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ASolo ago

Who is Marty Singer?

Hollywood Lawyer Marty Singer Can Make Any Problem Go Away—Except Bill Cosby’s

https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2017/02/marty-singer-hollywood-lawyer

Look at this dudes client list:

Bryan Singer

Kevin Spacey

John Travolta

Scarlett Johansson

Charlie Sheen

Jonah Hill

Bill Cosby

Steven Seagal

Eddie Murphy

Nicolas Cage

Stevie Wonder

Mike Myers

James Caan

Sylvester Stallone

Bruce Willis

Magic Johnson

Marie Osmond

Paula Abdul

Shaun White

Arnold Schwarzenegger

Tom Arnold

Sharon Stone

Simon Cowell

...Michael Jackson, Oprah Winfrey, Tom Hanks, Britney Spears, Naomi Campbell, Jim Carrey, Kevin Costner, Liev Schreiber, Matt Damon, Celine Dion, Jamie Foxx, Justin Timberlake, Brendan Fraser, James Gandolfini, Anthony Hopkins, Alicia Keys, Stacy Keach, Demi Moore, Katy Perry, Joaquin Phoenix, Jeremy Piven, Brett Ratner, Sofía Vergara, David O. Russell, Liam Neeson, Don Rickles, Adam Sandler, Steve Bing, Martin Scorsese, Jerry Bruckheimer, Kiefer Sutherland, Marisa Tomei, Whitney Houston, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, Clint Eastwood, Ashton Kutcher, Julianna Margulies, Michael Strahan, Matt LeBlanc, Hayden Panettiere, Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi, Orlando Bloom, Reese Witherspoon, George Clooney, Matthew Perry, Kim Kardashian, Michael J. Fox, Kelsey Grammer, Julia Roberts, and Jennifer Lawrence. : he’s represented them all, plus sports figures like Dennis Rodman, Serena Williams, and Albert Pujols, plus politicians like former senator Harry Reid, plus plutocrats like Sheldon Adelson and George Soros, plus paramours (Sumner Redstone’s ex Sydney Holland), plus many others he can’t or won’t disclose.

HOLY SHIT.

The bulk of what Singer does for his clients—at various times with me he pegged the number at 70, 90, and 98 percent—he says no one ever knows. Most of them first encounter Singer under what Stone called “dubious circumstances.” They are in trouble—not existential trouble, maybe, but about to be embarrassed, or outed, or harassed, or exploited, or extorted. Through guile, bluster, finesse, intimidation, and money, Singer makes their problems disappear. He scares off or placates the reporters, the parasites, the crazies, the opportunists, the aggrieved. He keeps an unflattering documentary on Bruce Willis off the air, gets Arnold Schwarzenegger gun-toting bobblehead dolls pulled off the shelves, or, by settling a hit-and-run for her, lets Halle Berry go off to make (and win an Oscar for) Monster’s Ball.

Around Hollywood, his letters to anyone about to report anything nasty about one of his clients are as familiar, and predictable, and apocalyptic, as the Haggadah of Passover, recounting the smiting of the ancient Egyptians. (This magazine has received its share of them over the years.) They repeat the guts of a proposed story—that a celebrity is linked to the Mafia, say, or approaching a nervous breakdown following a stint in rehab, or hitting on under-age girls (or boys), or neglecting animals, or abusing the help, or tossing chicken bones around a hotel room, or having sex in a stairwell during a Bar Mitzvah—then explain why such things couldn’t possibly be true, then list the plagues that will rain down on anyone daring to publish them. “Proceed at your peril” or “Govern yourself accordingly,” they inevitably conclude. They spook the uninitiated and the uninsured. They impress the press, which invariably calls Singer the “Legal Pit Bull” or “Stealth Rottweiler” or “Doberman” or simply, in a nod to his first two initials, “Mad Dog.” And, to those who get them most frequently, they amuse. “You’re jamming my shredder,” a tabloid editor once jokingly complained to him.

THIS GUYS SOMETHIN' ELSE.

Then Sharon Stone slunk to the microphone. “You call Marty because Keyser Söze is a fictional character,” she said. “You call Marty because you need someone like Mike Tyson in the Holyfield fight.” And with that she made the sound of chomping into something, like an ear, then spitting it out. “Marty is such a badass motherfucker,” she went on. “When people give me a hard time, I just c.c. Marty,” she said, snapping her fingers.

Sharon Stone: AmfAR's naughtiest auction goddess

ASolo ago

At $950 an hour (likely to rise this year)—and ever on call, even while playing golf at the Brentwood Country Club (the place took a record two years to admit him) or on a cruise—Martin Dori Singer, 64 years old, born and raised in Brooklyn, is Hollywood’s concierge consigliere. He has remained so for 30 years or more.

Geeky-looking and heavyset (a Marvin Hamlisch type) and utterly unaltered. Singer is a throwback: the scrappy, working-class, self-made son of European Jewish immigrants (his mother a survivor of Auschwitz), who studied nights at C.C.N.Y. and Brooklyn Law School.