There was a well-known shogun who at one point was considered one of the most powerful men in the country. He built his empire swiftly and, he would be the first to admit, ruthlessly, and in the process ran over a lot of people and burned a lot of bridges. Like many feudal warlords, he rarely left the security of his own castle, letting his efficient minions roam far afield to do his work. Then he made a single miscalculation: He decided to change castles. There was one just over the border much more attractive than his, or maybe it was just that he was bored. With great pomp and an entourage of musicians and entertainers he marched to the new castle. After he settled in, he sent for his minions and warrior chiefs. Not one returned. Instead, they occupied his old castle and proceeded to chop his empire up among themselves. In a short while the shogun was surrounded in his new castle by enemies. When he tried to think of someone to ask for assistance, not a single name came to mind. He had offended everyone. That night he left the castle and retired to Aspen.
My story, of course, is a parable of what recently happened to a well-known Hollywood figure whose spectacular rise has now been eclipsed by his collapse. I'm not going to dwell on his misfortune, other than for what it can teach us about business. But I will say that I have never known anybody in our business who had more people saying bad things about him, than this deposed Man Who Would Be King.
At one level the tale is quite simple: Here's a fellow who burned all his bridges. Like most cliches, this one is so obvious as to be useless. Hidden in the word "all," however, is the implication that "some" bridges must be burned in life to get ahead. A cliche with real value will tell us which bridges can be burned, and which should be preserved.