CHAPTER 27

THE ELVIRA SHOW

After three years of fighting bone cancer, Daddy succumbed to it and died in September, a few days before my fortieth birthday. Going to see him in Colorado Springs for what I knew would be the last time nearly destroyed me. His death was much harder for me to deal with than I could have ever imagined. After his funeral, I returned to LA, and a bewildering flood of emotions washed over me. All the love I’d felt for him as a child came rushing back and I missed him so much it physically hurt. But at the same time, I was overcome with feelings of deep anger.

“How could you?” I wanted to scream at him. “What made you feel it was okay to leave me alone with Mother every day?” Why hadn’t he protected me? He was an adult and I was just a little girl. He could have stopped her from tormenting me, but for whatever reason, he chose to look the other way. After weeks of anguish, and at the urging of my therapist, I wrote Daddy a long letter, pouring my heart out—all the love, all the rage, all the resentment and betrayal I felt. When I was finished, I sealed it in an envelope, and with a great sense of both loss and relief, knelt on the ground in my backyard and lit the letter on fire. I watched, tears streaming down my face, as the smoke and ash curled their way up into the night sky. I released all the feelings I’d buried inside for so long and I forgave him.

It had been quite a while since I’d had anything on TV or the big screen, so in 1993, when John and I pitched an idea to CBS for an Elvira sitcom, we were over the moon when they ordered a half-hour pilot, appropriately titled The Elvira Show.

The plot centered around Elvira and her aunt, played by the fabulous Katherine Helmond, who are witches on the run, trying to keep their cheesy brand of magic on the down-low, forcing them to move from town to town. Along with their smart-ass talking black cat, Renfield, they end up in the conservative town of Manhattan, Kansas. To keep their creditors at bay, Elvira pawns herself off as a psychic, giving bad advice and “magic” potions to customers willing to cross her palm with “gold.” Things get tricky when their long-lost niece, Paige, shows up on the doorstep. They soon discover that the shy, conservative teen, fresh out of Catholic school, is a witch too, but with a much more powerful brand of magic. Paige is reluctant to use her powers, however, because—typical teen—all she wants to do is fit in and not be labeled as some kind of freak. After a spell goes awry and Elvira gets herself into a metaphysical jam with a hunky cop, Paige is forced to use her magic to rescue her aunt and save the day.

During the casting process, we had to decide between two adorable young actresses, Phoebe or Hilary, to play the part of my niece. I loved them both, but it finally came down to Phoebe Augustine. Years later, at Gold’s Gym, I ran into the actress we didn’t choose.

“Oh my god, Hilary!” I exclaimed, happy to see her all grown up. “I still feel bad we didn’t hire you for my show. What are you up to these days? Still acting?”

“Oh hi! Um, yes, still acting.” she replied.

“Fantastic! Done anything I might have seen?”

“Well… I just won the Oscar for best actress.”

Oh shit. It was Hilary Swank and she’d just starred in Boys Don’t Cry. I could have died of embarrassment! Here I was proving once again that when it comes to casting, I sure know how not to pick ’em.

We shot the show before a very enthusiastic live audience. So enthusiastic, in fact, that afterward I was told by the soundman that it was only the second time in his career that he hadn’t had to “sweeten” the soundtrack by adding canned laughter—a very good sign. During the writing and shooting process, John and I had an office at 20th Century Fox. Word about our show got around and when I walked from my office to the set, everyone I passed congratulated me. Each day when I turned up for lunch in the commissary, I was always given the best table in the executive dining room—I was the darling of the lot! Everyone seemed to agree that The Elvira Show was a slam-dunk for CBS’s fall lineup and I couldn’t have been happier!

When the show was “in the can” and it came time to decide on the CBS fall lineup, the president of CBS, Jeff Sagansky, who had practically guaranteed the show would be picked up, fell ill and didn’t make it in to work that day. His boss, Howard Stringer, happened to be walking down the hall at CBS and heard raucous laughter coming from a screening room. He popped in and stood in the back for a few moments, watching my pilot. “Who ordered this?” he roared. “We can’t have tits like that on CBS!” The screening screeched to a halt. The room went silent. Several people involved with the production protested, but when they saw he couldn’t be swayed, walked out in frustration. One guy actually quit his job on the spot. The Elvira Show was cancelled before the pilot even aired.

On my last day at 20th Century Fox, I walked through the studio lot like a ghost, everyone looking right through me. Security guards chased me down to take my office keys, apparently afraid I’d snag some paperclips on my way out the door, and to top it off, I couldn’t even get a seat in the commissary! Hollywood can be a fickle mistress.

A year later, CBS had a smash hit with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, about a young witch living with her two aunts and a talking black cat, which just poured salt in the wound. I felt like I couldn’t catch a break. Here I was again with yet another project that a major network had backed and was enthusiastic about, but then, by some strange twist of fate, it went from a shoo-in to a no-go overnight. But by now, I’d developed a pretty thick skin, and even though I was extremely disappointed, I knew my choices were to either give up and quit or pick myself up and keep plugging away. Once again, I chose the latter and forged ahead.