So sad to hear tonight about Nikki Finke's death at age 68. I had always enjoyed her gleefully fearless Deadline Hollywood site. She told the truth and revealed the embarrassing facts about Hollywood big shots. Inevitably, you would hear the self-righteous denials ... and when the proof came out, you could count on the patented Finke "TOLDJA!" to celebrate another victory over the untouchable. Her hilariously venomous live blogging of the Oscars was a highlight of my year, every year ... and far more entertaining than the actual show.
Then she sold the site to Penske and went to war with him ... and lost; and then went silent... at least online -- there was a non-compete clause in her sale contract with the trucking giant.
I missed her, and the splash of vodka she had slipped into the processed orange juice of Hollywood news.
So I wondered ... what would she do next?
Her new project was Hollywood Dementia -- a site dedicated to tinseltown fiction written by movie biz insiders. I had a 250,000-word Hollywood novel I could dip into ... but did my family connections, my WGAw membership, and my paltry few years in L.A., qualify me to contribute?
Nikki thought so, and a lovely, long-distance friendship began. She was a tough quirky editor and a tireless champion of the writers she liked. I'll never forget her grabbing Francesca Orsi -- the HBO executive she had corralled into attending her Hollywood Dementia writer's party -- pointing at me and growling, "Talk to him! He's the most talented writer on the site!" I certainly wasn't, not even close, but her ferocious advocacy meant the world to me. She even tried to convince the cable channel to make my Kennis mysteries into a season of True Detective. Her efforts were tireless, Quixotic, and futile, but it felt good to have such a tough stubborn ally.
Then the site turned moribund and she stopped returning phone calls. I feared the worst -- she had been in ill health even six years before when we met at her party.
And now the worst has happened.
A lot of the people she scandalized and humiliated probably assume she's going to hell. But when arrives at the pearly gates for a champagne toast with St, Peter I'll be down here crowing: TOLDJA!
