Brad Grey Insists Under Oath That He Didn't Want To Know How The Pellicano Sausage Was Made

There was little that could have come from Brad Grey's testimony at the Anthony Pellicano trial today that would have matched the sensationalism of the last bombshell to emerge from this ongoing saga of backdoor Hollywood intrigue—i.e., the Chris Rock: Accused Rapist tapes. Still, there was plenty of opportunity for another Moment, the diminutive studio emperor having a sizable axe to grind with Garry Shandling, who pulled no punches on the stand in a brutally frank testimony against his former manager. (It would surely have included some waterworks had the Larry Sanders Show star not years ago had his face pulled tighter than a conga drum, effectively sealing every one of his above-the-neck mucus membranes tighter than Tutankhamen's tomb.) As it turns out, Grey did not use the opportunity to take some public jabs at his nemesis, instead delivering straightforward statements relieving himself of all knowledge of Pellicano's shadowy surveillance methods:

In his long-awaited testimony in the wiretapping and racketeering trial of Pellicano, Grey said that the decision to hire the private eye was made by the law firm hired by Grey's former entertainment management company and the law firm's well-known litigator Bert Fields.
The law firm and Fields, Grey said, were hired to defend against lawsuits filed by comedian Garry Shandling and writer-producer Bo Zenga. In both cases, Grey said, Pellicano was paid $25,000 for his investigative services.

And while Grey said he fully endorsed the selection of Pellicano, he said he was never made aware of Pellicano's day-to-day findings or his investigative methods.

Pellicano has been representing himself at the trial, but relinquished cross-examination duties to his lawyer, who only briefly grilled Grey about his sworn ignorance of the P.I.'s wiretapping practices. Perhaps just a few more pointed questions could have dislodged far juicier and more damning testimony, such as a recollection of a fateful lunch at The Grill in which Scary Hollywood Lawyer Bert Fields placed a warm, steady palm over Grey's trembling, salad-fork-clasping hand, and reassured, "Relax. If Shandling so much as farts in a minor key, this guy will get it on tape," before turning to a passing busboy to request another helping of sesame flatbreads.