Articles II

 

 

People Magazine
July 19, 1982


ZELDA RUBINSTEIN, 4'3", GETS A LIFT FROM POLTERGEIST AND A 6'2" LOVE

BYLINE: PETER LESTER

Just as apparitions, cadavers and oozing slime threaten to gobble up the cast of Poltergeist, producer Steven Spielberg's spook-show companion piece to his smash E.T., diminutive Zelda Rubinstein cuts them down to size. At 4'3" and 96 pounds, the child-voiced Zelda, 45ish, plays Tangina, the psychic come to "cleanse" the suburban haunted house, and she keeps the angriest ghosts on their toes. Even traditionally scrappy critics have snapped to attention. "She's so fresh a performer that you want to applaud," raved the New Yorker's Pauline Kael.

Rubinstein is thrilled by her reviews, the film's success ($38 million to date) and especially Spielberg. "One area of me has a small-to-large crush on him," she says. "I hope he'll always be in my life as a friend." She also prays Poltergeist will heighten awareness of the little people in showbiz. "Because I was born mouth first," she laughs, "it's natural for me to be a spokesperson."



"Midget" is simply not in Zelda's vocabulary. "It divides you from others, like calling a gay man a fag. I prefer little person," she says. Her activism started with her first screen role in last year's Under the Rainbow, a Chevy Chase farce that used little people as comic relief."It was absolutely despicable," she snaps. "You're not an actor if you're just a person that fits into a cute costume. You're a prop."

To improve matters, 18 months ago Rubinstein formed the Michael Dunn Memoria Repertory Theater, named after the late actor (he played the dwarf in Ship of Fools) who showed that large talent could come in small sizes. "Become an actor and your world will get much bigger" is Zelda's message to the 16 actors, ranging in height from 3'8" to 4'6", who make up the company. Based in L.A., the nonprofit group will mount its first production, a play about the status of little people, in late autumn.

Rubinstein's other goal is to spare others the pain caused by the insensitivity that she has known since childhood. Schoolmates called her Pigeon. "There was something attached to the nickname that froze me," she recalls. Zelda was 20 before she even met another little person. She was devastated. "I knew I was little, but when I saw him I was blown away, terrified. It made me introspective for a very long time.

Born in Pittsburgh, Pa., the youngest of three children of an insurance agent, Zelda is the only little person in the family. "I'm the pioneer," she says without rancor. After attending public high school in Pittsburgh with actors-to-be Charles Grodin and Fritz Weaver, Zelda won a scholarship to the University of Pittsburgh, earned a degree in bacteriology, worked as a lab technician in Berkeley, and then hitched around Europe in the early 1960s. She supported herself by waitressing in England, working on a shrimp boat in Scandinavia, and doing bilingual steno work (she speaks Italian and German fluently) in Rome.

Returning to San Francisco in 1969, she met Ray Tatar, a 6'2" Berkeley theater administrator who is "a few" years younger. "For the first time in my life I was seriously in love," says Zelda. Both first-generation Poles (he's Catholic, she's Jewish), they share a love of travel, classical music and Zelda's gourmet cooking. "Unlike many women twice her size," Ray says, "Zelda is a whole woman, complete with determination and femininity."

Their home is a simple, airy, four-room apartment in Silverlake, but they have no plans for marriage or family. "It's more romantic this way," Zelda explains. Ray commutes to his job with the California Arts Council in Sacramento, leaving Zelda alone most weekdays. She misses him, but insists, "I don't moan when he's not here."

Though Rubinstein had studied drama in grad school, acting didn't become a passion until 1978, when she gave up her lab work. "I had to do something creative," she says. "It was an internal feeling that I was sabotaging myself." In short order, she did the voice of Atrocia Frankenstone on The Flintstones, a bank commercial with George Burns, then Under the Rainbow and the Spielberg film. Her small Poltergeist salary doesn't rankle. "Money is not a serious criterion to measure worth," she insists. Putting little people in the Hollywood spotlight clearly is. "Very beautiful people are the exception, and frequently their talent doesn't match their beauty," says Zelda. "I would like to see an industry that prides itself on talent back up that talent."

GRAPHIC: Photograph 1, Zelda is a tiny terror to the evil spirits and a help to the humans in Poltergeist. (with Jobeth Williams).; Photograph 2, She calls boyfriend Ray Tatar, (on the roof of her L.A. apartment house) "the big love of my life."; Photograph 3, Gourmet cook Zelda attends one movie and one play weekly and relaxes by preparing dishes like Polish meatballs. Photographs 1 through 3, by © Tony Korody/Sygma

 
 
 
 
The Washington Post

July 4, 1982, Sunday, Final Edition

Growing Up Macabre With Steven Spielberg

BYLINE: By Gary Arnold


"ALL BROTHERS torment their sisters," Sue Spielberg reflected, "but my brother did it creatively." So creatively, in fact, that this particular brother eventually transformed his fondness for teasing three youngesister into an artistic vocation. Already celebrated as the director of "Jaws," "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark," Sue Spielberg's big brother Steven has made a double impact on the current moviegoing season: director and coproducer of the preeminent summer hit, "E. T."; and cowriter, coproducer and evidently ghost-director of the horror thriller "Poltergeist." Representing a combined production cost of $21.3 million, these Spielberg bonanzas have already accumulated combined gross receipts of more than $100 million. "E. T." and "Poltergeist" have a special significance for Sue Spielberg, who fondly recalls the unique family movie-making history that prepared the way for her brother's phenomenal career. Manager of a Georgetown University publications office, she lives in the Washington area with her husband Jerry, a lawyer.

Steven, now 34, is the oldest of four children born to Arnold and Leah Spielberg. The three girls--Ann, Sue and Nancy--are 32, 28 and 26, respectively. Steven began making home movies with an 8 mm camera when he was about 12 and the family was residing in suburban Scottsdale, Ariz. He drafted his sisters as performers, collaborators and guinea pigs in these amateur film-making efforts.



Spielberg found his sisters an ideal test audience. "Steven used to try to scare Nancy and me with horror stories or stunts that were very similar to the kinds of things you see in 'Poltergeist,' " his sister recollected. "The scene where the man hallucinates his face decomposing is one I'll never forget. He tried that out on us when we were kids. He took a batch of dampened, colored toilet paper and plastered it on his face. Then he crept into our bedroom and began peeling the stuff off in layers. Yuck!

"There was also a monster in the closet. He got a skull and covered it in red wax and put a football helmet on it--I don't know why that touch didn't backfire, but it was still a scary creation. He'd usher us into the darkened closet and then turn the lights on and off, on and off, as fast as he could.

"Please don't get the wrong idea about any of this. Steven's sort of teasing never seemed cruel. He was just an amazing character to have in your family because he had such imagination. He terrified us, but it was fun to be terrified the way he did it. Anyway, he seemed to know that there were certain limits--he was a little leery of subjecting Nancy to every trick he'd try on me or Annie. He also knew that I'd run and tell Mom if he went too far. I think it became part of the game for him to discover how far he could go at provoking us, while we were discovering how much nerve we had. One night he drew a hideous skull on our blackboard and said, 'See if you can sleep with this and not tell Mom.' I don't think we could sleep a wink, but we didn't tell Mom.

"It's easier to remember us making movies than going to the movies," she added. "They were our summer projects. We stayed home and made movies with Steven. I remember that my sister Annie died in one, and I was a monster in another. I don't have too many snapshots from that period, but I found one where Steven and some of his friends were dressed up in Nazi uniforms. I think that was something called 'Escape to Nowhere,' some kind of war story. That was one of the bigger productions, and I remember everybody dunking costumes in buckets of dye to get the uniforms the right color and the collection of helmets. It's amazing to think that Steven could have gotten ahold of all that stuff--in Arizona!

"He started by creating little scenes and filming them. As he got more practice, the films got more ambitious and sophisticated, but there was always something extremely imaginative about him. For instance, he'd start out by borrowing our dolls and arranging them in macabre ways--Barbie and Ken as victims of a car crash, say. He had a huge collection of movie soundtrack albums, and I remember one time he took my Barbie and marched her to the scaffold in time to a piece of film music--I think a 'Death March' from 'Spartacus.' Those were waist-high shots, so that he could walk her along while the camera was turning. Then he didn't just film her hanging; he got her shadow as Barbie swung from the gallows.

"He began doing a lot of trick effects. For one of the films he built a model high-rise out of cardboard and then filmed it burning. It was amazing on film--it appeared to be a real building on fire. He also built himself a dolly. At that time I didn't have the slightest idea what a 'dolly shot' was, but it was very important to Steven, so he mounted a platform on a wagon or something and the movies got even more movement.

"There was a lot of science-fiction. My father was a great sci-fi fan and had an enormous collection of stories and novels. I even remember Steven doing stick figures in the corners of some of those books--you know, you'd flip the corners and the figures would seem to move. His most ambitious project was a science-fiction story called 'Firelight,' which got a special showing at a theater in Phoenix. Ann did the makeup for that one, and I got to be the 'moosher.' There was a special effect for the firelight, which came from outer space and ate the humans attracted to it. There were two kinds of firelight, as a matter of fact--blue and red. We got the effect by spreading vaseline between layers of colored cellophane and then sort of 'mooshing' it around. Then Steve would place the mooshy cell over the camera lens to get 'firelight.'

"Tornados were a big thing with us, too. All those enormous storm clouds you see rolling across the sky in 'Close Encounters' and 'Poltergeist' came straight out of our childhood in Arizona. We used to sit at the window and watch these tremendous storm clouds coming toward us. We were children of the weather. 'Look at that tornado,' Steven would whisper to us. 'It's coming right to Sue and Nancy's house.' We never could watch the first part of 'The Wizard of Oz' without getting hysterical.

"What else? Oh, the dead canary in 'Poltergeist.' That was Nancy's pet lizard in real life. Mom didn't try to get rid of it, though. What happened was that the poor lizard began to deteriorate, and Nancy decided that the kindest thing would be to restore him to a desert habitat. We had an old Army jeep which Mom got around in. That played a role in 'Escape to Nowhere,' as a matter of fact. Anyway, we drove out into the desert, and Nancy shooed this half-dead lizard back to nature. Or tried too--he wasn't moving much by that time. We watched him for a while in the proper mournful mood, and then all of a sudden Nancy brightened up: 'Can we go get ice cream now?' she asked."

The Spielbergs separated and then divorced shortly after Steven graduated from high school. His father took a job in Los Angeles, and Steven entered college at the California State campus in Long Beach. His mother returned to the Phoenix area with the three girls and eventually remarried. From that point on, Steven usually spent vacations with his mother and sisters, but it was no longer appropriate or necessary to enlist their services in film-making projects. The little sisters were too grown-up, and the brother was on the verge of a professional film-making career. Sue Spielberg found herself frequently going to the movies with her brother and then enjoying advance looks at the scripts for television shows and feature films that he was actually in a position to direct.

"I'm glad he found an outlet," she concluded. "All that teasing and mooshing and experimenting certainly paid off. It's just strange to think of how personal it all is--all these things that have such a public impact because they're in his movies. Nobody could say no to this kid--not just the family. It seemed natural that everyone become caught up in his activities. During 'Firelight' he had access to a hospital and an airport. I don't know how he did it, but it's wonderful that he did. I hope my kids have as weird an upbringing as I did, with the fairy tales and the craziness and the constant teasing. It really hit me when I was watching 'E. T.' That's my brother, and I feel . . . I feel so proud of him."

 
The Globe and Mail (Canada)

June 11, 1982 Friday

Some Straight talk about parapsychology

BYLINE: LAWRENCE O'TOOLE; GAM

DATELINE: New York NY

BY LAWRENCE O'TOOLE
NEW YORK
SPOOKS: Beatrice Straight, who plays the investigating parapsychologist in
Poltergeist, has an Upper East Side townhouse for which most New Yorkers
would sell their souls to any passing devil. Her Oscar, though, copped for
a brief but powerful scene as William Holden's wife in Network, is out in
California. If an Oscar and that townhouse weren't enough, she also
happens to be one of the nicest people around. Couldn't you just spit
nails?

For her parapsychologist portrayal in Poltergeist (the title means
"noisy ghost"), Miss Straight didn't have to do much research, having had
a number of paranormal experiences herself. One of them involved a spirit
from the Gobi Desert which found its way to Long Island in an ivory
statue. During a seance a table lifted itself above Miss Straight's and
her friends' heads and a voice gave instructions as to what to do with the
ivory statue.
"When I would touch the wood of the table," she recalls, "it was as
though it were absolutely alive." She reads hands ("Well, I play at it . .
.") and claims to be very gullible. "Most actors are children and
therefore gullible," she announces. "When I got my first job in a live TV
show the hairdresser told me my hair should be wilder and I believed it]"
Apparently, Miss Straight looked a state for her debut. She still has her
russet mane, wears soft pink lipstick and seems to have bought up the
remaining supply of graciousness from whatever store supplies it these
days. Unfazed by poltergeists and the like, Miss Straight does remember an
incident that sent shivers up her spine. She was in Toronto a few years
ago filming during one of the coldest winters on record. "I had to do one
scene outside - in a negligee." Now that's frightening.

More Spooks: The character Miss Straight plays in Poltergeist is based
on Thelma Moss, a California parapsychologist whom Steven Spielberg met
with as far back as 1976 when he first got the idea for the movie.
Spielberg became intrigued with the subject after his dead grandmother had
phoned his mom about a returning prodigal uncle.

Miss Moss says some of the goings-on in Poltergeist are far out of the
realm of what has been recorded by parapsychologists (voices and sounds on
highly sensitive tape), though the movie people did get her "ratty lab"
down pat. "The academic community thinks what I do is plain crap," she
says in her plain way. "And sure, the field is filled with charlatans."
Formerly an actress, Miss Moss became interested in the paranormal when
she was involved in some of the early experiments on LSD (as was Aldous
Huxley, Cary Grant and Clare Boothe Luce). It was then she saw what she
refers to as "the light." Some interesting tidbits from Miss Moss:
The cold associated with ghosts doesn't register on a thermometer. (I
have an acquaintance who shares an apartment with a ghost. I believe him:
you have to wear a parka even when you visit in the summer.)
Racing-car drivers are susceptible to thought transference because of
their heightened state of sensitivity.

There's a South American spiritist federation with 10 million members.

After The Exorcist in 1973, Miss Moss got a barrage of calls from
people who claimed to be possessed. She encouraged some of them to go to a
psychoanalyst. "Just you watch," she says. "Now I'm going to get all these
calls from people who think they're haunted by poltergeists."
Soon To Be A Major Ghost Story: That's what the anti-nuclear movement,
growing by leaps and bounds, believes will be the result of the arms race.

On Monday night Meryl Streep, back from finishing Sophie's Choice in Yugoslavia, was host at a sold-out benefit at the Beacon Theatre. Among those giving testimony were James Earl Jones, Andre Gregory and Arthur Miller, who delivered the best line: "Who could possibly be in favor of what we're opposed to?" Itzhak Perlman played the violin, and quoted, of course, was the darling of the intelligentsia and the concerned, Jonathan Schell, whose book, The Fate of the Earth, has become the Bible of the anti-nuke movement. Eight Minutes To Midnight, the documentary on anti- nuke activist Dr. Helen Caldicott, was screened and Dr. Caldicott appeared afterward. Ironically, her main concern seemed to be the "nuclear" family.

Mother Made Me Do It: Gene Wilder, currently on view in Hanky Panky
with the current love of his life, Gilda Radner, says he became a comic
after his mother had a heart attack: "I'd sit around with her and do
things to make her laugh, to help her recuperate. That's how I became
funny."
The Family That Plays Together: That's the Bridges family - Lloyd, Jeff
and Beau - who'll play the family in Tony Richardson's movie of John
Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire. Also signed is Amanda Plummer,
Christopher's daughter, who just won a Tony for Agnes of God and who'll be
seen shortly in a movie of another Irving tome, The World According To
Garp. Jodie Foster will play her sister. For her pains, Miss Foster will
receive half a million smackers.

Moneybags: A sequel, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, and a triquel, Rocky III, have just had the biggest openings in movie history. Is there no end to it all?


 
 
The New York Times

June 6, 1982, Sunday, Late City Final Edition

PAPERBACK TALK;
The Summer of '82


BYLINE: By Ray Walters



This is a most anxious time in the world of paperback publishing. Traditionally, the 13 weeks from now until Labor Day are the industry's highest season, the time when sales records are set as millions of Americans grab books out of the racks to help pass the time at the beach or beside the pool. The publishers hope that, despite the recession, high unemployment and prices of $3.95 or more for many paperbacks, readers will find their offerings irresistible. Herewith a rundown on some of the titles on which they're pinning their hopes.

''Good Reads.'' Most summer readers choose fiction, the work of authors whose specialty is entertainment. Two in the racks later this month are M.M. Kaye's ''Trade Wind'' (Bantam), Paul Erdman's ''The Last Days of America'' (Pocket), Irwin Shaw's ''Bread Upon the Waters'' (Dell) and Rosemary Rodgers's ''Surrender to Love'' (Avon).



Coming in late July are Lawrence Sanders' ''The Third Deadly Sin'' (Berkley) and Stephen King's ''Cujo'' (NAL/Signet). Jackie Collins, a newcomer in the Sidney Sheldon tradition, will offer ''Chances'' (Warner).

In late August, there will be John Irving's ''The Hotel New Hampshire'' (Pocket) and a first novel that's done very well in hardcover, Bette Bao Lord's ''Spring Moon'' (Avon).

Movie Tie-Ins. During some summers past, the young people who keep Hollywood solvent were so enthusiastic about certain films that they bought millions of copies of the novels from which the movies were derived or of novelizations based on scripts. But publishers have learned that the movie tie-in is a gamble, and this year they are playing it cautious. Of the twoscore major films being released this summer, fewer than half will have tie-ins.

Two of the most promising tie-ins of the year were inspired by Steven Spielberg, who directed ''Jaws.'' Mr. Spielberg's ''Poltergeist,'' a movie about a force from another world that kidnaps a small girl from her bedroom, was previewed at the convention of the American Booksellers Association in Anaheim, Calif., last weekend because Warner books is issuing a novelization of it written by James Kahn. Another Spielberg film, ''E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial,'' about a creature from outer space who finds himself lost and frightened on earth, is being called ''the summer's best movie'' by some critics. The fine novelization of it that William Kotzwinkle has done for Berkley may turn out to be this summer's best-selling tie-in, some book distributors tell us.

John Irving's ''The World According to Garp'' might become one of the books about which every paperback publisher dreams. When this critically acclaimed comic novel was published in soft cover by Pocket Books in 1979, it was on our mass-market best-seller list for 28 weeks and sold over three million copies. The film, in which Mr. Irving plays a role, was also previewed at Anaheim last weekend. If it is a box-office success, Pocket could well sell another million copies or more.

''Rocky III'' is expected to repeat the success of its two predecessors and become one of the summer's box-office smashes. The legend of the down-and-out boxer who triumphs over great odds, as conceived and acted by Sylvester Stallone, is the sort of stuff that fascinates youthful moviegoers and readers. Book tie-ins to the first two ''Rocky'' films sold well. The third, published by Ballantine, with Mr. Stallone himself listed as the author, will be in the racks shortly.

''Annie,'' the film based on the long-running Broadway musical that's based on the long-running comic strip, has become the subject of spirited debate in both the film and book worlds. Will enough grown-ups augment its natural audience of little girls to enable the producer to recoup the $40 million to $50 million he says he has invested in it? Will enough of those who see the film like it enough to make the novelization Leonore Fleischer has done for Ballantine a best seller? How many people are interested enough in ''Annie'' as a pop-culture figure to buy ''The History of Little Orphan Annie'' by Bruce Smith, which Ballantine is bringing out as a trade paperback? Well, as bookmen know, tie-ins are a very chancy form of publishing.

Markdowns. Would more people buy more paperbacks if they didn't cost so much? Two publishers are staging experiments to find out.NAL/Signet has just issued at $1.50 ''Minotaur'' by Benjamin Tammuz, the story of a strange romantic relationship that develops between a beautiful English girl and an aging Israeli intelligence agent. It received excellent critical notices when it was published in hard-cover last year. Its style reminded our reviewer of William Faulkner and Lawrence Durrell.

Bantam Books is reissuing at $1.95 each 11 best sellers from its backlist: ''Sleeping Murder'' by Agatha Christie, ''Once Is Not Enough'' by Jacqueline Susann, ''Hotel'' by Arthur Hailey, ''The Deep'' by Peter Benchley, ''The Great Train Robbery'' by Michael Crichton, ''Storm Warning'' by Jack Higgins, ''Vixen 03'' by Clive Cussler, ''The Cracker Factory'' by Joyce Rebeta-Burditt, ''Chantal'' by Claire Lorrimer, ''Proteus'' by Morris West and ''Till Death Us Do Part'' by Vincent Bugliosi with Ken Hurwitz. When the special printings of 185,000 copies are exhausted, the books will return to their regular prices, ranging from $2.75 to $3.50.

 
Time Magazine

May 31, 1982, U.S. Edition

BYLINE: John A. Meyers

SECTION: A LETTER FROM THE PUBLISHER; Pg. 3


TIME's story ideas usually originate at editorial meetings n New York, or at weekly conferences in its bureaus around the world. These proposals, breaking news aside, tend to be savored for weeks, even months, before coming anywhere close to appearing in print. But, by the very nature of its business, TIME must react as quick to the unexpected eruption of genius as to the demands of hard news. This can mean that the normal weeks of planning may be telescoped into a few days, with the whole meticulous preparation process taking on the look and feel of a speededup movie. Such was the case for this week's major story on Film Maker Steven Spielberg.

It was well known that two new Spielberg moviews -- E.T. and Poltergeist -- were due to be released, but on paper they did not at first look as if they were likely candidates for Hollywood immortality. Says Associate Editor Richard Corliss, who wrote the main story for this week's effort -- with contributions from John Skow and Reporter-Researcher Melissa Ludtke Lincoln: "Here were two movies with no stars. Both were small budget. Together they cost much less than Annie. How important could low-budget, horror or science-fiction films be?" The answer: so important that Corliss delayed a long-scheduled trip to the Cannes Film Festival in order to get started on the story. FOr two days he wrote, then flew to Cannes for three days, Then caught the Concorde back to New York to finish the project. Before Corliss returned to Cannes, he met Spielberg for the firs time -- after three screenings of E.T. -- at a luncheon organized by our editors in the Time-Life Building in Manhattan.

Also attending that luncheon last week was West Coast Show Business Correspondent Martha Smilgis, who last year interviewed Spielberg for TIME's story on Raiders of the Lost Ark. For this new project, Smilgis had a long afternoon of conversation with Spielberg at his beach house just north of Malibu. Says she: "Steven made me a great lunch. his mother sent ovr curried chicken, and he supplied salmon, tuna fish, fresh fruit salad and his own specialty, freshly baked pumpkin bread. Food is his hobby." Smilgis' assignments are not always so appealing. As part of covering her beat in Los Angeles, she screens an average of two films a week and is not moved by many of them. But after viewing E.T., she was moved to say: "This is a ten-handkerchief movie."