Spielberg or Portnoy? aka Portnoy's Secret Life

Okay I'm going to let you in on a secret about Portnoy. We have all seen people who we could swear is someone we know. We'll walk up to that perfect stranger and say "You look exactly like my friend so and so. I've said I resemble Richard Gere. But what I haven't told you is this: I have 'looked' like Dustin Hoffman, Steven Spielberg and various friends of people usually named Steve or Jim. I am one of those people whose face seems to morph for the beholder.

In the late 80's I used to get Dustin a lot. I liked hanging out in Westwood, next to the Village Theatre. There was a cafe next door where I would drink coffee and watch people. Once (and this is where it all started) a woman looked at me, then did a double take - then approached gingerly, like I was a very kind zoo animal. That's the moment when you know you're being mistaken for a movie star. People have a slight smile and they generate this excitement of discovery that's hard to verbalize - the receiver gets bathed in a large portion of adoration for as many seconds as it takes to tell them you aren't Dustin Hoffman.

It goes like this. "Oh my God, you're Dustin Hoffman!" I smile and say, "No.... I'm not." But when it started I'd milk that ellipsis, because being mistaken for a movie star is a very pleasant feeling. Dustin didn't happen constantly but it was fun while he lasted. Some Christmas morning a year or so later I was rushing to the matinee of Woody Allen's new movie, whatever it was. (Just for the stereotype - This is what Jews in Hollywood do: We see Woody Allen movies and eat Chinese food on Christmas Day.) That morning I stopped at the 7-11 for cash. The homeless man looked up and, without adoration said, "Man you look just like Dustin Hoffman." I told him he looked just like Danny Glover. But somehow that homeless man put the kibosh on Dustin and I never heard it again.

Next I went thru the Richard Gere stage. Which never made sense to me. I guess it's the smoldering sensuality (to steal from Woody) and usually it came from the French girls I was hanging out with. (Ah those Frenchies. That's another post.) But at the same time as Gere started I was getting - yep - Spielberg. I preferred Gere in the looks department but would rather have had the Amblin bank balance. And it was confusing. I didn't see a resemblance.

The Spielberg lasted quite a while. Fnally, it got out of hand. I wore glasses, he wore glasses. Spielberg drove a Landcruiser, I drove a Landcruiser. Billy Crystal used to call it the LandJew. "Hey, you gonna drive the LandJew to lunch?" I used to tell Billy my Spielberg moments. Once I was driving in traffic on Beverly. I stopped for a light. Three cars behind me, a beautiful young actress got out of her car, ran up to my side and tossed her headshot into my lap. I had no time to tell her I wasn't Spielberg. (Nor did I want to.)

Another time, on the Warner Bros lot, I found the loveliest handwritten note on my windshield. It said "Dear Mr Spieberg, (note the 'l' was missing) I just wanted to say hello. When I was growing up in China you used to bowl at my Uncle's Bowling Alley. This is when you were making "Empire of the Sun". I wanted to tell you that was a turning point in my life and I am now in USC Filmschool" She left no name, no number.

I held onto that note with the intent of getting it to Spielberg. I had never met him but knew people who worked for him. (Years later I gave the note to Michael Kahn who is Spielberg's long time editor.) In the meantime I showed Crystal and he then started calling me "Mister Spieberg". The problem with working for Billy Crystal was you'd hurt by the end of the day. You'd hurt from laughing. (When comics tell each other to "hurt em" before going on stage it means to Hurt Them from laughing too much.)

Having lunch with Billy Crystal turns heads. The power of adoration is amplified to the number 11. In Los Angeles and New York the unwritten rule (was) you didn't go up and bug these people. You stole glances and whispered and stared. Now the paparazzo has changed all of that. And if you see a star, take your chances but be polite. They are human. (sort of)

We ate at a Sushi place on Sawtelle. Billy Crystal, his editor, the producer, the writer, some more crew people and me. Maybe ten of us at two tables. Yes, it's fun to eat with Crystal because of the... golden light. No telling what you can achieve in that rich and powerful halo. The only thing you need to get used to is - not getting used to it. It's about them, not you. Anyway, we finish the meal. Billy takes off in another car and I'm waiting for the valet to get my 'LandJew.'

While waiting I see a large Israeli man staring at me. He looks to be about 60. But powerful. Like Israeli Intelligence or something. He is big enough to snap me in two and by the looks of him he might want to do that. I can see he sees I'm Spielberg. He walks slowly toward me. No smile. I begin to think I'm in danger. He grabs my hand in both of his so that I can't pull away. He starts to cry and thanks me for making Schindler's List. I try to tell him I'm not Spielberg but he won't let me. I make a quick decision to be Spielberg because that's what he needs. He gives me a bear hug and walks away in tears.

If you're a man of a thousand faces you know what I am talking about. You see us at parties or out in public. We are out there like falling stars. Once I even saw somebody who looked exactly like.... Me.

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