The Second Coming of Steve Jobs - Alan Deutschman [75]
Sequestered safely at his house and his thriving small garden in Old Palo Alto, he loved playing with his two-year-old son, Reed. He would take Reed over to Bob Metcalfe’s farm in the foothills of Woodside, where Bob’s wife, Robyn, kept unusual species of animals, even a white llama. The place was a delight to the little boy. When Reed began to talk, Steve recorded the child’s exuberant high-pitched voice as the outgoing message for his own answering machine. People who called for Steve would hear: “This is REED!”
At thirty-nine, Steve was finally ready for the pleasures of parenting. His friends and colleagues all knew that he was just crazy about the kid, and they believed that fatherhood and marriage were mellowing him out at least somewhat and making him more mature.
He tried to ignore the onslaught of bad press, using his old psychological defense of pretending the man in the magazine articles was “some other guy named Steve.”
“At the low moments, Steve was so ridiculed and abused,” recalls his friend Todd Rulon-Miller. “Steve was beaten down and bedraggled. But he showed a strength of character and will. He drew on an inner courage and resolve. I don’t know how he did it.”
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HIS PATIENCE PAID OFF.
The crisis at Pixar, while real, wasn’t as hopelessly dire as the Pixar executives had believed. It turned out Disney often halted the production of its feature films midway through the animation process and took the time to rewrite storylines that weren’t working. What seemed so apocalyptic to the Pixar novices was really just Disney’s normal way of doing things. And Hollywood types lashed out in emotional rages all the time. No big deal.
Pixar’s leaders did have reason to worry, though. While production was stopped, there were some one hundred stranded people who had absolutely nothing to do. Pixar needed to pay their salaries and keep them happy and engaged creatively while Toy Story languished in turnaround hell. The company managed to reassign some of its artists and engineers to work on television commercials as a moneymaking temporary diversion.
After months of nervous brainstorming, John Lasseter and his core brain trust came up with a clever fix for the problems in the plot of Toy Story. They decided to add new scenes at the beginning of the film that portrayed Woody as the leader of all the toys in the bedroom, the character who took responsibility and looked out paternalistically for the others. This way Woody seemed admirably selfless, a good-hearted, likable guy. Then, when Buzz Lightyear arrived and Woody’s ego was threatened by the shiny rival, the audience could more easily understand and forgive Woody’s moments of selfishness.
Jeffrey Katzenberg approved the story changes. In April 1994, he ordered the production to start up again. For the Pixar team, it was a huge relief, though as work resumed they faced unremitting deadline pressures and high expectations. The place was still frenetic, recalls Ralph Guggenheim: “We knew we were on the edge of horrible failure or great opportunity.”
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STEVE SPENT LITTLE TIME at Pixar and his influence on Toy Story was minimal. A film depends on its director as the creative visionary and the benign dictator. John Lasseter had those roles, and it would have been foolish and unworkable for Steve to undermine John’s authority with the production or the crew. John answered only to Jeffrey Katzenberg and Disney, but Steve at least wanted to be in the loop. John obliged by showing Steve the story reels, but only after he had shown the Disney honchos. Steve would make comments and suggestions on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. John would say “yeah yeah yeah,” humor Steve a little, and then follow his own artistic vision. He kept Steve apprised of milestones. He gave Steve a recording of an early version of the Randy Newman songs for the soundtrack. Steve listened as he drove around in his