THE SSQQ WESTERN ERA

CHAPTER SIX:

SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER

Written by Rick Archer 

ROBERT STIGWOOD, MUSIC IMPRESARIO

Robert Stigwood was the man who brought Saturday Night Fever to the silver screen.  As we shall see, he benefitted greatly from the talents of John Travolta and the Bee Gees.  In addition, Stigwood got very lucky. 

Robert Stigwood got his start as a music producer.  Born in Australia, Stigwood moved to England at age 21.  Stigwood had a college degree, but no idea what to do with it.  After a series of dead-end jobs, Stigwood discovered he had a knack for promoting local rock bands in Portsmouth. 

Stigwood got his start in mid-Sixties as the manager of Eric Clapton.  It was Stigwood's idea to pair Clapton with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker.  This led to Cream, a fabulous rock band that briefly rivaled the fame of the Beatles and Rolling Stones. 

Stigwood managed The Who (Tommy, Pinball Wizard) as well as the Bee Gees.  Since they were very young and hailed from Australia, Stigwood had a soft spot for the three brothers.  In turn the Bee Gees were in awe of Stigwood.  He was the man who gave them their start.  The three brothers described Stigwood as a "creative genius with a quick and very dry wit".

Stigwood was aggressive, a manager who wasn't afraid to take chances.  As Stigwood was fond of saying, "There are a lot of ways to become a failure, but never taking a chance is the most successful."  After several mistakes early in his career, Stigwood learned his lesson.  From that point on, Stigwood played closer to the rules and enjoyed considerable success.  He parlayed his early success in the music industry into productions both on stage and in film.  Stigwood learned early on to mix music with drama.  Nearly every stage production involved music. 

Among Stigwood's stage credits were Tommy, Evita, Sweeney Todd, Hair, Pippin, Oh Calcutta and Jesus Christ Superstar. 

His movie credits included Grease, Tommy, Gallipolli, and Jesus Christ Superstar plus a musical film extravaganza titled Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  And of course Saturday Night Fever starring his friends the Bee Gees plus an up and coming star named John Travolta.  

'GREASE' IS THE WORD

The ultra-successful Broadway musical Grease was the first piece in the 'Robert Stigwood Synchronicity'.  John Travolta was the second piece.

The moment Grease made its debut in 1971, Stigwood was convinced it would become a blockbuster movie.  Due to his certainty, Stigwood swiftly acquired the option to produce the movie version of the Broadway musical. 

However, there was one catch.  In early negotiations, Stigwood's option stipulated production could not begin while the musical was still running.  Stigwood objected to such an open-ended agreement, so a clause was added.  Stigwood now had permission to begin production in the spring of 1978 even if the musical was still running.  Stigwood was not worried about the distant date.  No Broadway musical had ever lasted that long. 

On September 25, 1976, Robert Stigwood held a press conference at the Beverly Hills Hotel to announce that the Robert Stigwood Organization (RSO) had signed John Travolta to a million-dollar contract to star in three films.  Stigwood believed Travolta would be perfect as 'Danny Zuko', the star of Grease.  And so he would.  However, there was a problem.

Stigwood had completely forgotten about the clause.  After all, it had been five years since he took out the option.  Just his bad luck that Grease was still running strong in 1976.  Uh oh.  When his lawyers informed Stigwood that he would have to wait until 1978, he flipped his lid.  How could he have been so blind?  What was Stigwood going to do with Travolta till then? 

NIK COHN, PINBALL WIZARD

In 1976, Nik Cohn was a recent addition at New York magazine.  Due to his experience covering famous music acts such as The Who over in England for British tabloids, Cohn was hired to cover the local New York music scene.  More than likely Clay Felker barely knew Nik Cohn.  That said, Cohn would become a central figure in Felker's life as well as Robert Stigwood's.  For that reason, Clay Felker and Nik Cohn are important pieces in what I refer to as the 'Robert Stigwood Synchronicity'.  

As we have read, Clay Felker had an eye for underdogs as well as celebrities and big shots.  Felker published stories about people from all walks of life.  That included the Mafia, hippies, politicians on the take, corrupt Wall Street brokers, dirty cops, drug addicts, starving artists, prostitutes and angry radicals.  You name it, Felker wanted to cover them all.  Felker's eye for unusual lifestyles was one of his greatest gifts.  Unfortunately, Felker's special talent underscored the intense irony of a mistake he made in 1976.  Thanks to Nik Cohn, a certain 'subculture' Felker could care less about... Disco... would become a very painful embarrassment. 

Nik Cohn was born in London in 1946.  Cohn got his start as a rock critic.  Always the clever guy, by the age of 18 Cohn was a fixture on the swinging London Mod scene of the late Sixties.  He partied with rock stars and hung out with them on tours. 

With an ear for gossip, Cohn figured out a way to make money by contributing briefings about mods and rockers to The Observer.  Along the way, Cohn wrote a 1969 book about the history of rock 'n roll in Britain.   

Cohn was an adept social climber.  He parlayed his media position into a circle of contacts within the British music business.  One of the men he rubbed elbows with was Robert Stigwood.  This happened when Cohn joined the Who on tour.  Stigwood was their manager and booking agent at the time. 

Nik Cohn had an odd claim to fame.  Cohn was a close friend of Pete Townshend, lead singer of the Who.  Cohn was an avowed pinball maniac and Townshend loved to watch him play.  Cohn's obsession with the pinball machine became the inspiration for Townshend’s classic "Pinball Wizard".  

The Who became Cohn's connection to Stigwood's business operations.  Cohn spent considerable time on the set during the 1974 filming of Stigwood's film version of Tommy, a movie that featured the Who.  In the process, Cohn became friends with Bill Oakes, president of RSO Records (Robert Stigwood Organization).  In 1975 Oakes invited Cohn to join him in New York.  After crossing the Atlantic, Cohn crashed on the couch in Oakes' apartment.  Cohn soon landed a contract New York magazine.  His job was to cover the New York music scene.
 

Anthony Haden-Guest:

"Cohn and Oakes liked to visit nightclubs.  Tired of Regine's, their usual hangout, a friend persuaded Cohn to visit 2001 Odyssey in Brooklyn.  The clientele was mostly working-class, straight and Italian. 

Cohn's visit to the disco gave him an idea.  His experience as a writer let him know when a story had 'movie' plastered all over it.  Cohn went back and immediately started writing."

-- Excerpt from The Last Party: Studio 54, Disco, and the Culture of the Night.  Written by Anthony Haden-Guest 

Bill Oakes, RSO Records:

"Nik was still sleeping on my couch when he was writing the piece for New York magazine.  Nik was fascinated by the idea that dance music and this new style of dancing had migrated to the boroughs.  Up till now, Disco was on the fringe.  Disco was first a gay thing, then it became an underground thing.  Now rumor had it that Disco was a blue-collar thing. 

Nik knew what he was doing from the start.  He thought this Disco thing was his ticket to ride.  Nik gave a copy of his story to Kevin McCormick before handing it to Clay Felker, then made me promise to make sure Kevin paid close attention.

Kevin was my co-worker at RSO who was in charge of film development.  Kevin had already been working with Nik on another movie project.  The moment McCormick read the story, he immediately passed it up the ladder to Robert Stigwood." 

According to a Vanity Fair article written by Sam Kashner, Nik Cohn was interested in the Disco scene from the moment he moved to New York.  Here is an excerpt:

"On an icy winter night in 1975, Cohn had made his first trip to Bay Ridge (Brooklyn) with a disco dancer called Tu Sweet, who would serve as his Virgil.

"According to Tu Sweet," Cohn later wrote, "the [disco] craze had started in black gay clubs, then progressed to straight blacks and gay whites and from there to mass consumption-Latinos in the Bronx, West Indians on Staten Island, and, yes, Italians in Brooklyn."

In l975, black dancers like Tu Sweet were not welcome in those Italian clubs; nonetheless, he liked their passion and their moves. "Some of those guys, they have no lives," he told Cohn. "Dancing is all they got."

A brawl was in progress when Sweet and Cohn arrived at 2001 Odyssey.  One of the brawlers lurched over to Cohn's cab and threw up on his trouser leg.  With that welcome, the two men hightailed it back to Manhattan, but not before Cohn caught a glimpse of a figure, dressed in "flared, crimson pants and a black body shirt," coolly watching the action from the club doorway.  Cohn was impressed.  "There was a certain style about him- an inner force, a hunger, and a sense of his own specialness.  He looked, in short, like a star."

As they drove back Manhattan, Cohn was thrilled.  He had his hero and he had his story.  Returning to Oakes' apartment, Cohn wrote about the man in the doorway, tagging him as a great dancer who yearned for a chance to escape the mean streets of Brooklyn.  Was 'Doorway Man' really a great dancer?  How would Cohn know?  Cohn never left his cab.  In other words, Cohn's story was a fake, pure mythology. 

However, that did not stop Cohn from adding "everything described in this article is factual."  Believe it or not, that lie would become worth $500,000.

Finishing his story in the spring of 1976, Cohn asked Felker for permission to publish a story about the Disco dancers.  His story depicted a world of poor, semi-educated Brooklyn teenagers who wrapped their entire lives around Saturday nights at the Disco club.  Felker was not impressed.  Laughing in Cohn's face, Felker told the writer that no one cares about a bunch of kids who like to dance on Saturday night.  Stories like this are as old as Motown and Elvis Presley.  Try writing something original.

Cohn was undaunted.  As we shall see, getting this story published was of vital importance to Cohn.  So Cohn went behind Felker's back.  First he commissioned staff artist James McMullan to draw a picture based on his Disco story.  Once he had his picture, Cohn took the story and the artwork to Milt Glaser, Felker’s co-editor and design director  (Glaser and Felker co-founded New York magazine in 1968.)  Glaser liked the story and was impressed by the artwork.  He was also aware that Felker was not himself at the moment due to serious issues with the magazine's board of directors over finances.  Glaser decided to side with Nik Cohn. 

Milt Glaser:   “This was a good story idea, but Felker didn’t seem to want to listen.  I knew about Felker's habit of picking up ideas at parties and dinners, so I figured out a strategy.  I told Cohn to ask Felker’s assistant where the boss was going to dinner that night.  Then I encouraged Cohn to visit the restaurant and make another pitch."

Nik Cohn took the hint.  After learning where Felker was dining, Cohn took it upon himself to visit the restaurant.  Felker was very irritated by the interruption.  Felker told Cohn he would ask his friends what they thought and get back to him tomorrow, then told him to leave.

As Felker expected, his friends were unimpressed by the story.  However, the following morning he did some follow-up starting with Jim McMullan, the artist.  McMullan had visited Cohn's Disco and taken photographs.  Using one snapshot in particular as a model, McMullan had drawn a fascinating picture. 

Jim McMullan:  "Clay said, 'Jim, what kind of a story are you telling?  Nothing’s happening here.'  Which was true if you ignored the dancing.  No knife fights, no dramatic moments.  Just people dancing.'  Clay could not have cared less about people who were dancing.  To him, the dancing was meaningless."

Nik Cohn:   "When I proposed the story to Clay Felker, his response was lukewarm at best.  At night, over dinner at Elaine's, Felker conducted a flash poll with discouraging results.  Felker reported back to me that no one present knew anything about Disco and no one gave a damn either.  However, to my surprise, he let me go ahead with the story anyway."

Milt Glaser was the reason Felker changed his mind. 

Jim McMullan:  "Milt took Clay aside.  He said, 'Look, Clay, these pictures are incredible.  Once people see these pictures, everyone will understand the story.'"

Felker took another look at the pictures and begrudgingly admitted Glaser might be right.  Despite his mixed feelings, Felker finally gave in and let the story run.  Given Felker's lack of enthusiasm it is a small wonder the story ever got published at all.  As they say, good deeds are never left unpunished.  Felker would pay a painful price for ignoring his suspicious instinct.

Titled Tribal Rites of the New Saturday Night, Nik Cohn's story appeared in New York magazine on June 7, 1976.  The finished product described young working-class Italian-Americans who wrapped their lives around their Saturday night dance ritual.  Due to dead-end jobs and pessimism about the future, dancing at the local disco seemed to be their main purpose in life. 

Nik Cohn got lucky, very lucky.  Felker took Glaser's suggestion and put Jim McMullan's artwork on the cover of the magazine.   The cover picture was so intriguing that people became curious to read the story.  Although Disco music was a fringe phenomenon exclusive to young people, Cohn's fairy tale struck a chord with people of all ages. 

THE PLOT THICKENS

SCAM OF THE CENTURY

Fred Gershon, RSO lawyer in charge of handling the Nik Cohn negotiation: 

"I was Robert's lawyer and personal friend.  Stigwood called me up and his voice was full of excitement.

"Fred, I see a hundred million dollar movie!"

"There are no hundred million dollar movies," I answered.  "You are crazy."

"No, I'm serious.  This is a hundred million dollar movie.  Get me the rights!"

Disco was already happening, but it was pretty much under the radar.  Disco was definitely not the worldwide craze it became after the movie.  So far it was limited to the smart set at Studio 54 and the gay set.  According to Nik Cohn, Disco was just now spilling over to the general population.  Robert had been paying attention.  He saw this style of dance happening in Brazil.  The year before we went on the maiden voyage of the Concorde from Paris to Rio.  The Rio music scene was wild and very exotic.  The music never stopped and neither did the dancing.  Robert saw the same thing happening in England, France, Germany.  He commented the music was catching on in Europe.   

Five years earlier Disco would have been deemed effete for straight men to even be seen on a dance floor.  Now the men were strutting like peacocks, probably thanks to Mick Jagger.  It was Robert's belief that a Tony Manero existed in every community in the world.

So I got an option on Cohn's article for $10,000 and assumed the deal was done.  Kevin McCormick was assigned to produce.  However producer Ray Stark heard about it and pounced before Cohn's deal had been finalized, so that raised the price.  No doubt Cohn was pitching it behind my back to everyone with a phone number.  Stigwood ran out of patience and decided to handle the negotiations himself.  That's how serious he was." 

Most people would have jumped at $10,000.  However, Cohn had inside information.  Once his pal Bill Oakes clued him in on Stigwood's Travolta dilemma, Cohn had Stigwood right where he wanted him. 

"Hey, Nik, you won't believe this," Oakes said, "but Stigwood told his lawyer he thinks this movie will make a hundred million!"  

Oh really?  Such is value of inside information.  And, since the deal with Fred Gershon had not been finalized, Nik the Slik raised the price.  First Cohn told Gershon that another producer was really interested.  Then he dropped the bomb.  "Gosh, I'm sorry, Mr. Gershon, but my price tag has just gone up." 

Hmm.  Stigwood's lawyer smelled a rat.  Sensing they were being hustled, Fred Gershon suggested Stigwood back off.  Stigwood would not hear of it.  After all, Stigwood's intuition told him this movie could be worth a hundred million dollars.  Convinced he had to have this story at all cost, Stigwood said, "I'm going to pay the kid whatever he wants!"  

After telling Gershon he would handle things himself, Stigwood nailed down the deal by offering Cohn the moon and the sun.  First Cohn was paid $90,000 for rights to his story, a rather steep jump from $10,000.  Cohn still wasn't happy.  Now he demanded to write the screenplay.  Stigwood caved and gave Cohn permission to write the screenplay for a guaranteed $150,000.  Now we are up to $240,000 for a fake story.  However, Cohn wasn't done yet.  Cohn wanted to negotiate percentage points for the upcoming soundtrack album.  This was unheard of.  Yes, musicians got percentage points, but never a writer.  However, Cohn had seen how much money The Who had made from the Tommy soundtrack.  Well aware he had his mark over a barrel, Cohn took Stigwood to the cleaners.

Once Cohn's share of the proceeds rolled in from the best-selling soundtrack album of all times, estimates placed Cohn's haul at $250,00.  Added together, Cohn cleared half a million dollars.  Indeed, the intricate timing caused by Stigwood's dilemma had transformed Cohn's bullshit story from a $10,000 windfall into a half-million dollar Bonanza.  It was the scam of the century.

SO WHERE ARE WE GOING WITH THIS?

JOHN TRAVOLTA, the perfect actor

The key event in the Robert Stigwood Synchronicity was the 1976 signing of John Travolta to a three-movie deal for a million dollars.  The main reason for such a large gamble was Stigwood's certainty that Travolta was perfect for Grease.  

What was Robert Stigwood thinking?  A million dollar contract for some kid with no longevity, no track record?  Even his own people thought the boss had gone nuts.

"Everyone thought signing Travolta was madness," said Bill Oakes, Stigwood's right-hand man.  "Nobody had ever made the transition from television to movie stardom.  That is why a lot of us thought paying a million dollars for Vinnie Barbarino was going to make us a laughingstock."

Welcome Back, Kotter was a 1975 television sensation.  The show was based on a sarcastic, street-smart high school teacher who takes a group of incorrigible yet loveable teenagers under his wing and shows them the light.

John Travolta as Vinnie Barbarino was the undeniable break-out star of the show.  Ironically, Travolta was a high school dropout himself.  Some suggested Travolta couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.  After all, he was just playing himself.  Maybe so, but his popularity was off the charts.  Travolta could not go out in public without being mobbed.  By the second season, Travolta was receiving more than 10,000 fan letters a week.

Stigwood knew something that Bill Oakes and the other skeptics were not aware of.  Stigwood had been a fan of Travolta long before Welcome Back, Kotter.  Back in 1971, Stigwood had auditioned Travolta for the lead in Jesus Christ Superstar.  During the try-out, Stigwood noticed Travolta had considerable talent.  Unfortunately, Travolta was only 17, much too young for the part.  Nevertheless, Stigwood made sure to pencil a note to himslef: "This kid will be a very big star someday."

Considering 1971 was also the debut of Grease, no doubt Stigwood visualized the young man as a possible star for the movie version somewhere down the road.  When Travolta became a TV superstar in the second season of Kotter, Stigwood could not bear to lose Travolta to someone else.  Convinced that Grease was the perfect vehicle for the cocky, wise-cracking teen heartthrob, Stigwood decided to lock up Travolta before the kid's price climbed any higher. 

Then came the bad news.  Now that Grease had become the longest running musical in Broadway history, his option was not available for two years.  Uh oh.  This was serious bad luck!! 

Or was it bad luck?  Stigwood certainly thought so.  He was heartsick.  Travolta was hot right now.  To wait two years for 1978 was utter madness.  However, anyone familiar with Synchronicity would point out that sometimes bad luck has a funny way of turning into good luck. 

In this case the Stigwood's problem went away when Cohn's Tribal Rites story appeared just in the Nik of time (hahaha). 

Stigwood got lucky two more times.  Cohn had been given $150,000 to write the screenplay.  However, the director was forced to inform Stigwood that Cohn's screenplay effort was unacceptable.  That is when the director recommended an award-winning screenwriter named Norman Wexler.  It was Wexler who gave this low-budget movie its truly extraordinary script.  Wexler went on to win the 1977 Writers Guild of America Award for Best Original Screenplay.

And what was Stigwood's other piece of luck?  Wait till you hear the story of the Bee Gees.

THE BEE GEES

The Bee Gees were the final piece of the 'Robert Stigwood Synchronicity'.  The Australian rock group consisting of three brothers... Barry, Robin, and Maurice Gibb.  Previously I have pointed out how lucky Stigwood was to have Cohn's script fall into his lap at the perfect time.  And how lucky a talented script writer named Norman Wexler was available at a critical juncture to rescue the screenplay.  However, one would assume hiring the Bee Gees was not luck.  After all, the Bee Gees were Stigwood's pet project, his amigos, his semi-adopted kids.  And yet as things turned out, the Bee Gees came within an inch of missing out on the biggest break of their life. 

The Bee Gees got their start in the late Sixties.  Thanks to Robert Stigwood, the group immediately scored some initial hits.  Due to their instant success, they were said to be the next Beatles.  However, they fizzled almost as fast as they sizzled.  You know the story... drugs, booze, distractions.  The Bee Gees were probably doomed and Stigwood knew it. 

Stigwood's Cream had been a giant success only to disband due to differences.  Blind Faith, Eric Clapton's group after Cream, had gone nowhere.  Now it looked like the Bee Gees would bite the dust as well.  By the time the mid-Seventies rolled around, the Bee Gees were washed up.  Although they were terrific songwriters, they had not had a major hit in years.  Their ballad-style music was gentle at a time when hard rock dominated. 

Fortunately Stigwood had a real soft spot for the three men.  Seeing them down on their luck, Stigwood stayed with the Bee Gees even though he had many other projects on his plate.  Stigwood told the brothers that he believed in them.  He encouraged them to keep writing.  Sooner or later their luck would turn.   In addition, Stigwood had a suggestion.  Why not move away from the ballads?  This would allow them to take advantage of the growing American interest in dance tracks. 

Good idea.  The Bee Gees moved to Miami and began to experiment.  In 1975, they crafted a dance-oriented Disco song titled "Jive Talkin'".  To their surprise, this became their first #1 hit in four years.  The band liked their new sound, so they stayed with it.  "You Should Be Dancing" was released in 1976.  This became their second dance track to hit #1.

Robert Stigwood was pleased his Disco suggestion had worked out so well.  At the same time, he was surprised at the depth of interest in this unorthodox dance music.  Stigwood made a point to keep tabs on this strange music they called 'Disco'.  Maybe there was something there, something catchy.

1976 was important for another reason.  At the same time the Bee Gees were making their comeback, Stigwood was signing actor John Travolta to a million dollar three-picture contract, and Clay Felker was publishing Nik Cohn's bogus story. 

Given Robert Stigwood's close relationship with the Bee Gees, one would assume they were have been on board from the start.  Not so.  What was the hold-up?  Where were the Bee Gees like Stigwood had insisted?  Indeed, the director had been given a direct order to line up the Bee Gees, but had ignored the suggestion.  Why was this?  Because John Avildsen could not stand the Bee Gees!  Avildsen considered the Bee Gees to be washed up has-beens.  Furthermore he couldn't stand grown men singing in falsetto.  As a result, Avildsen had chosen to disobey a direct order to hire the Bee Gees.  Not only that, he hadn't told anyone of his decision. 

So here they were, ready to begin filming, and there was absolutely no soundtrack and no Bee Gees.  The timing of this crisis could not have been worse.  Stigwood was nowhere to be seen.  During the pre-filming stage, he was preoccupied trying to sign the Rolling Stones to his record label.  Stigwood was furious when he learned of Avildsen's betrayal.  First he fired the director, then he got on the phone to beg the Bee Gees to help.

Robin Gibb had said this to say:

"People are always surprised to learn we had nothing to do with the movie at first.  Truth is we didn't know a thing about the movie. We were completely in the dark what Stiggy was up to. 

I assume that no one had given any real thought to the music which is kind of funny since I assume the choreography needed the music from the start.  At any rate, our involvement in the film did not begin until filming was almost completed in 1977.

Long after the movie was a big hit, I had a conversation with John Travolta.  He told me, 'Your Bee Gee music wasn't involved in the movie in the beginning.  In rehearsal I was dancing to Stevie Wonder and Boz Scaggs.'

However, one day when Travolta was doing dance rehearsals, someone put on our song 'You Should Be Dancing,' a hit which had been released the previous year.  

Travolta said, 'Hey, that is a pretty good song.  Nice beat.  Why don't you see if these guys have any other songs?'

I don't know if it was Travolta's idea or Stigwood's idea, but out of the blue Stigwood rang us up and said the song 'You Should Be Dancing' was great and Travolta liked it.  He told us a little bit about the movie... Travolta was playing this cocky, womanizing dance stud.  Then he asked if we had any other songs we could contribute.  

Stigwood said, 'We're putting together this little film, low budget, called Tribal Rites of a Saturday Night, lots of dancing.  Would you guys have any songs on hand?'

We looked at each other.  That had to be the stupidest name for a movie ever.  We all nodded, 'No way, forget it!'

We said, 'Hey, look, Stiggy, we can't, we have our own album to do. We haven't any time to sit down and write for a film.'

We told Stiggy the truth.  We were over in Europe mixing a live album in northern France.  We barely knew what his movie was about and we really didn't want to be bothered with it. 

But then Barry pointed out that Stigwood had been our friend through thick and thin.  That's when our conscience kicked in.  So we changed our mind and got to work.  We wrote five songs in one weekend.  It was crazy.  Once we started, our imaginations were on fire.

In the end we had five new tracks - 'Staying Alive,' 'How Deep is Your Love?,' 'Night Fever,' 'More Than a Woman' and 'If I Can't Have You'.  Plus we offered the previously released 'Jive Talkin' and 'You Should Be Dancing.'  Seven songs total.

It was also our idea to call the movie Saturday Night Fever, because the competitions were on Saturday night and we already had the track on the music album 'Night Fever.' 

-- Interview from Observer Music Monthly, Jan. 2008

In an extraordinary show of faith, the Gibb brothers stopped what they were doing and worked 'feverishly' on an uncertain project based on a short story they had never read.  In a matter of one week, Barry Gibb handed his manager Stigwood seven dance tracks despite having no idea how they would be used. 

The Bee Gees were rewarded beyond their wildest dreams when they became the featured artists on the upcoming blockbuster SNF music album.  Within months, the Bee Gees would become the hottest group on the planet.  The movie soundtrack was the top selling album in history until Michael Jackson's Thriller.

Barry Gibb:  "You've got to remember, we were fairly dead in the water at that point.  The Bee Gees' sound was basically tired.  So we had to find something and we turned to dance music.  Who would have guessed how this would turn out?"

-- Sam Kashner, Vanity Fair article, 2007.

Ah, Fate and its twists and turns.  The Bee Gees were eternally grateful to Robert Stigwood.  Stigwood made his protégés wealthy and famous beyond their wildest imagination.  For that matter, the Bee Gees made Robert Stigwood unbelievably rich.  Travolta, Wexler's magic script, the Bee Gees...  it seemed like the tumblers were falling into place.

A STAR IS BORN

It was uncanny how John Travolta was tailor-made for the role as the cocky yet moody dance stud.  Through it all, everyone knew that Travolta, all slick hair and white teeth, was the glue holding the show together.

"There was an energy surrounding John unlike anything I had ever seen," said actress Dinah Manoff. 

"It was like being in the presence of something epic.  I had never been around a charisma that was at its peak that way.  I cannot describe it to you. I have never been around another movie star who carried the energy John did in those days.  And the funny thing is that John didn't even know it how good he was."

After Travolta wrapped up Saturday Night Fever, he moved on to new episodes of Welcome Back, Kotter and the filming of Grease.  Travolta was so busy, he did not have a chance to watch the edited product.  So Travolta asked some of the cast if they would let him know.  "I don't know if the movie's any good," he said. "I wish you guys could tell me." 

"And John meant it.  John had no idea how good the movie was," says Didi Conn, who attended the screening. "The whole cast flipped out over John.  We said, 'Are you kidding?'  It was part of this explosion around him." 

The combination of Grease and Saturday Night Fever changed John Travolta's life.  Travolta was wonderful as the ambitious young man who yearned to make something of himself.  Thanks to his performance, the movie struck a chord with audiences all over the world.  In Hindsight, we now know that Saturday Night Fever gave the decade its cultural identity and John Travolta became a pop culture icon. 

What Marlon Brando and James Dean were to the Fifties and Mick Jagger and Jim Morrison were to the Sixties, John Travolta achieved similar status in the Seventies.  A star was born and Travolta had Robert Stigwood to thank.   For this moment in time, John Travolta was the brightest star in the galaxy. 

Every once in a while a movie comes along that no one expects much from, but somehow it becomes special.  Most people point to Casablanca as the prime example.  In a similar fashion, Saturday Night Fever became a classic.  No one expected much from Stigwood's low-budget Disco movie, but this hard-hitting story of directionless youth with Travolta as the Dancing James Dean packed quite a punch.

Keep in mind this movie was supposed to be a low-budget throwaway project.  All Stigwood was trying to do was keep Travolta busy until Grease came available.  Yet by complete accident, Stigwood caught three talents... Travolta, Bee Gees, and script writer Wexler... at the absolute hungriest part of their careers.  Thanks to the power of Synchronicity, this trio came up with something transcendent.  Of course the music was sublime.  But sometimes music and a good script isn't enough.  It also helps to have an emerging star.   

Saturday Night Fever revived the career of the Bee Gees.  Their music anchored the best-selling movie soundtrack album of all time.  Yet strangely enough the soundtrack was snubbed at the Oscars in 1978.  Not one nomination.  Interesting.

Considering the importance Saturday Night Fever had on my life, I studied Robert Stigwood with intense curiosity.  How do successful people become successful?  Samuel Goldwyn, the movie mogul of MGM, is credited with saying, "The harder I work, the Luckier I get."  Goldwyn later said more.

"I think Luck is the sense to recognize an opportunity and the ability to take advantage of it.  Everyone has bad breaks, but everyone also has opportunities.  The man who can smile at his bad breaks and grab his chances gets on with things."  -- Samuel Goldwyn

In Stigwood's case, clearly he had a keen eye for talent.  And then there was Stigwood's willingness to bet on his instincts.  Often the difference between a successful person and a failure is not superior ability or better ideas, but rather the courage one has to bet on one's ideas and take a calculated risk. 

There are many tales of successful people who speak of being in the right place at the right time.  Thanks to a lucky break, they were chosen for a position ahead of other people just as talented and just as ambitious.  However, deep down I could not escape the feeling that Stigwood was also Lucky in an extraordinary way.  Exhibit One was the perfect script at the perfect time.  Exhibit Two was the last-minute inclusion of the Bee Gees.  To me, the story of Robert Stigwood is pure Fate.  At this one magic time in his life, everything he did turned to Gold.  Even when Stigwood screwed up... Travolta and the Grease mistake, John Avildsen and the Bee Gees story... things worked out to perfection. 

To me, the strangest thing of all is that the entire phenomenon pivoted on a fake story.  Without Nik the Slik and his brazen nerve to pass a fairy tale off as the Real Thing, Disco would be little more than a footnote as silly music back in the Seventies.  There would be no Bee Gees megahits, no Travolta superstardom, no Disco acrobatics, and no nostalgic Disco parties complete with ugly retro clothes and YMCA redos. 

All because some English stiff made up a wild yarn and sold it as truth.  Barry Gibb once said to Nik Cohn, "This is all your bloody fault, isn't it?"  Cohn just smiled and nodded.

I don't approve of Cohn's methods, but Nik the Slik was clearly Destined to play a major role in this unusual story.  Nik Cohn definitely got lucky.  But you know what?  So did a lot of people!  Stigwood, Travolta, Cohn, Wexler, the Bee Gees to name a few.  Throughout the behind-the-scenes story of Fever, I got the feeling that everyone involved suddenly became more energetic, more instinctive, more creative than at any other time in their life.  Everyone was at the top of their game.  Using a sports cliche, it was a career year for everyone.

We bristle at the thought that Cohn played Stigwood to the tune of half a million.  But Stigwood didn't care.  He knew Cohn was over-rated, but he also believed he was looking at one hundred million.  So he paid Cohn $150,000 to write the movie script, then replaced him with Norman Wexler, a man said to be a lunatic.  Here again, everything Stigwood touched turned to gold.  Wacko Wexler took a fake 15 page magazine story and gave this low-budget movie a truly extraordinary script.  Wexler was nominated for an Oscar for his work.

Want to know something interesting?  Stigwood predicted a box office of $100 million.  That is exactly how well the movie did.  In addition, the soundtrack became the best-selling album in music history, selling 40 million copies.  Let's say each album sold for ten bucks.  400 million in sales.  Add box office and soundtrack together.  Half a Billion.  

And what was the budget?  3.5 million. 

The way Fever worked out so perfectly defies the imagination.  In fact, so many things clicked, one might believe Robert Stigwood had the Wheel of Fortune spinning in his direction and brought everyone else along for the ride.  Are you starting to see why I call this the 'Robert Stigwood Synchronicity'?