Star Of His Own Dubious Epic

By RICHARD BEHAR

With cinematic flourish, Dino De Laurentiis would jump up from his plate of spaghetti at the boardroom table, wave his cook aside and bolt into the company's kitchen. Nobody, he told his guests, could make cappuccino like the maestro himself! As he spoke, Hollywood's flashiest independent producer would secretly hit the "start" button on an ordinary cappuccino machine. He would then present his charmed visitors with cupfuls of "Dino's special cappuccino -- the best!"

That was a vintage De Laurentiis performance from the mid-1980s, when bankers and investors were enthralled with the gruff-talking miniature (5-ft. 4-in.) movie mogul. De Laurentiis proceeded to lose nearly $200 million of their money in a grandiose and allegedly fraudulent attempt to build an entertainment empire. By 1988, after producing two dozen money-losing pictures in two years, De Laurentiis Entertainment Group filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

Yet De Laurentiis' ability to dazzle and deal is scarcely diminished. In February the 70-year-old legend rose from the tar pits of defeat and litigation to form another company, Dino De Laurentiis Communications, with the financial backing of his friend Giancarlo Parretti, the controversial Italian moneyman who also plans to buy MGM/UA for $1.2 billion. Dino's planned renaissance will begin with five films and a $67 million budget.

De Laurentiis now faces enough doubters to populate a biblical epic. Most of the independent film companies that a bullish Wall Street took public in the mid-1980s -- Cannon, Vestron, New World, Kings Road -- have either passed into bankruptcy or deep financial trouble. But none have burned through as much money in so short a time -- without even a near hit -- as De Laurentiis. Worse still, few if any ventures contained such a web of insider-enriching transactions. Stockholders of DEG, who saw their shares plummet from a peak of $19 to less than 40 cents, have responded with fiery class-action lawsuits. At the same time, DEG is suing De Laurentiis for $50 million, accusing its founder of fraud, misrepresentation and self-dealing.

In a 500-film career that spans half a century, the Italian-born De Laurentiis produced a handful of successes that include the Fellini-directed La Strada (1954), Serpico (1974), King Kong (1976) and Conan the Barbarian (1982). But the hits have been overshadowed by hundreds of commercial duds, most notably the $50 million sci-fi film Dune, a 1984 mega-flop that helped send Dino down the chute.

When he pitched DEG to investors, De Laurentiis promised he would make careful, modestly budgeted pictures. Yet once ensconced at DEG, he refused to share decision-making authority and showed a knack for picking up screenplays that other studios had wisely spurned. For an Old World producer accustomed to making budget-busting epics, the studio's ambitious production slate of twelve to 20 films a year was a script for disaster. One project, the 1986 film Tai- Pan, cost $25 million to make but brought in barely $2 million.

The aging filmmaker ran DEG like a private fiefdom, showering his family members and girlfriend with six-figure salaries or distribution deals. "So much money passed through that building, and I don't know where it all went," says Gary DeVore, DEG's former head of production. "I was one of the highest- placed executives and I didn't even know about the deals with Dino's family."

Even fewer people were aware of the myriad deals Dino had concocted for himself. Case in point: De Laurentiis sold the rights to the sequel King Kong Lives to DEG for $21 million shortly before it opened in 1986. When the picture died on impact (estimated receipts: $2 million), De Laurentiis tried to compensate by giving DEG the rights to even more dubious films, some of which hadn't been made yet.

De Laurentiis, who left DEG under pressure in 1988, is now struggling to quash the firm's case against him. Carolco Pictures, which has agreed to buy DEG's assets for $39 million, aims to pursue the charges. De Laurentiis has struck back with a dubious list of $79 million in claims against the company. The producer has blamed everyone but himself for DEG's woes, a version that doesn't play well with Hollywood insiders. "Dino was clearly, unequivocably, unquestionably responsible for what happened to this company," says Stephen Greenwald, DEG's former chairman. "His attempts to evade that responsibility are reprehensible and ludicrous." Greenwald says that De Laurentiis refused to resign unless he received a package of deals worth $110 million. He soon settled for $280,000.

De Laurentiis now lives the life of a much younger mogul. This week he plans to marry his girlfriend, now 35 and pregnant with their second child. Despite DEG's bankruptcy, the couple dwells in a Beverly Hills mansion complete with household staff and, at last count, two Rolls-Royces. And De Laurentiis is pursuing his new films with youthful ebullience. "The world hasn't seen the end of Dino," says MCA president Sidney Sheinberg. "Showmen sometimes miss the pulse of the public, but they generally don't die and disappear."

Since Hollywood has such a short memory, a big hit in 1990 could turn De Laurentiis into the comeback kid. His first contender is a $19 million remake of Desperate Hours, the 1955 Humphrey Bogart classic. One ominous sign: the film's director is Michael Cimino, the noted flopmeister, and its star is Mickey Rourke, no big draw. Uh-oh: Has Dino done it again? The title of another forthcoming De Laurentiis production seems to convey his message to anyone who doubts his sheer chutzpah and tenacity: Over My Dead Body.