4 September 1998

Talk about teacher's pet: The WB's angsty college drama Felicity - and its star, Keri Russell - are already at the head of their class. Quite an accomplishment considering the fall TV season hasn't even begun! Every winter, the migration begins. Flapping to the beat of an intricate Darwinian dance, Hollywood producers and agents flock to the six networks uttering the mating cry: We've got your next hit show! After listening to 1,000 or so pitches, execs scoop up the 300 best. These ideas grow into scripts, from which 120 pilots are hatched in the spring. Eventually, the strongest 40 are placed on the nets' fall schedules. Out of those, half perish within months of hitting the screen. Of the remainder, maybe one or two find an audience to nest with for seasons to come, earning the networks and studios the hundreds of millions of dollars necessary to repeat the ritual the following year. This is the tale of one such fledgling - a show that's emerged as the fall's brightest hope. THE LIGHTBULB Felicity was born on a Bali beach in the fall of 1996. Honeymooning 32-year-old screenwriter J.J. Abrams (Regarding Henry, Armageddon) marries two thoughts - the name of a girl he knew in high school with the desire to do a coming-of-age drama. He later shares this slip of an idea with 32-year-old childhood bud Matt Reeves (The Pallbearer's director), and the two begin brainstorming a movie. Realizing the plot subtleties would play better over time, they instead sketch an outline for a TV series: The show will begin with Felicity asking the School Stud to sign her yearbook at their California high school graduation. When he adds a flirtatious note, this normally solid, bookish young woman impulsively withdraws her Stanford acceptance and follows him to New York University - a hotbed of life-changing possibilities. Abrams writes the script, and his agent at Endeavor slips it to a key client, David E. Kelley. Busy developing a female-in-transition project of his own, Ally McBeal, Kelley passes. Abrams then sends it to Tony Krantz, CEO of Imagine Television. Good news: Krantz wants it. Bad news: The '97-98 pilots have already been ordered, so they'll have to wait six months. THE PITCH Krantz shops the show around Hollywood in spring '97, and The WB bites. After an enthusiastic morning meeting with team Felicity at Burbank headquarters in July, the top WB execs cancel meetings to read the script, and by 1 p.m., Abrams has this message at his hotel: We love this show! We want this show! While Abrams and Reeves are thrilled, they have concerns about a small-fry, buzz-free (pre-Dawson's Creek) network bankrolling their pilot. A few days later, they meet with ABC suits, who also like the show but are apprehensive about the viability of a project geared toward young women (again, it took Dawson to cement the appeal of that demo to advertisers). Fearing that Felicity might wind up on ABC's weekend slate - where a similar young-skewing relationship show, Relativity, had died during the '96-97 season - Krantz steers Abrams and Reeves to the frog net. Oh, yes, and Felicity is rejected by New York University. NYU, wary of issues such as drugs and suicide being covered, declines to lend its name to the show. Felicity will attend the fictional University of New York. THE CASTING Abrams and Reeves make a pact in fall of '97: If they don't find the perfect Felicity, the show's off. And after auditioning more than 100 girls, that's looking like a distinct possibility. Then they meet Keri Russell, 22, the star of NBC's failed Spelling babe-orama Malibu Shores. "My first reaction was 'Damn, she's beautiful! There's no way in hell she can work!'" recalls Abrams. "But she was incredibly accessible and had an amazing sense of humor - a thing most people missed from the script." While the search for Felicity's best friend, Julie, ends quickly (Amy Jo Johnson, 26, of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers franchise), there's trouble finding the two male leads: the Stud and Noel, Felicity's dorm-mate admirer. Dawson guest star Scott Foley, 26, comes in for the role of Noel, but the producers also read him for the Stud, the rationale being that the Noel role will be easier to cast. It isn't. Three days before the pilot shoots, and there's still no Noel. In a last-ditch effort, Marcia Shulman, the WB casting whiz responsible for turning Dawson and 7th Heaven into a Seventeen editor's dream, hands the panicked producers a tape of Canadian Scott Speedman, a Matthew McConaughey-ish 22-year-old. They realize he's perfect for ... the Stud. Oops. Foley is summoned to the L.A. production office. "They sit me down and I'm thinking 'Oh, man, I'm getting fired,' " remembers Foley. "And then they say, 'We found a guy to play [the Stud]. We can't find another guy to play Noel. We know you can do both. So would you play him?' At that point, I'm just happy I still have a job, I'm like, 'Yes ... of course! Anything! Can I empty your garbage?' " THE PILOT Early March. A Glendale, Calif., soundstage. It's the last few days before wrapping the pilot shoot. Everyone's a bit slaphappy, and Abrams and Reeves are buzzing around like overcaffeinated teens. To save costs, a $1.8 million, 38-minute "presentation" is being filmed; The WB pays two-thirds, while Touchstone's Imagine antes up the rest. (If The WB picks up the show, the producers will finish the script's remaining 10 minutes.) Though the net is high on Felicity, it has no commitment to air it; a cruddy pilot could mean The End. Consequently, the producers are extra picky about everything. Like, they cannot decide on the Stud's name. First it was Billy, then Ben, then Miles, then Dylan. Russell, about to film a scene with Speedman, tells them, "I need to know his name now, in case I want to use it." Abrams turns to Reeves: "What should we do?" Reeves: "I dunno - should we use Ben? How about Ben?" Ben it is. While the scene shoots, Reeves says to Abrams: "It's so weird. If this show gets picked up, suddenly he will forever be 'Ben,' just because of a random decision." THE TINKERING Late April. After Krantz screens the pilot for the cast and top WB execs, the producers meet with said execs to talk story lines and character. Before the session, Krantz strolls over to a schedule board filled with movable placards for every show on the six broadcast nets, peels Dawson from its choice Tuesday-at-9 home - following The WB's cult hit, Buffy the Vampire Slayer - and moves in Felicity. "I'm down with that," offers Abrams. "We'll just add a little karate." WB CEO Jamie Kellner smiles ... cautiously. While this powwow is upbeat, a little tension will surface in the coming month. The WB, concerned about Amy Jo Johnson's breakout potential, asks Abrams and Reeves to consider recasting the role of Julie. It's a common practice during pilot season, but the producers emphatically refuse. "We were so concerned with creating a compelling lead character that some things fell through the cracks," Abrams admits later. "Julie isn't interesting in the pilot. Any actress would've suffered the same reaction Amy Jo got. But she's as amazing as Keri." Ultimately, The WB execs defer to the producers. "You have to get in business with people you trust, and they really believed in Amy Jo," WB programming VP Susanne Daniels says later. "And after seeing the second episode, I think they were right." (One suggestion the producers did embrace: a fifth regular to add conflict. So the producers create Elena - played by Tangi Miller, 24 - a streetwise classmate who'll challenge the relatively sheltered white-bread Felicity.) Meanwhile, the pilot tape is working its way down Madison Avenue; ad execs are smitten, comparing Felicity to last season's breakout Ally McBeal as well as to the critical darling (but commercial failure) My So-Called Life. Hollywood agents are already sending Abrams and Reeves congratulations. Knowing a jinx when they hear one, the folks at Felicity start calling the show Flopcity. THE OFFICIAL SCREENING Mid-May. Manhattan. Twenty well-groomed Warner Bros. suits have gathered in a skyscraper suite to review all of The WB's fall candidates and decide which will make the schedule. "Buffy beat Home Improvement last night among 18- to 34-[year-olds]!" notes Kellner, scanning overnight ratings. "We're really starting to break through!" After Felicity is screened, the mood is electric. "Keri just slips off the screen," says Warner Bros. COO Barry Meyer. "She's going to be a big star." Kellner is more enamored than ever. "I love this show," he says. "If you take all the beautiful women on our network, it looks like a fashion magazine." It also looks like Felicity will make the schedule. Question is ... where? THE SCHEDULE MEETING Three days later. This time 10 execs huddle in the same room, staring numbly at another schedule board filled with potential scenarios. Poor Felicity's been shuttled all over the slate. First it's paired with sitcoms to launch a new night of programming on Friday. Then it's slotted on Mondays at 9 and Wednesdays at 9; in both cases, everyone figures there's too much of a demo overlap with Fox's strong opposing shows (Ally and Party of Five, both hits with young females). Finally, the Felicity placard rests on the Tuesday-at-9 slot, just as Krantz had hoped last month; Dawson, meanwhile, has moved to Wednesday at 8, opposite Fox's still-solid Beverly Hills, 90210. "We're asking Dawson to do a lot after 13 episodes," Daniels worries. WB entertainment president Garth Ancier responds: "Do you think Felicity Wednesday at 8 is more competitive than Dawson Wednesday at 8?" Kellner's feeling is that Dawson's already strong enough to challenge an aging show. Furthermore, he says, "we know we can make a drama work Tuesdays at 9. And Felicity is the best new show on any network." Ancier agrees, adding that there's no competition in terms of Felicity's target demo: "It's unopposed on Tuesdays." The WB will announce its schedule in three days, and Abrams and Reeves - excluded from the above meetings - have been nervously biding their time. Finally, there's a message from WB programming VP Jordan Levin. They call him back, and he delivers the verdict: The net will pay Touchstone's Imagine $12 million for the standard 13 episodes; not only that, Felicity will air in the coveted Tuesday time slot. Abrams and Reeves dial everyone at The WB, just to keep reconfirming the good news. THE SCHEDULE ANNOUNCEMENT May 19. Two thousand people (advertisers and some press) file into a Manhattan hotel for the breakfast unveiling of The WB's fall schedule. Russell has arrived from Ireland, where she's shooting the movie Mad About Mambo; the director refused to release her until the teary-eyed Russell explained that this was really, really important. As the cast enters the ballroom, Russell is delivered, gift-like, to Paul Schulman, one of Mad Ave.'s most influential ad buyers and the man who's already dubbed Keri the season's It Girl (last year's pick: Jenna Elfman). "I loved your pilot," he tells her. "Would you mind meeting some of my clients?" Over eggs and coffee, Miss Breakout Star is grilled by wide-eyed Gap and Ralston-Purina execs who'll hopefully buy commercial time in the show: How long does it take to do an episode? How long have you been in the business? Is it fun? Ancier finally appears on stage to reveal the slate; when he mentions Felicity, wild applause erupts. "I've been in the business for 10 years," chuckles Levin, "and I've never heard advertisers cheer a scheduling announcement!" When Ancier finishes, Russell and her cast mates are herded into a VIP room for photo ops with advertisers. Speedman walks in, looking dazed. "Wow," he mumbles. "I just signed my first autograph. Never done that before. That's nuts." A WB suit congratulates Abrams and Reeves. "We couldn't have asked for a better slot," says Reeves. Abrams, meanwhile, has a moment of panic: "Do you think Fox will move Party of Five against us?" (That particular nightmare will end later in the week, after the other nets have announced their schedules: Felicity will air opposite Fox's Brimstone, NBC's Just Shoot Me, ABC's Spin City, a CBS movie-of-the-week, and UPN's Mercy Point. Not a demo overlap in sight.) Josh Jackson, Dawson's Pacey, spots his friend Foley: "This is the man who's taking our time slot," he declares, playfully smacking Foley's shoulder. "You got the best slot, so congrats, asshole. Just don't fuck it up. Get some good ratings or you'll be gone." THE PRESS JUNKET Mid-July. Pasadena Ritz-Carlton, California. The final hazing ritual is the annual press tour, where 200 TV critics and reporters preview the fall shows and interrogate stars and producers. The WB is the second-to-last net to present its lineup, but already Felicity's lauded everywhere, from The New York Times to USA Today (gushed USA: "Almost two months before Felicity premieres, the WB show is the talk of the town"). At NBC's, ABC's, and CBS' earlier presentations, top execs were asked to name one show they'd swipe from their rivals. Guess who wins? On this morning, WB publicity VP Janine Jones preps team Felicity for press-conference pitfalls. "We have journalists from all over the country downstairs," she begins. "There are transcribers writing every word you say, every 'um' and cough. Not to put any pressure on you ..." Pressure? The fidgety cast and producers line up backstage, waiting for their cue. "I'm horrified," says Russell. "Absolutely horrified." Foley seconds that: "Fuck yeah ... I mean, 'Oh, yeah.' " The inquisition starts. Questions can be rough; at this year's tour, various shows have prompted charges of racism, sexism, and gay stereotyping. But the reporters throw softballs; the toughest question for the producers: Are you an Ally rip-off? ("People compare things they don't know to things that are familiar," offers Abrams. "They're both shows about intelligent young women.") When the 45-minute session ends, reporters immediately descend upon Russell. You can almost hear them composing the rising-star profiles in their heads. THE PREMIERE Felicity will debut, at last, on Sept. 29 at 9 p.m. Cast and creators await the ratings verdict. "I'm nervous, exhausted, tired, tired, tired," says Russell. "And excited." Abrams is philosophical: "Even if we succeed beyond anyone's wildest dreams," he says, "even if we just do okay, or even if we fail, it's no longer going to be that gift-wrapped box." As for Reeves, "If the question is 'Are we shitting in our pants?' the answer is 'Yes!' "

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