The attempted reinvention of Mike Tyson, carefully calculated and months in the planning, launches in the south of France this week with the debut of a sympathetic documentary about him at the Cannes Film Festival.
This is not as bizarre as it might seem.
The French have proved their relaxed standards toward Americans via decades of inexplicable infatuation with Jerry Lewis, so perhaps Tyson, too, will be embraced there as a misunderstood genius. And who better than the traditionally liberal army of the film industry to forgive a man who would let Hollywood champion his public makeover?
I figure Tyson has a better shot with the red-carpet crowd in Cannes than he would have with, say, Middle America. Call me crazy, but I'd guess real people watching gas prices rise to $4 a gallon might not have much understanding for a man who made almost $400 million in his boxing career but burned it on drugs, alcohol and stupidity. (Not to mention those Bengal tigers in his back yard back before the Internal Revenue Service came calling and Tyson dove into bankruptcy.)
His new handlers figure Tyson, turning 42 next month and three years removed from his last fight, still has cachet -- and cash -- in his once-magical name.
That's why they availed him recently to ESPN's new E:60 show for a touchy-feely interview. That in turn set the stage for the documentary titled, simply, Tyson, a montage of recent interviews interspersed with fight footage and set for wider theatrical release later this fall unless it is eviscerated by the critics at Cannes.
A ghostwritten memoir also is in the planning stage. So are comic books and video games (seriously), all under the orchestration of Harlan Werner, who also happens to be the guy who handles licensing and marketing deals for Muhammad Ali.
A minor pertinent distinction is that Ali in his retirement is beloved, a true icon of American sport, while Tyson is despised, his reputation ruined irreparably by his own hand.
It's fine that the supposedly new and introspective Tyson claims he has been sober the past 15 months, but that doesn't make disappear all that turned his name dirty. The three-year prison sentence in the '90s for a rape conviction. The other arrests for violent episodes. The bizarre behavior, such as telling opponents he would ''eat your children'' and then following through by biting off part of Evander Holyfield's ear in 1997.
WHO'S SORRY NOW?
Tyson spent most of his career warped and reckless -- half vulgar cartoon, half psychopath -- and that doesn't go away with a little latter-day contrition. There isn't enough makeup in the world to cover the huge tattoo on Tyson's face or the reputation earned by years and years of being a jerk.
I have no doubt that his handlers doing the spin-doctoring will try to get him on the Oprah/Ellen/Dr. Phil confessional tour, preparatory to a broader acceptance culminating with a properly self-deprecating host's role on Saturday Night Live.
Perhaps down the road our new and improved Tyson will take aim at George Foreman's niche and soon will be peddling Mike Tyson Grills on infomercials.
Self-help books will be the natural spawn of his memoir, which also might father a made-for-TV movie in his handlers' grand blueprint.
Appearances on sitcoms will be invited. A gospel album could be inevitable. An eponymous clothing line. Yes, and (of course) a humanizing spot on the new season of Dancing With The Stars. That surely will lead to Tyson being offered the action-hero movie roles that Jason Taylor turns down. Hey, does the Price Is Right need another new host yet?
Enough!
We've been living Tyson's sad shtick for 20 years now. We don't need a repentant documentary. Don't need him reinvented or reintroduced. We need him to just fade quietly away, please. Leave us alone.
PLENTY OF COMPANY
You, too, Roger Clemens. And Barry Bonds. Pacman Jones. Michael Jackson. Pete Rose. Mark McGwire. Marion Jones. Almost too many to name are in Tyson's company, led as always by the mayor-for-life, O.J. Simpson.
No makeovers, please.
No reinventions.
Too late for that.
Contrition is fine and forgiveness divine, but what's true in politics, entertainment, sports and everyday life is something the people now trying to repackage and resell Mike Tyson need to understand:
A good name gone bad knows no real cure.
