There wasn’t much of an official NBC response to Elizabeth’s decision to do the film. Mostly, it was just a lot of awkward moments in the hallway, “Hey, Liz. Great, uh, movie. Definitely gonna watch it again more closely on home video. Frame by glorious frame.” I guess it’s worth mentioning too that I never heard St. Peter breathe a word about Showgirls. Then again, he never really had to tackle Showgirls head-on. It wasn’t long after it premiered that Elizabeth refused to renew her contract to complete the final season, and she was gone.
Recently, Elizabeth popped up on CSI: Miami as Julia Winston, Horatio Caine’s love interest (once more, a slutty temptress.) I just heaved a heavy sigh. After Showgirls, she was typecast as the skank: Any Given Sunday (prostitute), First Wives Club (skankity skank skank), et cetera. But CSI: Miami kind of bugged me. This was the number-one show in my rotation—shit, the number-one show in the world. There she was, invading my home screen. I’m sorry, I just can’t watch her as a serious actress. I was just a few feet away for that “I’m so excited … I’m so scared” performance. I still wake up in cold sweats.
And I’m so familiar with all her backstage escapades, like when she fooled around with Mark-Paul and Mario as Tiffani’s sloppy seconds. Elizabeth had a whole different approach from Tiffani’s. To compare her and Tiffani, I would say that Tiffani was the I’m-better-than-everyone-else, chick-with-an-air-about her, Paris Hilton-style girl, living in the Hollywood spotlight. Whereas Elizabeth seemed to party around more for attention—to be wanted, or more accurately, needed. There was a desperation to Elizabeth’s ho’ing, like she had a lot of catching up to do. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Elizabeth walked in one end of the dressing room while Tiffani was exiting out the other. Like down at the corner deli: “Take a number … Next!” But on the Royal-Party-Girl scale, Tiffani was most definitely the queen, while Elizabeth was more like a minor duchess, living off somewhere in the hill country.
ME, SCREECHING TRUTH TO POWER
I was always something of an outsider on the set. The biggest reason was that I was a few years younger than everyone else. When SBTB started at NBC, I was twelve, and Mark-Paul, Tiffani, and the others were all around fifteen or sixteen. At that age, a few years makes all the difference. They were fully teenagers, living like adults, and I was still a kid. But the source of the biggest rift between me and the rest of the cast wasn’t my age. It was my lack of interest of kissing the ass of the Golden Child.
Because everybody knew Mark-Paul was St. Peter’s favorite, everybody wanted to be best friends with Mark-Paul. Just because we were kids doesn’t mean we were immune to the rules of Hollywood—or the rules of any actual high school, for that matter. Theory: Proximity to powerful and popular people helps one rise quickly up the ladder of life. But if someone was being a douche, I didn’t want to hang out with them. And Mark-Paul was usually being a douche. Simple as that. I always thought that was a good way to conduct myself, but behind the scenes of SBTB that attitude made me Public Enemy Number One.
Once I took up opposition to the Golden Child, I instantly became the cast’s whipping boy. A lot of it was stupid shit when I think about it now, but at the time, being so much younger than the others, being ostracized by the group really stung. I remember one stupid encounter right after M.C. Hammer’s megahit, “Can’t Touch This” had just come out. Everybody was singing it; it played on the radio ad nauseam—Hammer’s ubiquitous shimmy-shammying back-and-forth in his gold lamé genie pants. Anyway, I was on the school set playing the song on my boom box. Elizabeth was sitting there singing, “Dum-da-da-dum, Can’t help it!”
Huh?
At this point I was administering a sort of self-imposed silent treatment with the rest of the cast for what I had perceived as efforts to keep me at a distance as the odd man out, like when the cast would buy gifts for each other and all conveniently forget me. I’m not trying to paint a whole “woe is me” portrait, I just feel that, if you’re going to watch a play, you need to know who the players are. But the silent treatment never lasts very long. You find yourself talking again in no time flat, rambling on until you suddenly catch yourself and think, “Shit! I’m supposed to be giving you assholes the silent treatment.”
That was the situation when I heard Elizabeth mangling the lyrics. I just had to set her straight. Politely, I said, “Uh, ‘Can’t touch this.’”
Elizabeth said, “What?”
“M.C. Hammer’s song. The refrain is ‘Can’t touch this.’”
“No it isn’t.”
“I think that …”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think. It’s ‘Can’t help it.’”
Then Tiffani chimed in, “Dustin, you’re so stupid. Everyone knows it’s ‘Can’t help it.’”
So I played it again, over and over, certain that would settle the matter. Surely their ears functioned properly when they were fully focused on a single task. They continued to deny me. It reached a point where I wanted to beat them over the heads with my boom box. I thought, “They can’t be this stupid!” And maybe they weren’t. Probably they weren’t. They were just fucking with me to make me feel small and insignificant—to remind me of my proper place, far outside the group.
Sometimes the shit they babbled on about was positively mind-boggling. I had to wonder if they were being serious or just choosing to be obstinate because banding together behind a contrarian viewpoint was more interesting or amusing for them than being friendly. But I have to say, in all honesty, I thought they were just idiots. Like when the first Nightmare on Elm Street flick came out and everyone was talking about how scary Freddy Krueger was. I loved the film and was a big fan of the franchise, but what threw me for an absolute fucking loop was the aspect of Freddy they found most terrifying. Let me put it to you: When you picture Freddy Krueger, what characteristic of that character frightens you the most?
That freaky leather hand contraption with the razor knives gleaming from each fingertip? His horrific melted face? His penchant for stabbing nubile teens?
Mark-Paul, whenever anyone on the set would ask about the movie, would say, “I just couldn’t watch it. That sweater … That sweater! It was horrible.”
Really?!
You thought the most terrifying aspect of Freddy Krueger was his sweater? But sure enough, everyone fell in line with this opinion, and would shudder at Freddy’s sartorial horror. . It’s like saying that the most terrifying thing about Jason was that he couldn’t swim … idiots.
Another time, on Lisa’s bedroom set, Mark-Paul was sitting with Tiffani-Amber and Elizabeth during one of the breaks. I tried to mosey up to the group and Tiffani snapped at me, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Strict as St. Peter was, profanity on set was obviously the ultimate taboo. I said, “Aw, that’s real nice. Why don’t I go tell Peter what you just said? I’m sure he’d love to hear how his darling child is choosing to structure her sentences with such colorful language.”
Tiffani said, “I’ll say it again: Go fuck yourself. Go ahead, tell him. Who’s he gonna believe? You? Or us?”
Us?
That wasn’t the last time one of the cool kids got away with something I could never pull off. Like the time in one episode when Zack was supposed to nail Screech with a water balloon. The problem was, Mark-Paul kept hitting me with the balloon, but it wouldn’t burst. The director and crew came up with the idea of me holding a sharpened pencil in my hand, trying my best to angle it towards the point of impact for maximum splatter. It didn’t matter, though, because in the next take, while Mark-Paul was menacingly holding the balloon, the thing exploded in his hand. That kind of mishap was a big deal. It meant the whole production had to shut down while Mark-Paul went through hair and makeup all over again and, hopefully, wardrobe had an exact replica handy of every stitch of clothing he was wearing or we would all have to sit even longer while his costume tumbled around in the dryer. Perhaps Mark-Paul immediately grasped the gravity of this blooper the instant it occurred because he blurted out, “
Oh shit!” in front of a live studio audience.
He showed instantaneous remorse, apologizing profusely for the gaff, which probably ameliorated St. Peter’s wrath—that is, after the audience’s hysterical laughter subsided. After all, he was the Golden Child.
Moments like those really brought it home for me. That’s when it was perfectly clear that a line was drawn between the rest of the cast—the older, cooler kids—and me. If I really was Samuel “Screech” Powers, the character I played on TV, I would’ve just hung my head and slinked away as we mixed sad music and cut to commercial. But in real life I’ve never been the kind of person who turns the other cheek. I’m a big fan of what I call justice.
And the cast weren’t the only ones who would feel my wrath. There was this extra, turned bit-part actress, on SBTB. She was a real skank. She thought she was, super hot because she was slender with long, dark hair and exotic features, the kind of chick that in Hollywood is a dime a dozen. She was a slut. Her goal was to fuck Mark-Paul and/or Mario and/or anyone else she could screw into wrangling her a regular role on the show. She made that plan perfectly known. One day we were all hanging out on set during a break. She turned and said something really insulting to me. I thought, “Bitch, you’re a fucking extra. I may play the nerd, but I’m one of the stars of the show. You can be replaced in a heartbeat.”
The worst part was that Mark-Paul and Tiffani laughed, validating her comment and her attitude towards me. It appeared that I would have to take matters into my own hands. Sometimes, you just have to show people where they fall in the pecking order. So when the extras went to lunch in the NBC commissary, I grabbed her purse, took it into the restroom, and pissed in it. The punishment, I felt, definitely fit the crime. So beware. Don’t rub me the wrong way, or I might hide a turd in your pocket.
LISA TURTLE AND HER SHELL
Lark Voorhies played Lisa Turtle, after whom Screech would endlessly pine. But practically the only time I heard Lark speak was when there were lines for Lisa Turtle in the script. Lark was bizarre. She was always extraordinarily low key and pretty much kept to herself, which was no doubt due in large part to her strict faith as a Jehovah’s Witness. In fact, she could possibly be in the room with you right now, while you’re reading this book, and you wouldn’t even know it. Lark was also very beautiful and came from a nice, upper-class family. On top of that, she was soft-spoken, so much so that the director would often ask her to repeat her lines more loudly. “There’s an audience here, Lark. They can’t hear you in back.”
Lark started coming around and hanging out more towards the end of SBTB, around the time her character began to take an interest in Zack. From my perspective, Lark’s time on the show broke down like this: She came in and said, “Okay, I’m surrounded by sin but, I’m a good, wholesome religious girl. I’m not going to get sucked into the temptation and evil of this Hollywood world. I’ll do my job, get my work done, get in, and get out.” Then she probably thought to herself, “Hm, clearly there is a hierarchy here. To smooth my path, I’m going to get close to those I see are the favorites.” When she started to feel she was being accepted into that group, she thought, “Hey, I’ve been living a little uptight for too long. I think I might stretch my wings, just a bit, to see how it feels. Nothing crazy. Just test the waters.” She started off by having her little hissy fits directed at me, always when the others were around. Finally, she came all the way around with the inevitable sucking up to Mark-Paul. They went off and tried to have their own little relationship, only by that time, Lark was sloppy thirds. And that’s sloppy. There didn’t seem to be any real spark or attraction there anyway, no real desire between them. They were just going through the motions.
The writers worked it into the show that Zack was horning in on Screech’s girl. Screech catches them kissing backstage at Lisa’s fashion show as the audience purrs, “OooOOOooo.” I knew that the relationships in front of the camera often continued after the red light turned off. It’s like my cast mates couldn’t separate reality from their characters on the show—clearly the mark of truly gifted actors. Not. If you ever want to know who was with whom off-camera on SBTB, it’s easy: just go pick up the DVDs.
Unfortunately, what comes to mind these days when I think of Lark was the bizarre experience of meeting up with her again after so many years when we came together to do the audio commentary for the DVD version of SBTB. Since I’d last seen her, Lark had been briefly engaged to actor and comedian Martin Lawrence (he gives a dedication to her on one of his comedy albums). Unfortunately, that engagement abruptly ended when, on the Arsenio Hall Show, Martin announced his plans to marry another woman. At the DVD commentary recording session, I was happy to see Lark. I said, “Hey, what’s going on?”
Her response—her whole body language—was freakishly distant. She was weirdly aloof and had no desire to engage in any form of communication. When we were all miked up and rolling on the DVD commentary, Lark never uttered a word. The sound technician in the booth gently suggested, “Lark, could you add something?”
When he spoke, she flinched.
After the recording session, I was concerned. I called Lark to see if she was feeling all right. Almost every answer was, “Uh huh” or “Mm hm” or “Okay.” She told me she had started a production company and that she was doing fine. I acknowledged that we’d fallen out of touch over the years but encouraged her to call me anytime. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Sure, sure.”
Now you can take from it what you will, but here are the facts.
A) She flinched whenever a man was near her or a man’s voice was suddenly projected toward her.
B) She rocked back and forth mumbling to herself in a very disturbing fashion, as if in her own world.
You can draw your own conclusions from that but, for some reason, Lisa Turtle, never that outgoing to begin with, had completely retreated into her shell.
THE PRINCIPAL
The principal of Bayside High was, of course, Mr. Belding, played by Dennis Haskins. He also appeared with me in SBTB: The College Years and SBTB: The New Class, so I got to know the man well, and I’m still good friends with him. I called him “The Man From Everywhere.”
Why? you ask.
At NBC, the SBTB cast had adjoining dressing rooms separated by sliding pocket doors that were by no means soundproof. I could hear everything going on next door. For an entire season, Den had the dressing room adjoined with mine. I love Den, but the first thing I learned was that he was a very ambitious opportunist. Whenever he saw someone cruise past his door that he thought could help his career, he pounced like a predator from the tall grass. I don’t blame the guy for it. In Hollywood, you need to seize every chance you get to expand your network of contacts. You’re your own best salesman in a business where you’re the product. But Den had a pitch that I’ve never heard before or since. He must have spent his leisure hours researching inane facts about every city, town, village, and hamlet in America. No matter the place, he knew something—however minute—about every bustling metropolis or stagnating backwater the person he was talking with could mention. I would overhear him talking to people on the phone and in the hallways. Den engaged in one of these typical conversations with Wings star Crystal Bernard, whom I knew from when I appeared on the sitcom It’s a Living as a young Paul Kreppel (I had a huge crush on her back then). Crystal was appearing on The Tonight Show (we shared a soundstage with them). Her conversation with the Man From Everywhere went something like this:
DEN: Hey, Crystal, where you from?
CRYSTAL: Garland, Texas.
DEN: Garland, Texas?! That’s my hometown!
CRYSTAL: Really, because it’s kinda small …
DEN: Hey, did they ever wind up restoring that old church steeple? I hope so, because it was so beautiful.
CRYSTAL: Um, yes actually. They did.
DEN: Good. Good. That holds such a special place in my memory. Hang on a sec, I’m gonna give you a head shot.
Of course Den wasn�
�t from Garland, or Baltimore or Detroit or Minneapolis St. Paul or American Samoa or wherever else the person he was talking with said they were from—unless it was Chattanooga, Tennessee, which is where I’m pretty sure he’s actually from, but I can’t be one hundred percent certain. That was just his “in,” his conversational icebreaker, but the Man From Everywhere was bullshitting everybody.
At one point Den got married, but he didn’t invite anybody from the show to the wedding. He may have done it in Vegas. He brought his new wife to the set and introduced her to everyone, feeling pretty good about himself. “Excuse me dear,” said Den, hitching up his trousers, “I’ve gotta get to work.”
The harder Den worked, the more money she got because they were soon divorced. She took him for everything. That definitely jaded him against chicks for a long while. Ours was a weird relationship because it went from Den only knowing me as a little kid to, at the end, us becoming buddies.
One more thing on Den: the dude had no game. Every television show has stand-ins who take the place of the actor during certain aspects of blocking, lighting, and scene setup. We had many stand-ins over the years of SBTB, some who stuck around for a while and some who were just passing through. There was one girl I always liked named Penny Nichols. At the time, if I had to guess, I’d say Penny was in her mid-twenties. She later played Roxanne Rubio in a 1994 episode of one of Peter Engel’s other NBC shows for tweens, California Dreams. Penny was a pretty, pale-skinned redhead with sort of elfin features. She was normal-sized, though some stand-ins in Hollywood, particularly for shows featuring children, are little people.
Dustin Diamond Page 5
