Tom Cruise: An Unauthorized Biography (16 page)

Paulette’s explanation about her reasons for investigating the cult is as simple as it is courageous. Born in Auschwitz concentration camp, where her parents were murdered, she says, “My parents were killed by Hitler. Scientology is a Fascist group. If people had spoken out in the 1930s perhaps he wouldn’t have come to power. Once I decided the church was evil I had no choice.”

After the jailing of high-ranking Scientologists, the cult liked to claim that its nefarious past was over. During the 1980s, two senior judges on different continents begged to disagree. In 1984, in London’s High Court, Judge Latey, ruling in a child custody battle, concluded: “Scientology is both immoral and socially obnoxious . . . it is corrupt, sinister and dangerous. It is corrupt because it is based upon lies and deceit and has as its real objective money and power for Mr. Hubbard, his wife and those close to him at the top. It is sinister because it indulges in infamous practices both to its adherents who do not toe the line unquestioningly and to those who criticize or oppose it. It is dangerous because it is out to capture young people, and indoctrinate and brainwash them so that they become the unquestioning captives and tools of the cult, withdrawn from ordinary thought, living and relationships with others.”

That same year a judge in California focused on the bizarre mind-set of the cult’s founder, L. Ron Hubbard. At the conclusion of a four-week case involving senior church officials and their harassment of former senior Scientologist
Gerry Armstrong, who was at one time Hubbard’s personal researcher, Judge Breckenridge launched a forthright condemnation of the cult and its founder: “The organization clearly is schizophrenic and paranoid and this bizarre combination seems to be a reflection of its founder LRH. The evidence portrays a man who has been virtually a pathological liar when it comes to his history, background, and achievements. The writings and documents in evidence additionally reflect his egoism, greed, avarice, lust for power, and vindictiveness and aggressiveness against persons perceived by him to be disloyal or hostile.”

By then the cult seemed to be on the point of internal collapse, riven by disputes, splits, and lawsuits. In 1982, Scientology missions were summarily disbanded for seemingly taking too big a slice of the cult’s business pie. Many mission holders were harassed, humiliated, and strong-armed into acquiescence. Disgruntled cult members left by the thousands, some even staging a noisy protest outside the cult’s British headquarters. Even Scientology celebrities had their doubts about the direction in which the organization was headed. At that time John Travolta was struggling with his commitment. In an August 1983 interview with
Rolling Stone
magazine, he voiced his doubts about the way the cult was being run. “I wish I could defend Scientology better but I don’t think it even deserves to be defended in a sense.” Alarmed, the cult hierarchy assigned two Scientology auditors, Chris and Stephanie Silcock, a married South African couple, to go everywhere with him, from the movie set to his home, to bolster his allegiance. Other celebrities, like musician Edgar Winter, were given free auditing to keep them happy.

The convulsions gripping the cult proved the last straw for Mimi’s father, mission holder Phil Spickler, who watched the movement he had so enthusiastically embraced become perverted from its original purpose. He recalls: “There is a great deal to be found in both Dianetics and Scientology that is truly and absolutely wonderful and that can be used outside the profit motive or the enslavement motive.”

As the movement went into meltdown, Hubbard was in
hiding, on the run from the law for fraud and tax evasion. Those who glimpsed this shadowy character, then living under an assumed name in a remote ranch in Crestor, California, recall that he cut an incoherent, unkempt figure reminiscent of the eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes. His teeth were black, his lank, shoulder-length hair dirty and matted, his nails long, gnarled, and curling—hardly an endorsement for the lifestyle he had spent years promoting. The ultimate irony of his bizarre life is that when he died in January 1986, shortly after suffering a stroke, his body was full of Vistaril, a psychiatric drug used to calm frantic or overanxious patients. Yet this was the same man who had devoted his life to fighting psychiatrists, blaming them for all the world’s ills.

With his death, the Scientology leadership became embroiled in a vicious power struggle. Youngsters in the fanatical Sea Org—an elite group that signed billion-year pledges to Scientology—staged a coup against Hubbard’s inner circle, ousting his anointed successor, Bill Franks, and Hubbard’s closest aides. In several countries Sea Org officers, some barely teenagers, snatched control of the entire country’s organization. “It’s like
The Lord of the Flies,
” a former franchise holder told
The New York Times
. “The children have taken over.” When the dust settled, a diminutive but ruthlessly ambitious high-school dropout named David Miscavige had taken overall command of the rickety operation. With members leaving in droves, the omens were that Scientology would go the way of so many cults and expire shortly after the death of its founder. Not this time. A Hollywood heartthrob was waiting in the wings to give it the kiss of life. In years to come he would be called the savior of Scientology.

When Tom Cruise was given picture books on Scientology and Dianetics in 1986, he knew little, if anything, about the cult, except that some of those in his circle had joined or, like
Top Gun
producer Don Simpson, were interested. It is doubtful that he would have had a chance to read the article in
Forbes
magazine that year that described the church as “complete with financial dictators, gang bang security checks, lie detectors, committees of evidence and detention camps.”

As for Mimi, she was doing what she and her Scientology friends like Kirstie Alley had done for years, enticing friends into her faith. At that time Tom was the most talked-about star in Hollywood,
Top Gun
being that year’s blockbuster. To reel in such a big fish would raise her standing inside Scientology and give her film career and earnings a massive boost. Scriptwriter and onetime Scientologist Skip Press, who watched Mimi in action, recalls: “As a former Scientologist who saw all its dark corners, it certainly wouldn’t surprise me if she made a play for Tom with the primary intention of bringing him into the cult and leapfrogging over him to an acting career. In the mid-1980s, Scientology was still reeling from the raid by the FBI. They desperately needed new celebrity blood to stay alive.”

Ironically, while Tom was becoming quietly intrigued by the philosophy of L. Ron Hubbard, senior Scientologists had other celebrities in their sights. During Tom’s romance with Mimi in 1986, prime Scientology targets were his buddy Emilio Estevez, son of actor Martin Sheen, and his fiancée, actress Demi Moore. Indeed, the entire Sheen family was in the crosshairs. With Mimi now on the scene, it was perhaps no coincidence that Scientologists assigned to recruit Demi and Emilio started getting high-grade information about their whereabouts. As Karen Pressley recalls, “A senior Scientology executive would be on the phone telling us that Emilio Estevez was staying in Malibu and that we had forty-eight hours to speak to him and get him in for an auditing session. There was so much heat and pressure on this, it was outrageous.” The thinking was that if they could entice Emilio into the fold, Demi would surely follow. Their covert tactics paid off, as both did join for a time, Estevez always refusing to talk about his involvement with the cult for fear that he might “have his phones tapped.”

While the Scientology big guns were trained on Estevez and Moore, Tom quietly came in under the radar, joining the cult sometime after the release of
Top Gun
in 1986. As with many celebrities nervous about being publicly associated with such a controversial movement, Scientology auditors
visited him privately. It was some time later that he came out, enrolling in the fashionably discreet Scientology Enhancement Centre in Sherman Oaks, which his girlfriend, Mimi, and her former husband, Jim Rogers, had started. Even though they had sold it, Mimi was still friendly with the new owner, Frances Godwin.

While Mimi’s blandishments may have encouraged Tom to give the cult a try, he was not, even by Hubbard’s standards, typical “raw meat.” He was neither up and coming nor old and faded, but at the top of his game, reaching the dizzying peaks of Hollywood stardom without any help from L. Ron Hubbard. Adored by his fans, financially secure, professionally appreciated, in the early throes of a mature relationship with an exciting, sexy woman, he seemed to have it all. So what was missing from his life? What was, as Scientologists call it, his “ruin”?

Invariably people are initially drawn to Scientology because they have deep-seated difficulties in their lives. It may be drugs—as with Don Simpson and Kirstie Alley—or drink, depression, or loneliness. Everyone who joins is searching for some kind of salvation. It is no coincidence that the “Free Stress Test” trumpeted by Scientology centers around the world is the introductory bait used to hook potential clients by indicating what is wrong with their lives. In the question-and-answer induction that follows, one of the primary roles of a Scientology auditor is to find a person’s “ruin,” the vulnerabilities and sensitivities that can be exploited to sell more Scientology courses.

Peter Alexander, former vice president of Universal Studios, was a member of Scientology for twenty years and spent a million dollars on their services. He observed: “There are only two types of people who join the cult—those with serious personal problems and those who buy into the idea.” It is a not uncommon point of view. Now fifty-four, Michael Tilse was a member on and off for twenty-seven years. He says, “People who join are emotionally crippled, trying to find something inside themselves. They long to change something.” Others are less critical. “Tom found what we all found—something that
worked. Simple as that,” observes a recently departed senior Scientology executive. “Hubbard talked about individuals taking responsibility for their own actions and lives. That probably struck a chord with him.”

Most past and present Scientologists agree that entry-level courses produce practical benefits—in Alexander’s case, Scientology self-help techniques helped him stop smoking. Many years after Tom Cruise joined, he explained that Scientology, in particular Hubbard’s “Study Tech,” had helped cure his dyslexia. While his claims will be discussed in more detail later in this book, there is evidence to suggest that this claim had more to do with his proselytizing mission on behalf of his faith than with the objective reality of his early life.

Another, perhaps more plausible, explanation for Cruise’s belief in Scientology can be found in both his innate character and chosen profession. The Scientology ethos dovetailed nicely into his own personality. Pragmatic, dogmatic, controlling, and guarded are all descriptions that can be applied equally to the cult and to Tom himself. Just as the polite and smiling public face of the actor and cult representative forms a barrier to further inquiry, this smooth façade also masks a fundamental suspicion of the outside world.

In addition, actors respond particularly well to Scientology teachings, the one-on-one auditing technique flattering the actors’ skills as the process encourages them to dramatize their lives by turning past events into scenes they can explore. For those working in a profession that is utterly self-involved, the notion of following a faith where the object of devotion and reverence is the self, where a man becomes his own god, is terribly alluring. Scientology strokes the ego as it lightens the wallet.

As much as it is ego-driven, acting, like modeling, nags away at an individual’s insecurities. For an artist, no matter how successful, there is always the fear of failure, of falling from the professional tightrope before a gleeful and unforgiving audience. During the early years of his career, Tom expressed this anxiety by throwing himself into work. He
told writer Jennet Conant, “In the beginning I was always afraid: ‘This is my one shot, I’m going to lose it so I’ve just gotta work, work, work.’ The first ten years, that was it.”

Just as successful Hollywood stars surround themselves with a sycophantic coterie to soothe their insecurities and pamper their sense of self, so Scientology “love bombs” the celebrities it has managed to secure, praising, cosseting, and protecting them from the vagaries of the outside world. In particular, it feeds their innate distrust of the mass media.

For Tom Cruise, beleaguered by the post–
Top Gun
hysteria, it was an appealing prospect, especially since the young actor was always looking for a sense of belonging. Dustin Hoffman, who was then trying to recruit Tom for a film he was developing about an autistic man and his evolving relationship with his younger brother, was to observe this trait in his co-star. After making
Rain Man
with Tom, Hoffman recalled: “I think he desperately needed family, whether it was my family or the makeshift family of the crew.” Scientology plays on this need. Once inside the cult, celebrities discover the friendly embrace of an instant family, nurtured by a sea of smiley, happy people. From the moment they join, celebrities are always treated like the special people they like to think they are.

Perhaps, though, where Hubbard’s philosophy truly resonated with Tom Cruise was that it taught the actor, still only twenty-four, that he could rewrite the script of his life, or perhaps more accurately, the script of his life as he recollected it. As author J. C. Hallman, who investigated America’s religious fringe for his book
The Devil Is a Gentleman,
observes, “What Scientologists seem to believe is that events in your life write a script for you and you can break away from that by breaking away from the role that fate has assigned you. You break your own character. You write your own script instead of simply acting out the script that fate has written for you.” For a young man who returned time and again to the sour memories of his rootless childhood, alienation from his father, and sense of isolation, the prospect of reinvention
and renewal almost certainly struck a deep-seated chord. “I thought, I can’t wait to grow up because it’s got to be better than this,” he once recalled.