Was that as good for you as was for me? What? No? (Photo: STV)

I meant to write about this a little earlier in the week, but you know how it goes: If I am going to say anything about Harvey Weinstein, I must precede it with the appropriate period of fasting, purging and general meditation attending the mere consideration of his power.

And boy, am I glad I did, because Ed Epstein's deconstruction of Weinstein's profit tactics only inflates the magnitude of his craftiness. I mean, we all knew there was probably some sketchiness at best (and skulduggery at worst) behind all those shelved films Miramax had accumulated during its Disney decade. Epstein calls it "legerdemain," but however you want to characterize it, it is genuinely awe-inspiring.:

Disney agreed to give [the Weinsteins] a performance bonus of between 30 percent and 35 percent of their film profits, a bonus that would be calculated each fiscal year. The deal also tied Miramax's capital budget for acquiring and producing films to its annual performance. So, the more money Miramax made in a fiscal year, the more money the Weinsteins made and the bigger the capital budget of their Miramax division. Disney further agreed to calculate Miramax's profits in a fiscal year solely on the films released that year. In making what seemed like a minor concession to Weinstein so that he could use his discretion in timing the marketing of art films, Disney did not foresee how brilliantly he would game this loophole. Through it, Weinstein was able to create the illusion of profits for Miramax and the reality of huge bonus payments for himself and his brother.

How did Harvey do this? He simply shifted potential money-losing films into future fiscal years so that they didn't reduce either his bonus or Miramax's capital budget. To prevent Weinstein from overspending, Eisner later imposed a further condition on the deal: For every dollar Miramax exceeded its capital budget, a similar amount was deducted from the Weinsteins' annual bonus. To avoid this penalty, Weinstein could delay releasing high-budget films in years in which he was close to exceeding his capital budget. As a result, even more films got dumped into Weinstein's limbo of unreleased movies. For example, Zhang Yimou's Hero, which had been acquired at Sundance in 2002, was held for more than two years so that its nearly $20 million cost would not count against the Weinsteins' bonus. Hero was released in 2004, a year less profitable for Miramax in which no bonus would be paid anyway.

Pretty great, right? It gets better:

In 2005 alone, the estimated losses will exceed $120 million. And, to add insult to injury, the Weinsteins' exit package, reported to be between $130 and $140 million, was partially based on what turned out to be Miramax's phantom profits in prior fiscal years. (It also included compensation to the Weinsteins for Disney's right to make sequels, to take over stars' contracts, and to continue to use the Dimension name.)

And evidently, Epstein writes, when the hundred or so execs Disney put on Miramax's case periodically sought accountability from Weinstein, he would elude their phone calls and literally move from location to location to avoid contact.

Now, even if this is partly true, I know you might feel bad for Terry Gilliam or everyone who worked so hard to get The Great Raid to levels of near-watchability. But let's look at this for what it is: Old-school moguldom. It is all heat and light and energy from an irrepressible source of power that outclassed even master market-manipulators like Disney and Michael Eisner. I mean, this is like Keyser Sose walking away at the end of The Usual Suspects, except instead of smoking a cigarette, he's counting another half-billion dollars from a gang of Wall Street investors who have to be shitting their finely tailored trousers right... about... now.

But the Mouse? You can bet it is smoking a cigarette, even if it no longer wonders in vain why Harvey did not leave a note or even wake it up to say goodbye.