mess up, I'll find someone who won't."
Clive nodded, a small, respect-filled smile playing on his lips. "I can work with that. Most moguls want to pick the lead single. You just want the results which makes things simple."
"I do have a few suggestions to get you started," Duke said, sliding a folder across the desk.
"We have a film in production called Shaft. Isaac Hayes is doing the score. It's orchestral, it's soulful, and it's the sound of the seventies. Make sure Isaac has everything he needs."
He once read about the biggest sountrack succcess in film in his past life, so he knew that the 1971 Shaft soundtrack by Isaac Hayes was a massive commercial success.
Achieving Platinum status within a month of its release and peaking at number one on the Billboard 200, where it remained for 14 weeks.
It was the perfect start for their label, a guareanted success.
"And the scouting? Any tips on that?" Clive asked.
"Look toward the West Coast folk scene," Duke said. "There's a girl named Linda Ronstadt who i been told it's good."
"Get ahead of the curve, Clive. Build the label around artists, not soundtracks."
Clive stood up, tucking the folder under his arm. "Autonomy is a great gift, Duke. I hope you're ready for the bill."
"Just bring me the results, Clive and I'll handle the rest."
As Clive exited, Bruce Lansbury, the head of Paramount Television, entered.
He was responsible for the wing of the studio that was currently the most neglected, yet in Duke's mind, it was a potential pillar of Paramount.
"Bruce," Duke greeted him. "Give me the state of the Television division. And don't sugarcoat it."
Lansbury sighed, spreading a series of spreadsheets across the desk. "It's a struggle, Duke."
"Ever since Lucille Ball left, we are in a downturn. We're a service provider now."
"We rent out the stages for The Brady Bunch, which is doing 'okay' on ABC, but it's not a phenomenon."
"Mission: Impossible is our only real prestige hit on CBS, but it's getting expensive to produce. We're seen as a second-tier supplier. The networks are looking to Universal or Fox first."
Duke stood up and began to pace. "Tell me about the library and the development slate."
"Well, Star Trek is dead since last year. We're getting most of our profit from syndication," Lansbury said.
"It's a good move," Duke nodded. "Now, let's look at the scripts. What are we passing on?"
He spent the next hour sifting through a mountain of manila folders. Most were tired Westerns or clones of I Love Lucy.
But then, he saw two titles that made his pulse quicken.
"Columbo and All in the Family," Duke said, pulling them from the pile. "Why aren't these in production?"
"Columbo... the networks think a mystery where you know the killer at the start is boring," Lansbury explained.
"And All in the Family? It's too controversial. The lead character is a bigot, it'll offend everyone from New York to Alabama."
"It won't offend them," Duke said. "I want these fast-tracked. If the networks are scared, we'll co-finance the pilot."
"On that note," Lansbury said, "I have a deal on the table that might interest you. Jack Webb, the Dragnet man wants to partner with us. He has a concept called Emergency!."
"It's about the new paramedic programs in LA. He wants a 50/50 partnership on the copyright, with his company, Mark VII, keeping the non-theatrical and educational distribution rights."
Duke considered it. Jack Webb was the king of the "procedural."
"Take the deal," Duke said. "But negotiate the international distribution. I want Paramount to own the world rights. Paramedics are a universal concept. It's clean, it's heroic, and it's the kind of show that can run for a decade. Sign it."
The sun was beginning to dip behind the Hollywood Hills, Duke sat in his private screening room, the air humming with the sound of a 35mm projector.
He wasn't alone. Gary Kurtz, his trusted producer, sat to his left. To his right was a young man with a mop of unruly hair and oversized glasses.
Steven Spielberg.
Steven wasn't a director for Paramount yet, but Duke had hired him as a producer and signed a 10 pictures deal with him.
"The dailies for Klute, Duke," Kurtz said as the lights dimmed.
On the screen, the raw footage of Alan J. Pakula's film began to play. It was dark, grainy, and sophisticated. The new lead actress that Pakula had discovered, Jessica Lange
was a revelation
"Look at the lighting," Steven whispered, leaning forward. "Pakula is using the shadows to tell the story of her isolation."
Duke watched the footage, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. His decision to pivot away from the political baggage of Fonda had been vindicated by the sheer quality of the work.
"It's a prestige hit, Gary. This is going to win awards. It's the perfect counter-balance to the action films we have in the pipeline."
As the lights came up, Steven stood up and wandered over to a corner of the room where a strange object sat on a pedestal.
It was the prototype for Nolan Bushnell's Killer Shark, which Duke had brought over from Los Gatos to test.
"What is this?" Steven asked, peering into the mirrored box.
"It's the future of entertainment, Steven, an arcade" Duke said, walking over. "Atari's new mechanical-electronic hybrid."
Steven picked up the light-gun. He peered through the sights, watching the plastic shark circle its blue, incandescent world. He pulled the trigger. Click-clack. The shark thrashed.
"It's fantastic," Steven said, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his face. "The movement... it's so simple."
"You like sharks, Steven?" Duke asked, his voice casual.
"I love the mechanics of fear," Steven replied, still aiming the light-gun. "I love the idea of an unseen threat. It's the most cinematic thing there is."
"I'll keep that in mind," Duke said.
He turned to Gary Kurtz. "Gary, make sure Steven gets a tour of the Atari lab next week."
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I researched a lot, like so much information for this chapter
I also wanted to spread this across a few chapters to not make it feel rushed but i was struggling with today chapter