Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, January 6, 1993 TAG: 9301050224
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 2 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: ELIZABETH WASSERMAN NEWSDAY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
VICTIM AND VILLAIN EARN WAGES OF CRIME
Before the first witness ever testified against Ellen Storck, who is accused of inducing or fabricating illness in her son because of a psychological disorder, she had sold her story to Hollywood.She was paid $5,000 for her "rights."
And she was promised up to $45,000 more if the producers she picked can convince a television network to dramatize her real-life saga, as they've done this week and last with Amy Fisher.
In real life, Storck still awaits the courts' judgment as to whether she is a villain or victim. Nonetheless, producers and agents have been clamoring for the story of the East Northport, N.Y., woman accused by Suffolk County child welfare workers of endangering her child because of a psychological disorder, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, that makes a parent hurt an offspring to gain sympathy from health-care workers and others.
Storck - who was accused of inducing or fabricating breathing problems, among other ailments, in her son - had a half-dozen offers of book or TV-movie deals. She accepted one from a pair of California-based producers, Gary Bart and Steve Goldberg, that would help pay for court transcripts and hire medical experts to help her win back her 8-year-old son, Aaron, who is in the custody of child welfare workers. According to her contract attorney, Ann Nowak of Water Mill, "We had a bidding war going on."
These days, bidding wars such as that over Storck's situation are not unusual. People from all walks of life are more and more frequently being transformed into "hot properties" overnight because of personal tragedy, criminal activity or fluke circumstance. The entertainment world has discovered that fact is more dramatic than fiction as they turn with more regularity to the headlines for inspiration. Publishers, TV executives and agents are constantly on the lookout for the next Amy Fisher, the next Carolyn Warmus (who killed her lover's wife), the next jealous mom of a Texas cheerleader.
"We're all tripping over one another now to pounce on the next TV movie drawn from the front pages," said Alan Sternfeld, ABC's vice president of program planning and scheduling. "True-life crime stories are like freeway rubbernecking. They're horrible on one hand and, on the other, irresistible."
One of the reasons they are irresistible to TV-movie producers is the built-in hype. Tabloid TV shows like "A Current Affair" and "Hard Copy" and afternoon talk shows latch on to sensational crime stories, interviewing participants, re-enacting an incident, and sometimes airing secretly taped videos. Such national exposure is like free advertising for TV producers making dramas from true crimes.
"What makes a good marriage for the story material is the marketing," Sternfeld said. "You almost have a brand-name product."
The trio of Amy Fisher movies aired in the last two weeks by each of the three major television networks (one from Fisher's perspective, one from the perspective of Mary Jo and Joseph Buttafuoco, and the other from somewhere in between) exemplifies how the phenomenon has risen to a new level - or, say critics, plunged to a new low.
The U.S. Supreme Court last year struck down a pioneer New York law that prevented criminals from making money by selling their stories, and while a new law has since been enacted, it can no longer prevent perpetrators from profiting from their misdeeds. But it does provide a way for victims to confiscate profits and furthermore recoup "damages" through civil actions. But in the absence of the tougher statute, now when a case hits the headlines, the rush is on to tell a story from either the perspective of the victim or the villain. Every participant has "rights," and middlemen and middle women are willing to pay big for them. But victims' rights advocates maintain that it's exploitation and that entertainment should not be made out of real-life tragedy.
"In the midst of a lot of pain and grieving, we were being besieged by a lot of journalists and producers to tell our story," said Ellen Levin, the mother of Jennifer Levin, who was strangled to death in New York's Central Park in 1986. The 1988 trial of Robert Chambers in the so-called Preppie Murder case created a frenzy of media coverage, as Chambers, who wound up pleading guilty to manslaughter, claimed that Levin, 18, died accidentally during a heated sexual encounter.
"It was absolutely horrendous," Levin said. "Their spiel was: It's going to be done without you anyway so you might as well cooperate." Levin said she didn't cooperate.
"Between the reality shows, the talk shows, newspapers, magazines, radio shows - all of those whet the appetite," said Ruth Slawson, NBC's senior vice president for mini-series and motion pictures for television. "Some of what we all do is gut instinct. There's no exact science. We ask ourselves, `Why is this story different from 100 others we heard? Is there a different point of view?' "
Many victims are not receptive to offers.
"We had a thousand offers and we're not interested," said James Gucciardo, of Huntington, N.Y. the attorney for a family whose daughter was killed. "They don't want to make money off their daughter's memory."