LA Times Article on Paula Poundstone
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NEWS ANALYSIS
A Comic in Trouble, an Image Rewritten
No matter how the Paula Poundstone case turns out, one thing is for sure:
Thanks to a scandal-hungry media, the comedian's life and career will never be
the same.
PAUL BROWNFIELD, TIMES STAFF WRITER
Until June 27, when she was arrested by Santa Monica police and charged with
lewd acts with a girl under 14 and child endangerment, Paula Poundstone lived
two lives, mutually exclusive and in evident harmony.
She was the comedian who could still pull in $15,000 playing small theaters and
corporate dates, work that enabled her to earn around $750,000 a year--a
conservative estimate, counters her manager.
Poundstone, 41, was also the woman who, as she entered her 30s, trained to
become a foster mother, opening her home to disadvantaged and disabled kids.
She cared for her first foster child, an infant born to a drug-addicted mother,
in 1993, during production on her comedy-variety TV series "The Paula
Poundstone Show." At the time of her arrest, Poundstone's brood included three
adopted children, one of whom has cerebral palsy, and two foster kids, ranging
in age from 2 to 12, according to a county children's services official. Late
last week her personal manager confirmed for The Times that Poundstone was in a
Malibu alcohol rehab facility when she was arrested, adding that the comedian
had recently "come to a realization that there may be a problem with alcohol,
and that she needs to do something about it."
On Monday, her attorney Steven Cron, through Poundstone's crisis management
public relations firm, Sitrick & Co., released a statement acknowledging that
for the first time publicly. "It is my belief that Paula's drinking problems
clearly had a bearing on the allegations that led to her arrest," Cron said in
the statement. "Nonetheless, after having had a chance to study the details of
the case against her, I remain convinced that she is not guilty of the lewd
conduct charges pending against her."
The arrest has made her personal life news, her character public fodder. Unlike
other entertainers, say her defenders, Poundstone never sought to publicize her
role as a parent. She adopted kids before Rosie O'Donnell or Calista Flockhart
made them seem like a celebrity accessory, and she took in hard-luck cases
without martyring herself as a Westside Mother Teresa. Eleven kids have lived
at one time or another in Poundstone's house, including the three adopted
children, according to sources close to Poundstone.
At Santa Monica's McKinley Elementary, a public school with a large
concentration of low-income kids where two of her children are enrolled,
Poundstone is not considered a drop-'em-off-and-speed-away mom.
"She's shy, so you can't just break into conversation with her on her own,"
says Miriam Billington, a McKinley mother and PTA president whose children
befriended Poundstone's at the school. "But once our little kids started
talking, and we started talking as moms, that's the role she's so comfortable
in."
But in the 12 hours she was chewed up and spit out by the tabloid news cycle on
June 27, Poundstone acquired a third identity--a celebrity accused of molesting
her kids. There was a sense, as video of Poundstone leaving jail led all of the
local newscasts, that a kind of ritual was taking place, one as peculiar to our
time as feeding Christians to the lions was in ancient Rome. Poundstone is no
Tom Cruise or Julia Roberts, someone built for the light. But on this night she
would have to do.
Whatever the outcome of the legal case (an arraignment was held last Tuesday,
giving Cron access to the evidence compiled by the Los Angeles County district
attorney's office), Poundstone's career--the same career that funded her
generosity toward children--now resides in a public relations foxhole.
We know what happens next: Like Paul Reubens (a.k.a. Pee-wee Herman) or pop
star Michael Jackson, Poundstone will head into seclusion. People will forget
about her until the next Pavlovian reminder--July 30, when a date for a
preliminary hearing will be set. A court order prohibits the principals from
discussing details of the case.
"With many crimes, if you say nothing it's better," says Stuart Fischoff, a
professor of media psychology at Cal State L.A. "But when it comes to issues
with child molestation, it's not. That's the one area where silence is deadly."
Nor can Poundstone return to work in the cocooned environment of a movie set or
TV family in the way, say, that Robert Downey Jr. did last season on "Ally
McBeal." A closed set not only meant that Downey could keep the media wolves at
bay, but also enabled the cuddly version of Downey to stay in production, even
as the real, more troubled one was being arrested for parole violations.
Poundstone, by contrast, is a comic, and the distance between the realities of
her private life and her public image is much shorter. Long a worker bee among
headlining comics, Poundstone has as her bread and butter big paydays out of
town--corporate dates, college appearances. Already, says her manager Bonnie
Burns, some venues have called to postpone concert dates, though others have
expressed support. Poundstone herself has pulled out of concerts scheduled for
July 21 at the Canyon Theater in Agoura Hills, July 27 at the Sun Theater in
Anaheim and July 28 at the Sunset Station Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
But Burns says Poundstone's career is far from ruined. "She's . . . only been
unbelievably honest in her act. I'm convinced that when she gets through this
she's going to have terrific material. . . . I'm hoping she's going to be back
out there in August."
Others without direct ties to Poundstone aren't as optimistic. "If she goes out
in August I think she could sell tickets--if she's outrageous," says a
prominent manager of comics, speaking on condition of anonymity. Noting that
Poundstone would have to address her legal case, the manager adds: "Anything
she says can and will be used against her. And she doesn't have the public on
her side."
Poundstone's role as a foster parent was not an arrangement she could have
entered lightly. Officials say there are far more needy kids than qualified,
willing foster parents, but even then, the screening process consists of more
than an interview. Prospective foster parents, under state law, must undergo 12
hours of training and eight hours of annual training after they become parents,
in addition to having regular home visits, says Blanca Barna, spokesperson for
the state Department of Social Services. Foster parents must also be certified
to perform CPR.
"We're dealing with kids that, in many cases, have very severe emotional
problems," Barna says. "We're dealing with kids that have scars embedded in
them that [require] special people to hang in there with them." While declining
to comment specifically on the Poundstone case, Barna notes that some kids will
act out because they don't trust adults, and preemptively sever the
relationship. The kids think, "I'm going to act out, because you're going to
get rid of me anyway," Barna says.
In Poundstone, however, social services officials had someone who appeared to
be an ideal candidate--not only dedicated but someone with the financial means
to provide a better life for her kids.
Officials at the Westside Children's Center, a private agency that has assigned
foster children to Poundstone's home since 1993, declined comment, as did an
official at the L.A. County Department of Children and Family Services, saying
an attorney had instructed staff not to discuss the case. The children's
service agency has taken the five children from Poundstone's home and put them
in foster homes, Anita Bock, the department's head, previously told The Times.
Jo Anne Astrow, a talent manager who has known Poundstone for 20 years,
describes the Santa Monica household as lovingly chaotic, with two nannies and
a longtime personal assistant, among others, keeping things functional.
"But she's the mom," Astrow says of Poundstone.
In the information vacuum surrounding the case, friends and acquaintances
mostly pour out heartfelt stories of Poundstone's tireless altruism toward
needy children. But in the accumulation it is difficult to get a sense of the
person underneath. One friend, declining to be named or to elaborate, says: "Of
all my friends in the world, she's the most wounded person I've ever met."
Like a lot of comics, Poundstone crafted a more assured persona onstage--wry,
self-mocking and even a little confessional. Typical is the way she discusses
her parents, from whom she's been estranged since her teens.
"They were horrible," she said, during a concert last year at the Getty Center.
"They were just horrible. . . . My mother was the angriest person I've ever
known in my entire life. One time I knocked a Flintstones glass off the kitchen
table. She said, 'Well, damn it, we can't have nice things.' "
*
There was a time when Poundstone didn't even have to go that far. She talked
about Pop Tarts and her cats, and she found material plying the folks in the
front row. She referred to her victims as "ma'am" and "sir." In the early
1980s, she was working the Other Cafe in San Francisco with Robin Williams, who
brought Poundstone to his management, Morra, Brezner, Steinberg & Tenenbaum,
founded by Charles Joffe and Jack Rollins, deans of the business. Poundstone
came to L.A. to raise her profile. She stayed a few times with Morra, but
declined a spare bedroom or couch. "She liked sleeping on the floor," Morra
remembers.
To this day, Morra is at a loss to explain why Poundstone never broke
through--why, into her 40s, she was forced to take jobs that hardly flattered
her intellect (i.e. guest panelist on the syndicated game show "To Tell the
Truth," a stint that ended this year after one season). "Maybe she just didn't
have that universal appeal that Roseanne did," Morra says. "But there was a
time for a couple of years where I don't think anyone male or female was as
good as her."
Then, too, Poundstone's image was problematic for network suits. Wearing
signature tie-and-vest ensembles, she projected an asexuality that became
something of a running joke among her friends and in her act. It wasn't a
matter of being gay or straight--she simply wasn't interested. "I don't have
sex because I don't like it," she once joked. "I'd have to marry a Mormon so
someone could cover my shift."
It seems creepy to cite such jokes now, given Poundstone's predicament. But
it's also worth noting that Poundstone's lack of sexual context has dogged her
career. Female comics deal with a double standard: They have to define their
sexuality onstage or risk perishing in a male-dominated business. Some
comedians create confrontational identities (Roseanne's domestic bitch goddess,
for instance), while others, like the now openly gay Ellen DeGeneres, come out
of hiding when the coast seems clear.
To her credit, Poundstone invented a character onstage that bypassed the issue.
She wasn't brash, but she wasn't fragile, either. Mostly, she was deeply in
control as she told you about every uncontrollable thought.
"Her act is very contextual--it needs her," says comedian Cathy Ladman. "That's
what I always say my ultimate goal is. I want my act to need me."
For all of its shortcomings, "The Paula Poundstone Show," her Saturday night
ABC comedy-variety series that was canceled after two episodes, did reveal an
interesting point of view. Childlike on the one hand, politically enlightened
on the other. A year before her variety show, Poundstone provided coverage of
the political conventions for "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno," and now she had
a roomier showcase for her political comedy. In Paula's playhouse, Sam
Donaldson read Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are," and economists
debated tax-and-spend while twirling on a teacup ride at the Santa Cruz
Boardwalk. Hers were liberal politics with a twist--she was just a kid, really.
*
Comics are bred to be quick on their feet, but few have confronted the audience
Poundstone did when she emerged from a Santa Monica jailhouse to the dawn of
her newfound fame. With the cameras demanding a response, Poundstone, wearing a
baseball cap and looking very much like someone who'd been detained for several
hours, forced a half-smile and uttered one nervous sentence about the case: "I
have faith that the truth is the right thing."
Last Tuesday, at her arraignment in Santa Monica Superior Court, Poundstone's
team was able to marshal its forces and gain some measure of control over the
spin. Poundstone herself arrived in a lime-green suit, with makeup, and walked
into the warm embrace of emotional backup. The TV crews were there, sampling
from a variety of Poundstone defenders--a Spanish-speaking housekeeper who
spoke through an interpreter, a number of McKinley moms, some kids wearing
T-shirts commemorating the party Poundstone threw when her adoption of
3-year-old Thomas became official.
But there were only a few comics, including Ladman and Jim Brogan, and this
seemed symbolic: Her support group, in the main, is not composed of comedians.
It is instead populated by people from her counterlife--the one in which a
talented performer changes the equation of things and seeks fulfillment less
from paying customers and more in the circus of her own home. In being a foster
parent to kids from the less-wanted side of the socioeconomic spectrum.
"If you wanna play psychologist, you can say she identifies with children who
weren't loved," says Astrow, who attended the arraignment.
Inside the courtroom, Poundstone pleaded not guilty to three felony charges of
lewd acts with a girl under 14 and one felony count of child endangerment
involving two other girls and two boys. Court Commissioner Roberta H. Kyman
ordered Poundstone to stay away from two minors in her care and to be under
supervision when in the presence of the three others. Nor can she communicate
with any minor when not in the presence of an independent observer or guardian.
During her show at the Getty, Poundstone discussed her motivation to adopt
troubled kids--not to mention nine cats. "This is what it is--I was raised in
the '70s," she said. "I wasted half my life lying on the couch in the afternoon
after school, and those commercials would come on where maybe it was like a
cereal. And inside you could not just eat the cereal but you could also get
like, say, a whistle. And the announcer would say, 'It comes in cool green and
hot yellow and groovy lemon.' And then at the end the voice would go, 'Collect
them all.' Somehow that voice has stuck in my head. Collect them all."
Among those close to her, Poundstone has been horribly miscast in a gossip
story that is easy to spin as: "Celebrity Foster Mom Pleads Not Guilty, Returns
to Rehab." Poundstone may have faith that "the truth is the right thing," but
the story now has a different kind of momentum, its own truth.