In August, 2001, Brian Mulroney, the most connected of Canadians, took Pierre Karl Péladeau to New York to meet two people he thought the young Quebecor Inc. CEO should know. At The Four Seasons, lunch spot of the über rich, Mulroney introduced Péladeau to Robert Pittman and John Malone. Pittman was then the wunderkind co-COO of AOL Time Warner, whose recent $284-billion (U.S.) merger had infected the media and entertainment world with convergence fever. Malone was a legend in his industry, having steered cable giant TCI through a merger with AT&T in 1999, before taking the reins of spinoff Liberty Media Corp. Together, Malone and Pittman packed a wallop of convergence clout.

Péladeau, the antithesis of a networker, would never have made overtures. But Mulroney, Péladeau's most esteemed adviser, figured his protégé could use the insight of Pittman and Malone as he embarked on his own convergence odyssey. Under the glow of the restaurant's Picasso, Miro and Pollock, the group exchanged views on the future of their unsettled industry. "You know, I'm not sure convergence is applicable everywhere today," Pittman told his new Québécois friend. "But it probably has a greater opportunity for success in a place like Montreal than anywhere else."

Back home, few concurred. Péladeau's second anniversary as CEO of family-controlled Quebecor the previous April had looked like it could be his last. The market had lost confidence in the ambitious younger son of the revered Pierre Péladeau. The emergence of a "PKP discount" tarred Quebecor's stock as investors grew weary of reports of Pierre Karl's despotic management. A hyperbolic debt load-inherited in Quebecor's $5.4-billion purchase, with the Caisse de dépôt et placement du Québec, of cable giant Groupe Vidéotron Ltée in late 2000-weighed ominously on the empire. Rumours of a bankruptcy filing made the rounds, as did talk of a sale of printer Quebecor World, the profit-spinning core of the Péladeau empire. The convergence strategy Péladeau had vaunted to justify his controversial alliance with the caisse-the synergistic logic of marrying Vidéotron's cable, television and internet businesses with Quebecor's newspapers, magazines, printers and record stores-had fallen into disrepute everywhere. The Toronto financial press seemed to revel in the abrasive Péladeau's misfortune. Their schadenfreude ate at him endlessly. Lucky for him, he had love.

Péladeau and Julie Snyder, Quebec's queen of talk-TV, had been a couple for more than a year when Snyder decided to throw a surprise 40th birthday party for her lover in October, 2001. An imaginative and successful TV producer, Snyder naturally thought of making a video for the event, held at Old Montreal's historic Auberge St-Gabriel. It opens with Marie, Péladeau's then 18-month-old daughter, uttering her first words: "Papa l'amour, Papa l'amour..." Daddy love. Scenes of a doting Péladeau cuddling his first born follow. Then, in succession, the 40 invited guests each sing a line of Jacques Brel's searing Quand on n'a que l'amour-When All We've Got Is Love-the lyrics customized to fete Péladeau. There is big brother and Quebecor vice-chairman Érik Péladeau and sister Isabelle. There are Pierre Karl's half-siblings, Esther, Simon-Pierre and Jean. There is Manon Blanchette, his father's final partner. There are Brian and Mila. There are the Laframboises, the middle-class Montreal couple with whom Péladeau boarded during high school, and who gave the lonesome teenager's unsettled life a dose of normalcy after the tragic death of his painkiller-addicted mother at age 47. There is Bertrand Ménard, Péladeau's best pal since their days at Montreal's elite Collège Jean-de-Brébeuf. There is a coterie of Quebecor heavyweights-Quebecor World's Jean Neveu and Claude Hélie, Sun Media's Pierre Francoeur, Groupe TVA's Raynald Brière and corporate spinmeister Luc Lavoie. There is Snyder's friend Céline Dion, bellowing a multi-octave crescendo. Finally, there is the footage that left the guests, and Péladeau himself, teary-eyed-Snyder coaxing an eager Marie to declare, "Bonne fête, Papa."

It is this kind of programming knack that has made Snyder's presence in Péladeau's life a material change for Quebecor's shareholders. Snyder has put him in touch with his inner low-brow. A bookish polymath-he's unbeatable when watching Questions pour un champion, a Jeopardy-level French game show-Péladeau had grown distant from, if not dismissive of, Quebec's highly developed star system during his Parisian stints, first while pursuing his studies of Hegel, Kant and Marx in the 1980s, then as the head of Quebecor's European printing business in the 1990s. Under Snyder's spell, he has become a rapacious consumer of homegrown pop culture. At his 40th, Snyder brought in Québécois rock star Éric Lapointe. Péladeau grabbed the microphone and belted out one of Lapointe's biggest hits. He knew all the words.

Péladeau's awakening to the appeal of Québécois pop culture has been opportune. By 2003, convergence may have been discredited (Vivendi, Bertelsmann, AOL Time Warner) or largely abandoned (BCE), but it was also this year that it suddenly started working at Quebecor with Star Académie, a Snyder-produced and -hosted reality show on Quebecor's TVA network. It provided Péladeau with a dream vehicle to unleash his juggernaut. During the show's run this past winter, Quebecor inundated Quebeckers with magazine and newspaper stories about the the show and its budding stars; it produced a sales-record-breaking CD and a sold-out concert series; it developed a subscription-based web site and lured customers to Vidéotron's high-speed internet service with exclusive access to Star Académie web cams. The spinoffs continue. There's a DVD out. This fall, Snyder is producing for TVA a live-request show featuring Star Académie's original 14 contestants, while Star Académie 2 will begin airing in February, fetching advertising rates more than 50% above the original. Pierre Péladeau, who devoured each edition of Écho-Vedettes with the same zeal that he worshipped Balzac, would have loved it.

Star Académie is a cross between American Idol (14 amateurs vied for a record contract) and Big Brother (they lived together, captured by cameras 24/7, and one contestant was eliminated by the public each week). Little noticed in English Canada, it was quite possibly the biggest hit in the history of Quebec entertainment. Its success speaks to the resilience of Quebec's cultural industries in a multi-American-channel universe. But it also reflects the extent to which Quebecor has integrated its various media properties into a cohesive whole, levering the content of each property to drive sales at all the others. "Pittman was probably right," Mulroney says. "Convergence is succeeding more in the Quebecor world than anywhere else. First, there's the homogeneity of the market. Second, Quebecor is the only player that has all of the elements-cable, TV, newspapers-to make it work. And third, it's got the CEO who understands it completely and who has driven it to considerable success."

Who would have thought? In less than two years, Péladeau has eradicated more than $1 billion of Quebecor's debt. He has restructured Vidéotron, slashed its costs and tamed its union. Most remarkable, thanks in part to Star Académie, he has made Quebecor Media-owned 55% by Quebecor and 45% by the caisse-profitable. An IPO for the unit is nigh. It could be a handsome reward for Péladeau, who holds 39 million options in the unit. But that is hardly what drives him. An IPO will allow Péladeau to do what he loves-deals. And, with Snyder, probably set more ratings records.

In the Old Montreal offices of Les Productions J, the clutter speaks to the hyperactive minds of Julie Snyder and her staff. Dressed in an expensive-looking black mini and matching sweater top, dainty slides on her tiny feet, the 36-year-old Snyder has the allure of a Parisian aristocrat. But she is no snob. In public, she is the gamine and giggly TV star. Off camera, she is the self-made businesswoman who has delivered some of the most original programming ever created in the French language. Founded in 1998, Les Productions J employs 200 in peak periods and will generate $18 million in revenues this year-most of that, she notes, from non-Quebecor broadcasters.

Snyder created the company to assume control of the mega-hit TVA talk show Le Poing J. She hosted the show-whose title is a play on the French terms for "fist" and "G-spot"-for three seasons when the network, along with Vidéotron, were controlled by André Chagnon. "I said to myself: 'I'm the raw material. If I get sick, if I get cancer, I can't earn my living,'" recounts Snyder matter-of-factly over a vegetarian lunch in her office. "I thought if I had my own production company, I could earn income from other shows, so I could go off for six months or whatever for chemotherapy." This is the side of Snyder, the angst-ridden one, that led her into psychoanalysis. She confesses she once worked obsessively to "sublimate the pain" accumulated during a difficult youth as the only child of a suburban Montreal insurance broker and his lab- technician wife.

More than anyone of her generation, Snyder has defined Quebec television. She drew record audiences-Le Poing J hit peaks of 1.2 million viewers in a late-night time slot-with her uninhibited antics and inventive wardrobe. She paraded as Queen Elizabeth in front of Buckingham Palace claiming she had forgotten her keys. She showed up at an awards show dressed as a fireplace, a mantel resting on her breasts, to carry her stash home.

She was years ahead of The Bachelor with her reality show to crown Quebec's most beautiful man.

Snyder has gained respect, though, for her exhaustively researched and gutsy interviews. She asked Kim Campbell about her love life. She asked Jacques Villeneuve how he pees during a long race. She asked Lucien Bouchard if his American-born wife spoke English to the kids. She asked Larry Flynt if he had discovered any new sexual positions in a wheelchair.

The legacy of this career covers the walls and bookshelves of her office. There are several photos of diva Dion, for whom Snyder has produced and hosted several specials in Quebec and France, all of them ratings blockbusters. Elsewhere, there is the Warhol print that ex-prime minister Campbell sent her in 1993 after appearing on her first major network show, Radio-Canada's L'enfer c'est nous autres (Hell Is Us). It was on that show that Snyder, feeling homely in comparison, greeted Catherine Deneuve with a bag over her head.

There is one interview, however, that Snyder never landed. "She was always trying to get me to come on to Le Poing J, but I always refused," recalls Péladeau. When they finally met, in 1999, it was Péladeau who was asking the questions. Snyder was pitching her concept for a celebrity cooking show hosted by Dion's septuagenarian mother, Thérèse Tanguay-Dion, to Quebec's networks. Among them was Télévision Quatre Saisons (TQS), the fledgling No. 3 network Pierre Péladeau had purchased shortly before his death in 1997 and which his son, as Quebecor's newly minted CEO, controlled. (Quebecor later sold TQS after acquiring TVA in the Vidéotron deal.) Péladeau loved the pitch, but Snyder instead opted for a better offer from TVA.

It would be more than a year before Péladeau next ran into Snyder, on a Montreal-Paris flight. By then, she was hosting her own talk show in France, and Péladeau, although a new father, had separated from his wife, French-born Isabelle Hervet. It was a busy time for both. Péladeau was in the midst of the venomous battle for Vidéotron, attempting to trump Rogers Communications czar Ted Rogers's friendly bid for Quebec's dominant cable franchise. Snyder's nightly talk show was in a ratings war against a popular game show, Bigdill. Ebullient critics could not save "la tornade Québécoise." A frustrated Snyder quipped, "Against Bigdill, I can only be crushed, just like Canadian soldiers on the beaches of Normandy."

In the end, Snyder opted to follow her heart. Her network, France 2, offered her a new weekly program in a different time slot. Snyder demurred; she won't be tied down to a regular series outre mer. "Because," she says, "I have found my âme soeur [soul mate] and my âme soeur lives mostly in Quebec."

In Snyder, Péladeau has a mate with whom he can talk shop. "It's not a liability," Péladeau concedes. "She's a pro. She's been in TV for 20 years. She hasn't been a huge success for nothing. She's been a success because she knows her stuff and she works hard. Very hard." Compared with Snyder, though, Péladeau has boundaries of reinforced steel. He glares when the questions get more personal. Soul mate? "Yeah, with us it's convergence 24/7," he cracks. Then, almost begrudgingly, he offers: "She's my partner." Snyder explains later: "He was intimidated by the question. This may seem hard to believe, but Pierre Karl is very shy."

He is also clearly in love. Need proof? He's given up his penchant for Cuban cigars and become a vegetarian. "Except for once a year when he has andouillettes [chitlins] with Érik. I know, because his brother squealed on him," Snyder laughs. Before shareholders this year, Péladeau referred to Julie and Marie as his "joies de vivre." For Péladeau, it was an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. Then, he beamed proudly at a Montreal Board of Trade dinner in June that feted Snyder for her business accomplishments. "The evening lasted four hours and he stayed for the whole thing," Mulroney says. "Two years ago, he would never have done that. He takes more time now."

Some things, though, never change. Péladeau still has the discipline of a monk and is about as frugal. He is up at 5, in the pool by 6. A hundred laps later he is likely reading Le Monde and the Financial Times over coffee at Café Souvenir, an unpretentious Bernard Avenue hangout. During his separation, visitors at Péladeau's Outremont condo found dining-room seating consisting of mismatched office chairs from work; a single naked bulb sufficed for lighting. The fridge was empty, save for the yogurt past its best-before date. Péladeau ate it anyway. At his chalet in the Eastern Townships, he had taped pages of Le Journal de Montréal over the window instead of putting up curtains. A colleague joked that Péladeau had taken the convergence thing a bit too far.

When Péladeau and Snyder moved into a bigger condo last year, they agreed to split expenses 50-50. Snyder wanted to repaint; Péladeau didn't. As a result, the unit is exactly one-half yellow. With its fake plants and weathered decor, Quebecor's executive suite reflects the same reluctance to renovate. In Péladeau's office, the artwork-paintings by Riopelle and Borduas-is inherited from his father. Péladeau himself is responsible for only one indulgence, a plasma-screen TV. Rather than buying a new car, he took over the lease on a used 2000 Audi that was part of Vidéotron's corporate fleet. "He's happy with very little," says his best friend, Ménard, a Montreal lawyer. "He's very cheap when it comes to himself."

Péladeau and Ménard are snowboarding buddies. Each winter, they try to get away to Ménard's cabin at Le Massif, a legendary mountain in the Charlevoix region, to test themselves. In summer, Péladeau's passion is water skiing. When some cottagers on Lac Orford tried to ban motors in 1999, Péladeau, who often skis on the lake, struck back. Needless to say, motors are still allowed.

Péladeau's devotion to physical challenge is reflected in the clippings on his office coffee table. They're from a Le Monde series on Sir Edmund Hillary's conquest of Mount Everest. Péladeau has done some mountain climbing, but when the subject is raised he somehow suspects an unwelcome tack. "It's always the same questions. Your father. I've got nothing to say about that. My father was my father. I'm me. They're always trying to draw comparisons," he scoffs. "I've got nothing to prove." Pierre Péladeau was hard on his son; praise was scarce, criticism abundant. The father was a garrulous extrovert, whose alcoholism, womanizing and bouts of foot-in-mouth disease made about as many headlines as his mergers. The son was a studious introvert, embarrassed by Dad's indiscretions and determined to lead a life less messy. They could only clash. "Yeah, he had conflicts with his father," says Ménard. "But Pierre Karl has come to understand that his dad loved him, that he had confidence in him, but that he didn't want to show it too much so Pierre Karl would continue to fight. As you get older, you come to understand those things."

Despite their differences, Péladeau and his father share a reputation for ruthless management and ungracious treatment of underlings. Péladeau blames it mostly on a mischievous press. Ménard goes further, suggesting Bay Street is out for revenge. "Pierre Karl rocked the Anglo-Canadian establishment, taking on Ted Rogers, and they want to make him pay for it."

Péladeau's image, like his father's, becomes more of a caricature with each story about an executive departure at Quebecor. A few years back, Forbes magazine called Péladeau the "angry son" who, in a fit of rage, flung a chair across the room at a subordinate. Pure fiction, according to those who should know. Mulroney points to the Quebecor executives who choose to stay-Neveu, Hélie, Brière, Francoeur and others. "These are not yes men. Any one of those guys could walk out of the office tomorrow and make a ton of money somewhere else."

Still, a Quebecor job title is no sinecure. "Pierre Karl forces excellence," says TVA chief Brière. "If he asks you a number, you better know it. You can't fool him with an estimate." Sun Media CEO Francoeur puts it this way: "The guys who can't deliver leave because the pressure is too strong. If you don't perform, there's no place for you at Quebecor." Concludes Péladeau himself: "I'm demanding of myself. It only stands to reason that I should be of others."

How hard is Péladeau on himself? In March, 2001, he broke his leg in three places in a snowboarding accident on the slopes of Val-d'Isère, France. He needed surgery and was supposed to stay in bed for a few days to recover. Instead, he was walking with crutches within 24 hours and insisting he return to Canada for meetings. The staff at the hospital in Bourg St-Maurice, where Péladeau spurned a private room, warned him against the trip. Flying could cause phlebitis, a potentially fatal inflammation of the veins, in his leg. Unable to cope with the idea of being kept from his work, Péladeau took the risk.

In the waiting lounge at Charles-de-Gaulle airport, a squeamish Snyder hovered over her lover, a needle in hand. Péladeau's doctor had directed her to administer an injection of an anticoagulant, a precautionary treatment, in the appointed place-Péladeau's stomach-before boarding. Snyder, a wisp of a woman, held her breath, counted to three and copped out. This happened a few times. The first boarding call passed, then the last. Péladeau grabbed the syringe and jabbed himself in the gut.

Péladeau only recently moved back to his office in Quebecor's St-Jacques Street headquarters. Starting in May, 2001, when federal regulators finally approved Quebecor's purchase of Vidéotron, he spent most of his time at the cable operator's Viger Avenue headquarters. Vidéotron, he discovered, was wholly unprepared for the new wave of competition from satellite TV operators and rival internet service providers. A cable installation done by Vidéotron's unionized technicians cost $96, compared with $45 for sub-contractors. The majority owner Chagnons, meanwhile, had plowed hundreds of millions of dollars into an ambitious scheme to take on Bell Canada in the local telephone market using an unproven technology, internet protocol. The strategy failed and left a legacy of debt.

Péladeau soon fired Vidéotron COO Guy Beauchamp and installed himself as interim CEO. In jeans and work boots, Péladeau climbed hydro poles to watch as wires were repaired. Vidéotron customers got a jolt when the CEO showed up with the cable guy to install their service. His field trips alerted him to the fact that each technician had his own truck, which was idle when he was not on shift. Aghast, Péladeau immediately sold off 156 vehicles.

Within weeks, Péladeau knew the business cold. "We'd drive around Quebec and all he'd want to do is look at hydro poles and cable wires," Snyder sighs.

One of Péladeau's cost-cutting ideas involved selling Vidéotron's cable installation and repair division to a sub-contractor, Alentron-ironically a company in which rival BCE has an indirect one-third stake. About 650 unionized Vidéotron workers were to move to Alentron, in exchange for a five-year service contract from Vidéotron. The scheme provoked the union to strike. Vidéotron's wires were repeatedly sabotaged during the conflict, temporarily depriving thousands of customers of cable service. Péladeau never blinked. After all, convergence beckoned.

As part of his bid for Vidéotron, Ted Rogers had planned to sell TVA, Quebec's dominant network, back to the Chagnon family. But for Péladeau and the caisse, keeping TVA and cable together in one company was a no-brainer. Indeed, Péladeau sought to integrate all of Quebecor Media's subsidiaries, bringing together the heads of each unit every other week to look at ways to co-ordinate and promote their content.

That Christmas, of 2001, Péladeau and Snyder left for a ski trip in France. Since Péladeau had deemed TV verboten on vacation, Snyder rented a separate hotel room so she could watch a reality show that was the buzz in France. Péladeau, curious, broke his no-TV credo to join her. The show, Star Academy, caught their imagination. Snyder immediately got the number of the Dutch creator, Endemol Nederland BV. It turned out to be the creator of a string of reality blockbusters, including Big Brother and Fear Factor. The next day, Snyder dispatched an agent to Las Vegas, where Endemol Home Entertainment's chief Henk-Jan Rutgers was on vacation. Within hours, Les Productions J had secured Canadian rights to Star Academy.

Snyder wanted her version of the show to break with the cheesiness of the French Star Academy and American Idol. She envisioned Star Académie-Snyder insisted on the proper French spelling-as a modern take on the Sunday-night variety shows that brought whole families together around the tube in the 1960s. "I fell in love with the idea of a celebration of music and I could see what we could do with the concept in Quebec," Snyder recalls. "I thought: 'The French are maybe better than us when it comes to cuisine, but when it comes to song, Quebec shines.'" Péladeau bought into Snyder's vision. As a loyal reader of Le Monde, he was aware of the criticism reality shows like Star Academy had generated. "There had been all kinds of debate in France about la télé-poubelle-trash TV," Péladeau recalls. "Le Journal de Montréal abolished La Page Sept [its daily bikini girl] 15 years ago because we wanted to enlarge the audience. So, the same goes for TVA. We couldn't let Star Académie be a trash show."

No expense was spared to make Star Académie an event. Snyder insisted on a live orchestra, instead of the canned music of the French version and American Idol; she hired Scott Price, the musical director for Charles Aznavour's last tour. She also brought on her ex-boyfriend, Stéphane Laporte, as artistic director. Laporte dreamt up many of the stunts that made Snyder a star and had propelled impressionist André-Philippe Gagnon to a lucrative career in Las Vegas.

Meanwhile, Pierre Péladeau's Ste-Adèle mansion, vacant since his death in 1997, was refurbished and outfitted with 22 cameras and 84 microphones to capture the contestants as they went through their voice and dance lessons and extracurricular activities, all of it grist for a half-hour weeknight show. A Montreal sound stage was turned into a giant concert hall for the Sunday-night galas that would see Quebec's biggest stars sing duets with the contestants. Glossy, choreographed production numbers would define Snyder's Star Académie, not the catty putdowns of American Idol's Simon Cowell. The budget, estimated at $15 million, was one of the biggest ever for a Quebec TV show.

As Snyder and her team began preparing Star Académie, including auditioning more than 4,000 hopefuls across Quebec, the convergence committee at Quebecor Media began dreaming up ways to maximize the show's potential. "Pierre Karl was the champion of that," recalls Pierre Francoeur. "He was convinced that with all the properties we had we could build a beautiful machine with Star Académie."

Star Académie made its debut on TVA in February. Advertising rates for the Sunday-night show were based on an expected audience of 900,000. The first show drew twice that number, and ratings climbed higher with each broadcast. Its penultimate 90-minute Sunday gala in April drew 3.2 million viewers in Quebec: Put another way, about 80% of all televisions turned on in Quebec during that time slot were tuned to TVA. The weeknight segment of the show drew an average of about two million viewers, more than watched the political leaders' debate during last spring's provincial election campaign. As a result, TVA's overall market share, already the highest for a network in North America, has grown to 38% from 36%. Each point represents about $4.5 million in annual advertising revenue.

Star Académie insinuated itself into the public consciousness like no show before it. When one of the contestants had a panic attack, the story bumped the showdown at the United Nations over Iraq from the front page of Le Journal de Montréal. The Star Académie CD went quintuple platinum in less than three weeks. But it came with lyrics to only two of the 13 tracks. For the words to the other songs, fans had to buy Quebecor's 7 Jours.

It was too much for some. Pop-culture commentator Richard Martineau wrote his column on Star Académie in Montreal's Voir as a dictionary entry for "monopoly." "Star Académie confirmed my worst fears about convergence," says Anne-Marie Dussault, president of La Fédération professionnelle des journalistes du Québec. "There was a slide towards the intrusion of promotional content into editorial content." Péladeau retorts that the coverage was deserved. "Three million people watched Star Académie. That makes it a pretty important event. Should we apologize for making programs that people like?"

The show's principal sponsors, Toyota and L'Oréal SA's Maybelline cosmetics line, certainly are not sorry. They got more than their money's worth, not only through TV ads, but also with product placement and extensive plugs throughout Quebecor's media.

By the end of Star Académie's run on Easter Sunday-with the public's crowning of Wilfred Le Bouthillier, a 24-year-old New Brunswick lobster fisherman, as the winner of a $250,000 recording contract-there was no denying Péladeau his due. He had shown just how useful convergence could be. All of Quebecor Media's units benefited in some way from Star Académie. Quebecor Media, which accumulated losses of $650 million in 2001 and 2002, posted a $32.2-million profit in the first half of this year. (The profit, however, was offset by losses at printer Quebecor World.)

There were other accomplishments to crown Péladeau's spring. The strike at Vidéotron, which lasted 10 months, ended in Péladeau's favour. The settlement negotiated by Vidéotron envoy Lucien Bouchard axed the deal with Alentron. But Vidéotron will still save about $40 million a year thanks to a contract that eliminates jobs, extends the workweek, freezes salaries and cuts holidays. Then there was the $1 billion Péladeau had sliced from Quebecor's debt load in the previous months. Early predictions that he would be strangled by the burden were disproven by his ingenious financial footwork-for example, using a secondary offering of Quebecor World shares to pay back his part of a $429-million loan at Quebecor Media; and using the $200 million (U.S.) Sun Media raised in a private placement to pay a $260-million dividend to Quebecor Media and reduce Vidéotron's debt by another $150 million. "The group is out of danger," says Carl Bayard, an analyst at Desjardins Securities. "From a balance-sheet perspective, they've done a good job."

The market is now fixated on the next milestone: an IPO at Quebecor Media. The unit has the option of repaying a third of a high-yield debenture issue next July. A share issue would enable Péladeau to raise the $500 million he needs to repay the debt and maybe more. Not long ago, tapping the stock market looked years away. Star Académie, and Snyder, have helped change that.

And the Quebecor convergence steamroller rolls on. TVA, this spring and summer, ran the first instalment of Ma Maison Rona, a home-renovation show in which viewers-an astounding 950,000 of them-chose the winner. The show was sponsored by hardware giant Rona Inc., whose web site and flyers are produced by Quebecor and whose CEO sits on Quebecor's board. Ma Maison Rona was heavily cross-promoted throughout the Quebecor group, above all in its home-reno magazine. The same formula is at work on Clin d'oeil, a TVA show based on the Quebecor fashion magazine of the same name and hosted by sultry ex-pop star Mitsou.

This fall, Snyder's company will co-produce for TVA Occupation Double, a reality dating show. Media buyers predict a blockbuster. Snyder will also produce Demandes Spéciales, the Star Académie live-request spinoff. And she will oversee a TVA show of the auditions for Star Académie 2.

The 13,000 concert-setting seats of Montreal's Centre Bell are empty as the graduates of Star Académie rehearse for their tour, the event of the summer in Quebec. For 11 nights they will fill the house, a record for the venue and earning Billboard's distinction as the top-grossing concert series in North America in June. Then they will go on to give 31 more shows across French Canada, including a stop near Wilfred Le Bouthillier's hometown of Tracadie-Sheila, N.B., before returning to the Bell Centre for a three-concert finale in August. By tour's end, 300,000 fans will have paid up to $44.50 for each ticket-not to mention shelling out for Star Académie paraphernalia, which is exclusively available to concert goers.

Snyder, along with Quebecor and Groupe Spectacles Gillet, is the tour's producer. She is also mother hen to the 14 20-somethings. Professionally, she gave birth to them. Her company will manage their careers for years to come, thanks to the contracts they signed prior to going on air. None feels exploited. Indeed, they adore Snyder. When she shows up, each runs up to her to deliver a double-cheeked peck and recount their latest exploit. Snyder then speeds around, heels and all, to attend to details of the show. La tornade Québécoise, indeed.

Reality TV will be history before long. Even in Quebec, home to the most voracious television viewers in the country, the audience will ebb. But count on Snyder to be on top of the next fad-if she doesn't herself create it. "One day, Pierre Karl told me, 'You know, you artists are all weirdos.' And I said, 'Not any more so than CEOs.' He laughed and said, 'You're right.'" Vive le weirdness.

Convergence: how a theory became a reality (show)

Star Académie proved that convergence can work. Here's what each sector of the Quebecor empire did to make-and profit from-its hit show

TELEVISION: TVA, with a market share 7% higher than the combined draw of its rivals Radio-Canada, TQS and Télé-Québec, consistently produces the most-watched shows in Quebec. Star Académie topped them all with a peak of 3.2 million and an 80% share, an advertising bonanza

CABLE: Vidéotron dominates with 1.4 million Quebec subscribers. In June, it launched a video-on-demand service for its digital cable customers. The first offering was a concert by Star Académie winner Wilfred Le Bouthillie

INTERNET: Vidéotron's high-speed internet customers got exclusive access to Star Académie web cams, luring 23,000 new subscribers in the first quarter. Quebecor's Netgraphe unit produced a Star Académie web site, selling monthly subscriptions-web chats with contestants, video clips of their performances-at $19.95. More than 300,000 people signed up, generating 135 million page hits

PRINTING: Quebecor World, which handled about half of the latest Harry Potter world print run, also produces all of Quebecor's local newspapers, magazines and books

BOOKS: Quebecor's book arm sold at least 55,000 copies of a souvenir Star Académie book. The print-run of a typical Quebec bestseller is 5,000

NEWSPAPERS: Le Journal de Montréal and Le Journal de Québec, leaders in their markets, blanketed their front pages with Star Académie coverage, as did many of the dozens of weeklies Quebecor owns

MAGAZINES: Quebecor's gossip titles 7 Jours, Le Lundi, Dernière Heure and Écho-Vedettes-which together have a weekly readership of more than three million-saturated their pages with Star Académie stories. Readers ate it up. Sales of 7 Jours were up 44% this spring over the same period in 2002

RETAIL: A huge chunk of the 500,000 Star Académie CDs were sold at Quebecor's Archambault record stores and SuperClub Vidéotron video stores, where fans could also vote (for $1) to save their favourite contestant

MUSIC: The Quebecor- produced Star Académie album went quintuple platinum in less than three weeks-a Canadian record. Quebecor also co-produced a hugely successful, merchandise-bedecked concert tour spun off from the show