Eliza Dushku

Producer Dede Harris

February 22, 2006 — DELIGHT in other people’s misfortunes is part of the genetic makeup of most theater people.

And so there has been much gleeful cackling over the trials and tribulations of "Grab a lot" gal Dede Harris, the Broadway producer who’s been accused of sexually harassing the hot young actors in the play "God Sees Dog."

Last Friday - the day The Post broke the story with a picture of Harris clutching Eliza Dushku’s backside on our front page - a top Broadway producer spread half a dozen copies of the newspaper across the coffee table in his waiting room.

He has clashed with Harris in the past, and was delighted to advertise her troubles in his own little way.

Another producer, also a Harris detractor, bought lunch for everybody at Martian Entertainment, the company that’s suing Harris for "fraud" and "gross negligence."

And of course tales of Harris’ alleged sexual antics raced around Shubert Alley.

But it’s not the allegations of sexual harassment - allegations which, for the record, Harris vehemently denies - that are fueling this merry bout of schadenfreude.

Theater people rarely get worked up about sex in the workplace. Go backstage sometime and you’ll see boys and girls in all manner of dress running around, making lewd comments, oogling one another and being oogled by half the production staff.

I know of a veteran producer who, at an opening-night party, propositioned a cute young man he thought was an actor only to find out later that the object of his lust had just been made the theater columnist of a major newspaper.

As a veteran press agent says, "We’re in the theater. We always behave inappropriately. If we worked in the corporate world, we’d all be in jail."

The reason theater people are having a good time at Harris’ expense is that she represents a type of producer who has come to dominate Broadway: the dilettante who doesn’t really know what she’s doing but who, because she’s got the money, gets to play at being a producer.

These dilettantes are deeply, deeply resented by the professionals who really run the theater - those producers, managers, press agents and ad executives who got where they are not because they married well (or divorced even better) but because of their hard work, tenacity and talent.

Harris, an heiress who is also the ex-wife of a millionaire Fifth Avenue dentist, "is one of those women who sit around the conference table talking about what color the ad should be and where we should have the party," sniffs a veteran producer who’s worked with a lot of them, including Harris.

Once upon a time, when shows were cheaper to produce, such people were called investors, and producers would take their money and not see them again until the opening-night party.

But today, with the average musical costing $10 million, a

piece of the action costs at least $250,000.

For that kind of money, nobody wants to be an investor; they want to be an "associate producer."

Which means "you have to listen to their ideas," says a press agent. "And the ideas can be: ’I think if we change the shade of green we’re using in the ad, it will capture the essence of the play better.’ You want to shoot yourself. But you need their money."

When the dilettantes actually try producing something themselves, the results can be disastrous.

Such is the case with "God Sees Dog," according to the lawsuit filed against Harris.

Harris is the lead producer on the show. In the suit, her partners claim she has mismanaged the production, making it impossible for their investors to get their money back.

Bert V. Royal, who wrote the play, complains that Harris cut scenes out of his play in direct violation of the Dramatist Guild Contract.

And when it came to recasting the show, he says she had no idea what she was doing.

"I thought we should be looking for actors, but she wanted ’names’ and ’personalities.’ If they appeared on Page Six, she made them an offer."

All of this has the real professionals in the theater shaking their heads and chuckling.

It’s fun to see one of the dilettante producers take a fall.

But don’t count Harris out.

As long as she’s got money, the pros will take it. And while they’ll be snickering at the "Grab a lot" gal behind her back, they’ll give her a good seat at the production meeting.