Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief(121)
[page]AFTER TOM CRUISE’S BEHAVIOR on Oprah and the Today show, Sumner Redstone, the chairman of Viacom, which owns Paramount Studios, chose not to renew Cruise’s deal. “He turned off all women,” Redstone explained. “He was embarrassing the studio. And he was costing us a lot of money.” Cruise and his longtime producing partner, Paula Wagner, worked out a deal with MGM to resurrect the struggling United Artists studio. Soon after that, Wagner approached Haggis, offering him a very generous deal. He wrote one script for them, a big-budget children’s movie, but the studio was so financially pressed that it couldn’t afford to produce it.
In January 2008, just as it seemed that the derision that was directed at Cruise was about to die down, a video was posted on the Internet. It was a taped interview with the star that preceded his acceptance of the Freedom Medal of Valor four years earlier. Wearing a black turtleneck, with the theme music from Mission: Impossible playing in the background, Cruise spoke to Scientologists in language they understood. “Being a Scientologist, you can look at someone and know absolutely that you can help them,” Cruise said. “So for me it really is KSW, and it’s something that I don’t mince words with that—with anything!—but that policy with me has really gone—phist!” He made a vigorous gesture. “Boy! There’s a time I went through when I said, you know what, when I read it I just went pooh! That’s it! That’s exactly it!”
The video was placed on YouTube and viewed by millions who had no idea what he was talking about. Cruise’s urgency came off as the ravings of a wild-eyed fanatic, but to Scientologists it was a sermon they had heard many times. “KSW” refers to a policy letter that Hubbard wrote in 1965 titled “Keeping Scientology Working.” In the letter Hubbard reprimanded his followers for straying from the narrow path he had laid out for them. “When somebody enrols [sic], consider he or she has joined up for the duration of the universe—never permit an ‘open-minded’ approach,” Hubbard writes. “If they’re aboard, they’re here on the same terms as the rest of us—win or die in the attempt.” Hubbard concludes: “The whole agonized future of this planet, every Man, Woman and Child on it, and your own destiny for the next endless trillions of years depend on what you do here and now with and in Scientology.”
The church instantly began taking down the video from the Internet, threatening lawsuits because of copyright violations. A loose coalition of Internet hackers who called themselves Anonymous seized on the issue. “We were a bunch of kids who didn’t care about anything,” Gregg Housh, a computer-repair technician in Boston who acts as an unofficial spokesperson for the group, recalled. Until then, they had never protested anything, but they considered the Internet their turf and were offended that the church would attempt to control what they watched. In truth, they knew little about Scientology, but the more they learned, the more aroused they became.
“We shall proceed to expel you from the Internet and systematically dismantle the Church of Scientology in its present form,” Anonymous declared in a creepy video of its own. “We are anonymous. We are legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us.” Some members of the Anonymous coalition waged denial-of-service attacks on church computers, shutting down their websites for an extended period. On February 10, 2008, Anonymous organized protests in front of Scientology churches and missions in a hundred cities across the world. Many of the demonstrators were wearing what has now become the signature of the Anonymous movement—the Guy Fawkes mask, taken from the film V for Vendetta.
At the center of the controversy was the beleaguered Tom Cruise. An unflattering, unauthorized biography by the British writer Andrew Morton was published days after the YouTube video of Cruise appeared, creating a new round of headlines—“Cruise Out of Control,” “Explosive Claims on Cruise Baby,” “German Historian Likens Cruise Speech to Goebbels”—that were intensely personal and insulting. Questions of his religion, his sexual orientation, his relationship with his wife, even the paternity of his daughter were laid out like a banquet for public consumption. Several top executives at United Artists, including Cruise’s partner, Paula Wagner, decided to leave.
Haggis was in his office in Santa Monica when he got a call from Cruise. He hadn’t heard a word from him since writing the apology for his wisecrack to Spielberg. Haggis still had his deal at United Artists, which Cruise was running. Now the star had a favor to ask. He wanted to gather a group of top Scientologists in Hollywood—Kirstie Alley, Anne Archer, and Haggis—to go on Oprah or Larry King Live to denounce the attacks on Cruise as religious persecution. Haggis told Cruise that was a terrible idea. He said that Cruise should stop trying to be a mouthpiece for the church and go back to doing what he does best—being a movie star. People love him for that, not for having the answers to all of life’s problems. He also advised the star to have a sense of humor about himself—something that is often lacking in Scientology. Instead of constantly going on the attack, he might simply say, “Yeah, I get that it sounds crazy, but it works for me.”4
Cruise didn’t want to hear what Haggis had to say at the time, but soon after this conversation, he took a wildly comic turn in the Ben Stiller film Tropic Thunder, playing a profane studio executive who reminded a number of Hollywood insiders of Sumner Redstone. He also went back on the Today show for another interview with Matt Lauer. This time, he was chastened and introspective. “I came across as arrogant,” he admitted, when reflecting on their previous interview three years earlier. “That’s not who I am. That’s not the person I am.… I’m here to entertain people. That’s who I am and what I want to do.” Outside the windows of the studio, a crowd of people in the plaza of Rockefeller Center waved and blew kisses.