I'll Scream Later (No Series)

by Matlin, Marlee

  The ceremony was short—performed by a priest and a rabbi. Kevin and I signed our vows, so in a sense we married in silence. A good friend, Jann Goldsby, signed the ceremony for my many Deaf friends who had come from Chicago to share the night with me. Liz was my matron of honor and Ruthie was my maid of honor—I couldn’t have done it without my best friend and my soul sister!—along with the other important women in my life: my bridesmaids Barbara, Barb, Gloria, Kevin’s sister Kim, and my niece, Arielle.

  All my family was there, aunts, uncles, cousins. I asked both of my parents to walk me down the aisle—which had been created out of rose trees—and give me away.

  Just before the ceremony, my brother Eric slipped me the coolest, funkiest pair of sunglasses that he and my brother Marc had come up with. They were white, then covered in rhinestones with a little bride and groom on each corner. Just as Kevin and I turned around to greet everyone as husband and wife for the first time, I slipped on the sunglasses and grinned. Not to be outdone, Kevin and the groomsmen showed off the hot-pink socks they were wearing under their black tuxes!

  The rest of the night was filled with fun and food and dancing. We had seven food stations and the most amazing cake. Henry and Stacey were such gracious hosts, but the entire time they were greeting guests, Henry was worried about the “dance floor” that covered the pool that night—people were dancing wildly on it. Funny sight.

  The final song before we left just around midnight was and is our song, “I Cross My Heart.” And I still do.

  44

  I WAS IN NORTH Carolina; my destination was Cherry Hospital, an inpatient psychiatric facility where they house those who have, for the most part, lost complete touch with reality. It’s what we used to think of as an insane asylum.

  At times when you are researching a character you find yourself looking in the face of some terrible tragedy that was the starting point for the story you’re going to be telling.

  For me, Carrie Buck’s tragedy, which we would be telling in Against Her Will: The Carrie Buck Story, was that she never had a chance at life. As a baby she’d been abandoned by her mother and placed with foster parents. For a while she went to school, but she dropped out, taking on many of the household chores for her foster family. At seventeen, she was raped by their nephew.

  It was 1923, and whether the family was motivated by shame or something even darker, Carrie was institutionalized and deemed both “feebleminded” and promiscuous. Her baby was taken away from her and handed over to her foster parents. In the months after, doctors went to court to test the Virginia Sterilization Act, which allowed them to sterilize Carrie after a court hearing. The Supreme Court affirmed the law, and Carrie was sterilized under the theory that if she was mentally incompetent, her children would be as well.

  In a chilling decision, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote, “It is better for all the world, if instead of waiting to execute degenerate offspring for crime, or to let them starve for their imbecility, society can prevent those who are manifestly unfit from continuing their kind.”

  Carrie would ultimately be released from the Virginia Colony for the Epileptic and the Feebleminded and marry. Those who interviewed her over the years found a woman of normal intelligence.

  Even more than sixty years later in what one would hope to be a far more enlightened time, the facility I toured was depressing, claustrophobic. Walking through the hallways, I could feel a weight of hopelessness pressing down, filling the corridors, sucking up all the air. You just knew these people would never leave, would never be able to live on their own.

  I couldn’t help but think of my own situation—what if someone had mandated that the Deaf couldn’t have children, or the blind? It was that sense that anything outside what is deemed “normal” is automatically bad, something to be erased so that it doesn’t have to be faced or dealt with, or, more important, accepted.

  So I took this character into my heart. If the times or the circumstances had been different, I wondered what doors might have been closed to me forever. I might make a mess of my life, but I wanted those choices and those decisions to be in my hands.

  Carrie was the first character I would play who was hearing, who also speaks. That was entirely new terrain for me. I had to be able to react in scenes as if I could hear. I had enough play in my voice that I was able to sound like someone who was intellectually just a little slow.

  I also studied Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, with the sound and captioning turned off. If you’re an actor, hearing or Deaf, it’s a great lesson to watch a movie with no sound to see how an actor’s body language and face are communicating. By that measure, Dustin’s performance was a master class.

  For the first time I was working with my friend Melissa Gilbert, who’d been acting professionally since she was a small child and was only ten when she took on the iconic role of Laura Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie.

  Melissa would play a young attorney who works on the case and becomes convinced that what is happening to Carrie is inhumane. We were already close, but the two of us completely bonded on this film.

  A different type of role for me. I played a hearing woman in the film Against Her Will: The Carrie Buck Story opposite my good friend Melissa Gilbert. (Credit: CORBIS/SYGMA)

  I find that I learn something from almost any actor I work with. With each experience I try to keep myself open for what I might discover—good or bad—from my colleagues. I was intrigued by how Melissa could seemingly just flip a switch and be in whatever emotional peak or valley the script called for. She knew how to get there in an instant.

  It was about the acting process—learning how to bounce off the energy and intensity of each other in any scene, many of which were highly emotional.

  But it was also about the downtime, when we could just kick back and be girlfriends. We talked about important things, we talked about silly things, and, boy, did we have a great time gossiping!

  The challenge of acting and reacting like someone who hears means so many tiny things: the tightening of the muscles in your back at the sound of a car door closing outside; the slight tilt of your head as the mail drops in the slot. All the physical and verbal changes that happen while carrying on a conversation with your back turned. All of that I needed to be able to do believably, even though I couldn’t hear the door close, the mail drop, or when dialogue began or ended.

  I always work closely with my interpreter, but in this case Bill Pugin and I worked overtime to develop cues that he could give me off camera so that I could make my reactions look effortless.

  I was proud of my work on this film, which is unusual for me as a perfectionist, and pleased when the performance earned me a CableACE nomination. But more than anything, I felt grateful that after all these years I’d been able to give Carrie a voice. She had passed away in 1983, in her later years saying that one of her chief regrets was that she and her husband were unable to have more children. She was buried next to her daughter, an intellectually normal child, who died at eight of an infection while still in foster care.

  SOMETIMES THE ROLE brings the tragedy to you, but at other times tragedy pushes you to seek out and fight for a role, as when I heard they were casting for the AIDS drama It’s My Party, starring Eric Roberts.

  I had met the remarkable Elizabeth Glaser at one of Swifty Lazar’s post-Oscar bashes. Not long afterward, she called and asked if I’d be willing to help raise money on behalf of AIDS research for children. She was setting up what would become the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation, and I immediately said yes.

  This woman had a resolve of steel that I have never stopped being humbled by. She had been given so much to bear—contracting AIDS through a blood transfusion when giving birth, facing her own illness, then that of her children, losing one and desperate to save the other.

  It was heartbreaking, but Elizabeth had no time for tears, she had too much to accomplish before she couldn’t. I am so grateful for the time I had to know her and wor
k with her. She was the definition of the word selfless, and the foundation that is her legacy continues to touch so many lives.

  I think she must be smiling down as she sees how much progress has been made, that AIDS is no longer an automatic death sentence, but also impatient that much is left to do.

  Ryan White and his mother, Jeanne, also came into my life. In July of 1988, I worked with Elton John and Charlie Sheen to cohost the Athletes and Entertainers for Kids fund-raiser “For the Love of Children.” Elton, who had become close to the Whites, brought Ryan and six-year-old Jason Robertson, who was also struggling with the disease, onstage while he performed. I would occasionally stay in touch with Ryan and his mom over the years.

  Both Ryan and Jeanne were such compelling examples of grace under fire. Most people I’m sure remember Ryan’s story. As an infant, he had contracted AIDS through blood products used to treat his hemophilia. Jeanne became nationally known when she pushed for Ryan’s right to attend school on the days he felt well enough.

  So much fear surrounded AIDS in those years. People were convinced they could catch AIDS just by being around someone who was infected.

  In Jeanne I saw a mother lion, a blend of faith and strength, attacking obstacles fearlessly. She did whatever was necessary to see that Ryan and his life were not marginalized.

  It was impossible not to fall in love with Ryan; he was such a charming, brave kid. He had a really funny sense of humor and loved movies and movie stars. He used to say he was in awe when he was around celebrities. Like many others, I was in awe around him.

  Like so many people, I lost friends who were not on the public radar to AIDS. They were loved, then far too soon, they were lost. One that hit me particularly hard was the death of David Oliver.

  David and I had gotten to know each other in 1988. He was probably best known for playing Sam Gardner in the Emmy-winning miniseries A Year in the Life, opposite Sarah Jessica Parker, but I met him through Young Artists United, the political action group of actors that worked in the trenches for voter registration.

  When I was without a boyfriend that year, he went with me to Hawaii to compete as my partner in a series of sporting events held just off the coast of Kauai. I don’t think we won a single event, but David and Jack and I had an absolute blast, especially on the days we toured the island.

  David was smart and devilishly funny, and if a piano was anywhere within reach, he would sit down and get lost in the music for a while. We did an US magazine shoot with Helen Slater and Craig Sheffer—“Dressed to Kill,” four young Hollywood stars show off holiday party clothes to die for—that ran in November of 1988. The look was sort of French aristocrat, and we spent a day changing clothes and moods and scenes and it seemed as if nothing could stop us.

  Over the next couple of years, we lost touch. I heard that he was sick, very sick, and I called and we talked. He was so weak, and he didn’t like his friends to see that. He asked me on his deathbed whom I was dating. I told him about Kevin—that he wore a uniform—and David smiled and said, “You go, girl!”

  David died in November 1992. He was thirty, and no matter how AIDS ravaged his body, he was still as beautiful as when we first met.

  So when I heard about It’s My Party, I wanted to get involved. The film followed the last days of Nick Stark, the role Eric Roberts was playing.

  When Nick went from HIV-positive to full-blown AIDS and finally to lesions on his brain, he chose to end his life before the disease could run its horrific course. But before he goes, he gives a final party for his family and friends.

  Randal Kleiser wrote and directed the film, which was loosely based on his own experience, as his partner had contracted AIDS and ultimately committed suicide.

  Lee Grant played Nick’s mother, I was Nick’s sister, Gregory Harrison the lover who had left him after the diagnosis, Margaret Cho a close friend. Olivia Newton-John was in it, too. Many others were in the cast, all of us dealing with the losses that AIDS had exacted in our lives. Everyone worked for scale.

  It’s hard to explain what it was like during that shoot. There wasn’t a day when someone’s emotions were not on edge, as a scene would touch the raw nerve of experience. But it brought out the best in all of us, with such support for one another, such love on that set, such healing.

  The reviews were largely gentle and sad. A few criticized the film’s sentimentality. The box office was barely there. But it was one of the best experiences of my life.

  The critic Roger Ebert wrote, “Watching the film is uncannily like going through the illness, death, and memorial service of a loved one.” In my mind, that was the true measure of its power.

  Left to right: George Segal, Eric Roberts, Lee Grant, and Dimitria Arliss on the set of It’s My Party. (Credit: CORBIS/SYGMA)

  45

  THE OUTER LIMITS, with its mix of the unexplained, seemed like the kind of series that we could pitch ideas to. Jack did, they bought one, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Vancouver to shoot an episode titled “The Message.”

  In the story, a young Deaf woman, Jennifer, gets cochlear implants, but her doctors tell her the surgery has failed.

  Despite the doctors’ assessment, Jennifer starts hearing something—a series of numbers. Everyone thinks she’s crazy except for the mysterious hospital janitor, who, Jennifer discovers, is really an astrophysicist quite possibly able to unlock the meaning of the binary code she keeps hearing. Okay, I said it was The Outer Limits.

  A number of Deaf children were cast in the show, and normally I love spending time with children, but I was feeling sick. I was really hoping it wasn’t the flu.

  The shoot wasn’t long, just a little over a week, but as the days went on, I wasn’t feeling better. It took everything for me to get through the days—even indulging in my favorite junk food wasn’t helping. I was so cranky to the cast and crew—and so unlike myself on the set—that I apologized to everyone before I left.

  Toward the end of the week, I started wondering if I might be feeling sick for another reason.

  Kevin and I had been trying for about a year to have a baby. We were both incredibly healthy, so I couldn’t imagine that anything was wrong, but I talked to my doctor. That’s when I learned all about the rhythms of my cycle—Kevin’s the Catholic in the family, he should have known all about that!

  We’d just recently gone from the make-love-anytime-you-feel-like-it approach to paying a little attention to the timing. Could it have happened that quickly?

  I started thinking about buying a home pregnancy test, but I didn’t want to wait until I got back to L.A.—someone might see me, and any information in Hollywood seems to be fair game for the tabloids.

  I wanted to keep this under the radar for two reasons. First, it would be so sad for us if it wasn’t true; and second, if it was, I needed to keep working and it’s far harder to get the next film or the next TV episode if you’re pregnant. Sad, but true.

  So I slipped out one day, all alone, and went in search of a pharmacy in Vancouver. I found one, found a pregnancy test, and packed it. I didn’t want to find out the answer so far from Kevin and from my doctor.

  I got home on a Wednesday and Kevin was still at work. I was exhausted, and not just from the travel. I couldn’t sleep the night before, I couldn’t keep anything down, and I couldn’t stop thinking about taking that test.

  As soon as I walked in the door about eleven thirty that morning, I dropped my bags, rummaged through them for the pregnancy test, and headed to the bathroom. I was shaking.

  I took the test, counted the seconds, then checked. There it was—a plus! I was over the moon; I had a plus! But it was early; if I was pregnant, I was just barely pregnant. I wanted to be sure. A call to Dr. Schapira’s office and a plea—“I need a blood test right away.”

  “Why?” he asked. I didn’t answer. “Okay, come on in.”

  Since he was not my ob-gyn, he had no idea what to think, I’m sure.

  When I walked in, it was still
the lunch hour. “I’m here for a blood test.” The nurse asked why. “I got a plus on a home pregnancy test.” She smiled. They drew my blood, then I asked to please, please let me know that very day. They explained that normally it takes two days. No, no, no, I wanted to know now. I kept insisting, asked to talk to the doctor. Dr. Schapira listened, sighed, smiled, and told me to come back in a couple of hours. Did I mention he has the greatest smile?

  Now my mind is going crazy. If I’m pregnant, really pregnant, how am I going to surprise Kevin? I headed to a nearby Rexall, right across from the Beverly Center, and went to the baby section to look around.

  When I got back to the doctor’s office, the nurse said. “The doctor wants to see you in his office.”

  “Can’t you just tell me?”

  “No, sorry, the doctor wants to see you.”

  Sitting in his office, I was nervous. I kept waiting and waiting and waiting. I was beginning to wonder if they’d forgotten I was in there. Finally he walked in, looking serious. He sat down and took a deep breath and said, “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

  I started to cry and cry and cry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know, I’m just happy, so happy. It’s taken a year!”

  I laughed, blew my nose, and he hugged me.

  Then I went home to wait for Kevin. He remembers, “I came home from work around six and looked around for Marlee. I finally found her in the kitchen. She was standing there with a pacifier in her mouth. I looked at her kinda funny, then she pulled the pregnancy test out from behind her back. And I grabbed her and just held her.”

  Preggers with our first child

  We hugged and cried and hugged some more. We started talking about all the things that we needed to do to get ready for this baby. Kevin finally said, “We’ve got to go get something to eat.” So we went to this little Italian place on Third Street, nothing fancy, it had a little red awning and served home-style Italian food. Simple place, the best dinner of my life!