Bob Evans was an irresistibly charming, glamorous, witty and powerful figure in Hollywood. He had just decided to quit his executive job at Paramount after having overseen an unprecedented string of excellent and financially lucrative films to become an independent producer on the Paramount lot. His assistant and friend, Gary Chazan, called me and said: “Bob is going to make The Gambler his first production at Paramount and that’s great for you because it will give the movie top attention.”
“Sounds terrific,” I said. “But Karel hasn’t agreed to go ahead yet. I have a lot of writing to do first.”
“Don’t worry. It’s going to happen.”
“There’s another problem,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Irwin Winkler has already been put on the movie.”
“Fuck Irwin Winkler,” Gary said. “Evans will offer him five other Paramount movies in exchange and he’ll jump ship in a minute.”
The next day I got a call from Winkler.
“You and I don’t know each other,” he said, “but you’re gonna learn something that Bob Evans is going to learn too: Irwin Winkler ain’t no whorer! Bob Evans can offer me fifty movies. It don’t matter. No one is getting me off The Gambler.” He turned out to be right. And Evans ended up producing Chinatown instead.
