Bonnie Hammer’s Hit Factory

In 1997 Hammer found herself working for the Hollywood mogul Barry Diller after he purchased USA from Seagram heir Bronfman. Having Diller as a boss was a formative experience. "It took me a year to get used to Barry—he scared you to such a degree," says Hammer, who was also responsible for programming at the sibling Sci Fi network. Diller's management style was mentorship by fire—to question and push back at subordinates, forcing them to rationalize decisions and stand firm against skepticism. She remembers him once admonishing her to cut $20 million from her budget, declaring, "Don't you know you're just a financial asset to me?" Hammer spent a weekend arguing with him via e-mail about programming philosophy, which ended with his reply, "Your argument wins." Later, when Hammer was widely criticized for spending $40 million on a 20-hour Steven Spielberg miniseries called Taken, Diller asked to see a rough cut. He loved it. "Honey, ignore the world," he told her. (Disclosure: Diller serves on the board of The Washington Post Company, NEWSWEEK's parent.)

Today Hammer works from a sleek Rockefeller Center office with a low-slung white sofa. The top of a file chest near her desk is crammed with family photos, including son Jesse, 15, and stepdaughter KiMae, 29. She retains only a slight accent that gives a hint of her working-class upbringing across the river in Queens. At 5 feet 4 she's hardly imposing, but her track record of greenlighting series that become ratings monsters garners Team Hammer huge respect among producers. On the set of Royal Pains this past spring, Hammer seemed to be working to avoid the royal treatment: when underlings worried about her walking without an umbrella through a cool drizzle to the lunch tent, she waved them off. Around the creative types upon whose work she renders judgment, Hammer projects authority but not self--importance: a mix that's in contrast with a lot of Hollywood bosses. WWE boss McMahon, an unabashed fan, says her performance and style make her a serious contender to someday succeed Jeff Zucker as head of NBC Universal. "She's just that smart," McMahon says.

The key to the network's current success, as Hammer sees it, lies in the brand filter she and her team have devised to figure out which shows belong on the network—and which don't. In her first six months on the job, Hammer accelerated research into USA's identity crisis. In focus groups, viewers were asked what appealed to them about the U.S.A., as in the United States of America. They said the nation's appeal was more about its people than the place. That was an important clue to Hammer that the network should focus on people—and the "characters" strategy emerged. Monk was already a hit because of its germphobic lead character, detective Adrian Monk. What the network wanted was more shows in that vein, and to build the overall network's identity around them.

To find character-driven shows, Hammer's team abandoned the usual Hollywood drill for picking shows. Typically, TV networks use an informal process to decide the scripts that should be turned into pilots, then subject those would-be scripts to extensive focus-group testing. When Hammer and her lieutenants consider scripts, they spend up to two days in their own conference room, using charts to map out exactly how a proposed show matches the "blue sky," "aspirational," "fun," and "character-centric" values that viewers identified as key attributes of Monk. Today the network sees those qualities as the core of USA's brand identity. Based on their subjective assessment of how each script rates in terms of the brand traits, each team member votes anonymously for his or her top three picks in order of preference. A tally is taken to whittle the field down to the three scripts with the most votes. Then the discussion turns to each of the traits. If a script isn't character-centric enough, they may ask the writer to beef it up. This process continues until rounds of voting produce a winner. "We won't greenlight something that doesn't have most or all of the traits," Hammer says. "It doesn't guarantee a winner, but limits failure." What if the group can't reach a consensus? "This is not entirely a democracy," Hammer says. "I'll make a decision."

The process often results in significant tweaks to the shows producers pitch to the network. Consider USA's newest hit, Royal Pains. Originally, the series focused exclusively on the medical travails of rich Hamptonites and the doctor who's at their beck and call. Hammer's team felt that focus wasn't right for their brand. "They wanted more middle-income people to be incorporated," says series star Feurstein. "The audience isn't just going to want to watch rich people." So based on the feedback, the show now has a storyline about a clinic for working-class townies where Feuerstein's character works. "Originally, it was just about the Hamptons, but there's another world here now," says executive producer Rauch. "The balance is much better now."

Viewers seem to agree: since its debut in early June, Royal Pains has dominated its time slot (Thursdays, 10 p.m. ET), with ratings rising each week. To advertisers, it's a sign that under Hammer's watch, a network once known as a smorgasbord has become focused and confident. "They know what they want," says a top television producer, who asked for anonymity in speaking about a network with which he does business. "They don't buy shows for the sake of buying, only when it fits what they're looking for." And in a business that's often derided for pursuing flavors of the month, for now at least, Bonnie Hammer seems to have a taste for all seasons.

© 2009