Aug. 6, 2002. 12:25 AM Boardroom farce had only one director
By Slinger
MAYBE IT'S that twitty "Sir." Or maybe it's his furious, unfocused glare as I imagine him doing his funny walk up to the row-house and ringing the bell. "National Privatization Board, my good woman. I've come to privatize your children. Do you have any pets? Jolly good! I'll privatize them, too." Whatever it is, when I think of Sir Graham Day I can't help thinking of John Cleese.
Until I saw the cross, I wasn't sure, but the minute I saw it, so simple yet so diamond-embedded, clanking on her bare breastbone as she bared even more — her carefully rehearsed heart — during select interviews in a suite at the Royal York, Eleanor Clitheroe was transformed into Jamie Lee Curtis.
The third character is obvious — not least the blank expression behind which thoughts tumble like laundry in a dryer: "Wait! What am I doing here? Wait! Now I remember"; and also not least that we have no idea which direction he's going to go next, or what he's liable to do when he gets there — and once you get it into your head that Ernie Eves is Kevin Kline you can't get it out.
A Fish Called Hydro One.
Instead of laughs, of course, scowls and curses.
Instead of lovable scoundrels, arrogant public servants.
Instead of a clever, bedroom farce, a boardroom farce that was too clever by half.
Instead of a snappy plot, a political soap opera.
And in the end, nobody gets away with anything. Except for Kevin Kline. He might.
That's the only surprise twist.
A summer blockbuster from the producers who brought you Mike Harris.
In a minute we will play a game that you can all join in, and it will be a lot of fun, but first some briefing notes.
When Margaret Thatcher spotted Graham Day she recognized a hound who couldn't be put off a fox's trail if you whacked him on the head with a crowbar. Privatize, she said. Privatize, he did. And when he'd finished, England's green and pleasant land was listed on the stock exchange, up to and including the public hydro-electric system. Tally-ho!
It would be really unfair to say of Sir Graham what they say about surgeons — "Often wrong, but never in doubt" — because for all I know he's never been wrong, but if you wanted a single-minded chairman to privatize Hydro One, central casting would have sent him around.
Eleanor Clitheroe was a bank executive and a deputy finance minister before becoming CEO of a crown corporation. It is possible to do these jobs without ever paying even a brief visit to the real world. When reality does poke its nose through the door it comes in the shape of pie charts and bar graphs. Insulated, insular (the list of clubs she joined didn't include the Y), it isn't hard in that league to remain as unaware as Goldilocks.
Now, remember that Goldilocks only ever wanted things to be just right. Not too hot, not too cold. Not too hard or too soft. And if she didn't want too little dough, neither would Mother Goose have allowed her to ask for $2.2 million a year, and a $6 million severance, and a Mercedes wagon, and a limo for the kiddies.
And Eleanor Clitheroe probably didn't ask for it either.
Instead, she probably said, "Pay me whatever is just right."
And Sir Graham said, "Right-oh!" And, with privatization fogging up his faculties, punched the management consultant's formula (size of company, potential market value, what CEOs in similar situations make, etc.) into his Palm Pilot, and it spat out the offer.
"Ooh, whillickers!" she might have said. "Thanks!"
She might even have said, "Are you sure it's not too much?"
"Don't thank me," Sir Graham might have replied, tapping the management consultant's formula. "And how could it possibly be too much? It's the industry standard."
Now here's our little game. Pretend you're Eleanor Clitheroe. Pretend I'm Sir Graham Day. (If you want to curtsey, feel free.)
And I offer you that $2.2 mill, and the $6 mill parachute, and all the other fripperies and fancy add-ons.
"No way!"
Is that what you'd say?
"The good people of Ontario would worry that I'd succumbed to infectious greed. Give me the minimum wage, and not a penny more. The minimum wage and a Metropass." Is that what you'd say?
Okay, you would, but you're nuts. Tell me somebody in their right mind who would.
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Slinger's column usually appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. |
