March 6, 1998
Features

STAKING A CLAIM

now that buffy and dawson's creek have successfully pumped fresh blood into the wb, the once anemic network has a new mission: slay the competition

by A.J. Jacobs

What the devil's gotten into Sarah Michelle Gellar?

The eensy blond star of Buffy the Vampire Slayer--The WB's cultish horror hit--is confined to a hospital gurney, an IV tube stuck in her arm, mid-hissy fit. "Let me go!" she roars at a team of doctors. "I have to kill all the vampires!"

But when the cameras stop rolling, the mood stays midnight dark. Gellar's cranky. She snaps at the director, puts off an interview, even inspires her hairdresser to jokingly paste "666" on her trailer door.

In that trailer, two days later, a much more angelic Gellar is apologizing. "I had to pee really badly, and no one would let me go. That's what started the whole thing. See the price you pay for fame?"

The WB is paying for her fame as well. Gellar's dog--a tiny white fluff ball named Thor--has his own bladder issues and has already ruined one trailer. "This is my second," says Gellar, who is watching appreciatively as Thor lets loose on some pages from The New York Times. "Good dog! Right on the paper."

Thor's 20-year-old mistress is in the odd position of being more famous than her show, thanks to a two-year stint on the soap All My Children and appearances in the recent blockbusters Scream 2 and I Know What You Did Last Summer (curiously, she played a slayee in both). But Buffy is quickly catching up; ratings have spiked 54 percent in its second year (the 1997 mid-season replacement was a critical fave but averaged 3.7 million viewers in its first run--about 10 million shy of a Big Four hit). Worshipful fans have even cooked up a drinking game, a la "Hi, Bob," the homage to Bob Newhart: Pound your brew whenever Buffy flashes her bra strap, pound again when she throws a demon against a wall.

As of January, The WB could join in the toast. Buffy seamlessly switched from Mondays--where it was awkwardly paired with the wholesome soap 7th Heaven, and getting slaughtered by Fox's Ally McBeal--to Tuesdays, where it leads into the new coming-of-age smash Dawson's Creek, currently The WB's highest-rated show. More impressive still, this New Tuesday, as the promos call it, marks a first: The WB is the only network to have successfully added a fresh night (its fourth) without losing ratings on existing nights.

Buffy and Dawson are a match made in high school heaven. Both reveal miles of midriff. Both delight in mining pop culture--from Russ Meyer camp to Steven Spielberg mainstream. And both boast steamy May-December romances--Dawson between a 16-year-old high school dude and his teacher, Buffy between the slayer herself and a 242-year-old vampire named Angel. (The latter sparked a heated debate at The WB over whether Buffy's recent deflowering called for a condom: "When you're losing your virginity to someone who's been dead for hundreds of years, is there a risk of contracting sexually transmitted disease?" asks head of programming Garth Ancier. The eventual answer: No.)

The WB's Tuesday has become must-see TV for the Oxy set as well as your more ironically inclined 18- to 34-year-olds. And fueled this season by its highest numbers, The Dubba has finally edged past archrival UPN (averaging a 3.1 Nielsen rating, versus 2.9). "They're making a lot of noise," says New York-based media buyer Paul Schulman. "They're having the best year of any network, and that's including the Big Four." But in the fickle TV world, the jury's still out. Can the three-year-old WB go from netlet to network? Will it be Fox Redux...or the DuMont of the '90s?

Gong! It's Wednesday morning in the Burbank offices of The WB, and a strange sound echoes through the halls. Gong! No, it's not Chuck Barris making a comeback. The gong is the network's goofy Charlie Chan-ish way of heralding good news.

The summoned staffers file into the lobby--about 100 khaki- and sneaker-clad folks--to hear Ancier crow about last night's ratings. Take Boston: "That little station did an 8.8 last night. I don't think they've ever seen that kind of rating--unless it was a live execution." Forgive the cornball humor: The WB, after all, has spent some serious time on death row.

The network (co-owned by Time Warner--EW's parent company--and Tribune Broadcasting) hit the airwaves in 1995, the same year as UPN. The doomsaying press was already predicting the extinction of broadcast TV, and no one had much confidence in either start-up--although UPN was generally given the edge, thanks to its chunk of the Star Trek franchise, Voyager, and its affiliate reach.

The WB...well, it had nice commercials. The network's first season was about as riveting as a VCR manual: a melange of tepid ethnic shows (including those wacky Wayans Bros.) and the lame Soap wannabe Muscle. Predictably, Warner Bros.' network clunked into sixth place and became a late-night punchline--Jay Leno, for one, cracked that Martin Lawrence's punishment for assault charges was "a year on The WB."

Just as mockable: the wince-inducing spokestoon mascot, Michigan J. Frog, and the net's daft catchphrase, "dubba-dubba-dubba UB," which the receptionist still blurts out when answering the phone ("They like to hire people who stutter," cracks WB star Carol Leifer, creator of the Seinfeldian Alright Already).

What a difference an identity makes--even if it is a hand-me-down. The WB looked to Fox circa 1992 for its edgy, young, skin-baring blueprint. Just as that network broke out with Beverly Hills, 90210 and Melrose Place, The WB has combined in-demand writers (Toy Story scribe Joss Whedon and Screamwriter Kevin Williamson), envelope-pushing scripts (Dawson pleasuring himself to Katie Couric), and enough teen idols to fill a shelf of Tiger Beats. Listen to James Van Der Beek (Dawson himself), fresh from a promo trip to Seattle: "There were 5,000 screaming teenage girls going 'Oh, my God, you rock! You're hot! I love you!' I've never felt more detached from a group of people in my life."

Not so coincidentally, most of The WB's honchos migrated from Fox, including CEO Jamie Kellner, 50, and Ancier, 38. While one might assume these renegades are wary of having their creation labeled a Fox clone, Kellner welcomes the comparison, noting that like Fox, The WB is being built one night at a time. (Just don't look for "When Michigan J. Frog attacks" anytime soon.)

Fox Entertainment Group president Peter Roth applauds The WB's "very sound strategy" but warns the network "not to get excited too quickly." Consider these numbers: While The WB has grown at nearly the same pace as Fox (it's grabbed 63 percent more households since launching), total viewership lags behind Rupert Murdoch's baby at the same age. Demographics are a particular concern, especially as the four-night-a-week WB attempts to expand (Friday's a likely candidate for next year). "They've got to broaden their audience," says Steve Sternberg, a senior partner at TN Media. "The under-25 set doesn't watch enough TV to sustain seven nights a week."

Kellner insists his network's already wrestling that demo bear. While he admits The WB has specifically targeted young female viewers (a group now coveted by Madison Avenue), he's got his eye on the whole family: "We want to appeal to teens and kids and adults.... Fox would never have put on a show like 7th Heaven."

That drama--starring Stephen Collins as a sternly sweet minister and father of five--has turned into a surprise hit this season, growing 75 percent from its hellishly rated first year. It's true that unlike anything on Fox, Heaven does portray--gasp!--a totally functional picket-fence family. ("We're the whitest show around," says exec producer Brenda Hampton. "Even our dog is white.") Then again, the show is a Spelling production, scores its best numbers with teens, and lured fans with posters of its sultry, pouting adolescent stars.

However you dissect the frog's strategy, it's off to a good start. Though The WB still gets shrimp-size ratings compared with Big Four sharks, at least they're growing. As of February sweeps, household ratings have risen an impressive 19 percent for the season. ABC, on the other hand, lost 9 percent, Fox 10, and NBC 3. Hollywood's creative types have taken notice. "Producers are no longer afraid to take their stuff there," says ICM executive vice president Alan Berger. "They're anxious to do it."

For this, The WB should build a shrine to Buffy and a monument to Dawson's Creek--which claimed the title of No. 1 teen show after four episodes. Not even a controversial teacher-student affair provoked anticipated boycotts (though The WB certainly tried to drum one up--for publicity purposes). "Dawson is doing a sanitized version of what's happening in real life," says Ancier, referring to the boy-loving Seattle teacher whose antics were recently splashed across the headlines.

Meanwhile, the ocean of red ink is receding--at least a bit. Last year, the netlet bled $87 million, down from $98 million in 1996. That's a lot of dough, and even The WB's biggest boosters say it won't turn a profit till 2000. Still, they're rosy numbers compared with UPN, which reportedly lost $175 million in '97.

UPN admits it's lost momentum. Aside from Moesha and a stagnant Voyager, its lineup is pretty bleak. "I came here facing a difficult situation," says new president Dean Valentine of his buzz-challenged network (owned by Viacom and Chris-Craft Industries). "We have not put on an event show since Star Trek." UPN is currently No. 1 with African Americans, but Valentine is clearly interested in another audience--one very different from The WB's. His vision: Target neglected middle Americans with meat-and-taters Roseanne-type fare. Forget about "psycho yuppies from Manhattan"; instead, woo your average "UPS driver."

Perhaps the UPS crowd will come aboard UPN's upcoming Love Boat remake, starring Robert Urich. But for now, The WB is busy dissing its rival, perhaps in revenge for past humiliations (former UPN president Lucie Salhany used to sport a brooch featuring a frog with a stake through its heart). "I think we're going to kick their ass," Kellner told affiliates recently. UPN is "out of the business," he later added, a "submerging network."

Last summer, when The WB first kicked its offense into high gear, Kellner aimed his torpedoes at one of UPN's traditional strengths: affiliates. The WB wooed away seven key UPN stations owned by Sinclair Broadcast Group with an enticing $84 million. "We're feeling a lot better than we were [before the Sinclair deal]," says Warner Bros. chairman Bob Daly. "Without it, it's unlikely we would break even by 2000."

All the recent good tidings appear to have calmed one of The WB's harshest critics: Time Warner vice chair Ted Turner. Last year he carped to the press about the network's propensity for hemorrhaging cash, but in January, he sent a conciliatory note to Kellner: "Your recent successes...have not gone unnoticed by me. Congratulations." Kellner says he "used to throw darts at his picture. Now I've taken [him] out of the dartboard."

Turner (who refused to comment) might not be breaking out the confetti just yet. The Dubba has a long way to grow--in ratings, demos, and content. Its comedy lineup, in particular, is no laughing matter. Though ethnic sitcoms Smart Guy and Sister, Sister do okay, the network's broader (i.e., white) comedies--The Tom Show and the promising Alright Already--linger in Nielsen hell. Senior VP Jordan Levin offers one strategy: Just as Buffy and Dawson inject punchlines into drama, maybe viewers want more serious stuff in their sitcoms. "There's too many disposable comedies, too many characters you don't care about," he says. "We've got our hit dramas," adds executive vp Susanne Daniels. "Now we need our Married...With Children, our Simpsons."

Back in the trailer, Gellar is professing her devotion to the network. "I dated the frog for a while," she reveals. "It didn't work out because of commitment issues. We're still good friends."

The WB's ever-faithful poster girl--sneakered feet tucked under her, a blanket spread over her legs--refuses to whine about her net's far-from-NBC numbers and budgets. "I love being on a cult hit," she says. "You feel less pressure. And you won't get typecast, because you're not 'Rachel from Friends.' "

Gellar's a smooth showbiz pro indeed. She's been at this thing a lot longer than The WB--since she appeared in a Valerie Harper TV movie at age 4. Eleven years later, she joined All My Children as Kendall Hart, the devious, stepfather-seducing spawn of Susan Lucci's Erica Kane. Off screen, according to tabloid reports, it was no love match either. "It wasn't the easiest of working conditions," is all Gellar will say. (That Gellar won a 1995 Daytime Emmy probably didn't help matters with the trophy-challenged Lucci.)

More recently, another report implied that Gellar will pull a Caruso and ditch Buffy. No, insists the actress, who is trying to renegotiate her current deal (which allows her to squeak by on $30,000 per episode). "I love this show. I know it's launched my movie career. I will absolutely be back next year." Good thing, for a Buffy-free Buffy wouldn't quite work. "Sarah's got that TV-star thing," says creator Joss Whedon. "When you watch, you feel a kinship. You go through what she goes through."

But her gig as the slayer won't prevent her from squeezing in a handful of other projects. This hiatus, a dark-haired Gellar will shoot Cruel Inventions, a Dangerous Liaisons update; and she just guest-voiced on a future episode of King of the Hill, as Bobby's girlfriend. But she's most animated discussing a fantasy cameo, one on Dawson's Creek. It is, after all, created by Williamson, the man responsible for offing Gellar in her two recent big-screen flicks. "When they have the drunk-driving episode, I want to be the kid who's killed. I'm obsessed. I will get killed." Just not in the ratings.

(Additional reporting by Joe Flint)