Fantasy Feud : Lavish Retreat in Agoura Too Extravagant for Many Neighbors

AGOURA — In the beginning, Avihu Datner had a dream. He also happened to have $8.5 million. So the brash entrepreneur bought a 23-acre oak forest here, and began building his vision of the ultimate romantic retreat.

His Eden in the Santa Monica Mountains would have artificial waterfalls and pedestrian bridges over fish-filled ponds and streets with names like Highway to Heaven, Road to Riches and Yellowbrick Road. People would come to get married, celebrate bar mitzvahs or simply enjoy an evening at the restaurant and lushly landscaped grounds.

Maybe later, the Israeli emigre thought, he would put in a motion picture studio, a health spa, a youth hostel, even a zoo. After all, he is fond of giraffes, and the bucolic area’s liberal zoning laws would permit them.

Alas, things haven’t gone as the 43-year-old Datner had planned. Though he was able to complete his dream place--and christened it Fantasy Island--Datner has had to abide by conditions that limit his operating hours to weekends only. And he has yet to house a movie studio there or bring in wild animals.

Neighbors concerned about Datner’s 3-year-old business recently persuaded Los Angeles County Supervisor Zev Yaroslavsky, who represents the area, to investigate his ambitious expansion plans and perhaps put a lid on them. On Thursday, the Board of Supervisors is scheduled to decide whether to curtail Fantasy Island’s events even further.

But even if a grander Fantasy Island seems doomed, Datner promises not to fade away.

“This is a very legitimate business,” he said recently, between puffs on the first of a chain of generic cigarettes. “It’s not a strip club. People come for a romantic evening.”

He catches his breath. “This is a land-use issue and shouldn’t be about whether I am a nice person or not,” he says. “The question is whether I have the right to do it or not to do it. Do I have the permits or not? I have licenses you never knew existed.”

And he’ll show them to you: public health operating permits; a dance permit specifically for weddings; a public eating permit; documents from the county Planning Department, the county Fire Department, the state Department of Fish & Game; and sound studies, traffic studies, studies on potential flooding.

The last time the supervisors discussed the place, a month ago, Yaroslavsky said of Datner’s dream: “I’d like to shut this thing down.” This time, though, Datner thinks he can get the supervisor to reconsider.

“He’ll change his mind,” Datner said confidently. “He’ll have to. He’s not aware that there are thousands of people here who want us. He doesn’t know that most of the people opposing us live miles away.”

To get that point across, Datner claims to have persuaded 6,500 supporters to send letters to Yaroslavsky’s office. A Yaroslavsky aide confirms that the office has received thousands of pro-Datner missives.

Datner, who was trained as a lawyer but does not practice, says the easiest way for him to win over the supervisor would be to have Yaroslavsky pay him a visit at his restaurant and grounds. “Once you see it,” explained Datner, “then you understand.”

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To get to Fantasy Island, visitors must negotiate winding mountain roads where horse stables, summer camps and rambling, custom homes are the only development. But after visitors drive through the white gate off Triunfo Canyon Road, pass over the River of No Return via the Brooklyn Bridge and head down Miracle Road, they are unquestionably in Fantasy Island, a place where man has made his mark upon nature.

One of the first things Datner tells you is that there are no flies at Fantasy Island. “See, look at all the birds,” he says, pointing to one of about 350 oak trees on the property. “And we’ve got frogs too. Thousands of birds and frogs mean there are no flies.”

The place itself is a postmodern mismatch of kitschy styles. There are the faux classical columns covered with tiny white lights . . . the gazebo--in the center of a fish pond--where marriages are often performed . . . and the 260 torches that illuminate the walkways at night.

And who can ignore the mammoth white tent that houses two bars? One is backed by a large waterfall activated with the flip of a switch, the other features a refrigerated, 15-foot boat covered with potted plastic sunflowers.

The local weekly has given good reviews to the property’s restaurant, whose menu runs the gamut from orange roughy to rack of lamb to Fantasy Island’s own version of jambalaya. Entree prices are in the $22 to $28 range.

“I put in everything you dream of,” Datner said. “Really, the idea was to open a place where you can go back to basics--not regular, but super unleaded. You come here because of good food, the surroundings, the service.”

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But just as in the other Eden, human conflict soon poisoned Datner’s paradise.

Some neighbors complain that Fantasy Island is inconsistent with existing land use, that the traffic it attracts could impede emergency access to the area, and that the light and the noise are generally at unacceptable levels.

The Lost Hills sheriff’s station has responded to more than 100 alleged disturbances there, though there has never been an arrest, or a citation issued.

Datner even has a letter from a sheriff’s sergeant who responded to a neighbor’s complaint about loud noise at the restaurant: “We heard no loud or unusual noises, loud music or amplified voices,” he wrote. “In fact, the frogs, crickets and running water were creating as much sound as the music coming from the restaurant.”

Most neighbors say they have no desire to spoil Datner’s dream. They simply want him to tone it down a little.

“We’d like to compromise with him, maybe agree to no amplified music after 6 p.m. on weekends,” said Warren Willig, president of the Triunfo and Lobo Canyon Community Assns. “Any expansion there, we feel it would cause major disruptions in our lives.”

Linda Spahn, who lives across the street from Fantasy Island, is particularly unhappy. She estimates that the place has reduced her home’s property value by more than $100,000.

“Fantasy Island has made me feel like a prisoner in my own home,” she told the board last month. “We have had to bring in our parties from our decks and turn on our TVs to sleep. . . . We are trying to sell our home because we can’t take it anymore.”

Other neighbors have also gone as far as counting cars of visitors leave Fantasy Island. They claim to have stopped at 150, the limit Datner is allowed per night under his operating permit.

Datner said that when he bought the property in 1990, some locals took an immediate dislike to a foreign-born businessman who says he once owned 236 restaurants and increased his fortune with savvy real estate investments. “ ‘Go back to Israel,’ ” he says he was told. “ ‘You think because you are a lawyer and drive a new Mercedes, you can do what you want.’ ”

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For the most part, though, Datner has lived a charmed life since arriving in Los Angeles 20 years ago. After finishing law school in Tel Aviv, he and a friend opened a falafel place in West Hollywood with $375.

Later, he started buying and selling homes in the west San Fernando Valley, an endeavor that coincided with a boom in real estate prices. Soon, he was rich. Then he and his sister sunk everything into Fantasy Island. Much of the money has gone to his land-use attorney from the high-profile firm of Resnick and Resnick.

“They are very direct, very honest, very expensive,” he said.

Those are qualities that Datner the dreamer--also a pragmatist--admires. He is loath to say anything that might further antagonize his opponents lest it hurt business even more.

“Every neighbor is a potential customer,” he said. “I want them to come here and spend money. I don’t have to win, they can win, and then I’ll give them a meal saying they won.”