Estelle Harris doesn’t yell.
She’s bubbly, funny, hearty, earthy and entertaining, but she doesn’t yell.
It’s important that you know that, because as George Costanza’s loud, overbearing mother on “Seinfeld,” she yells–a lot.
“My kids are very proud of me–extremely proud,” Harris explained during a recent interview. “But they keep asking me: `Why do they have you yelling so much?’ “
Easy answer, kids: Consider the self-centered, oft-unemployed source of her frustrations, as played by Jason Alexander. Then add to that Estelle’s annoying husband, Frank, played by comedy vet Jerry Stiller.
Put up with that for three seasons, and you’d probably yell a lot, too.
There are other frustrations. At one point during the interview, Harris leans across the table, as if to share a deep secret. “I’m not a regular, you know,” she says in a near whisper. “We’re recurrers.”
“I’m thrilled about being on `Seinfeld,’ ” she adds, “but I want to be a regular on a series. I was a regular on `Good Advice,’ with Shelley Long. It’s so nice to be a regular.”
Regular or not, Harris is satisfied with how her career has blossomed. An admitted late bloomer in the TV biz, the easygoing, outgoing Port Washington, N.Y., resident focused her early attentions on being a wife (to Sy, a window-treatment salesman) and mother.
Her life, she insists, wouldn’t make for interesting reading. “I’ve been married to the same man for over 40 years, and I have three wonderful children. They love me, and I love them. There’s no dirt.”
As a young mother, Harris sated her appetite for acting with roles in amateur plays. Success on those local stages led to a paying dinner-theater gig. From there, she moved to commercial work, peddling S.O.S. soap pads and Handi-Wrap to pay the bills.
But the big break, of course, was NBC’s “Seinfeld,” last season’s No. 2 show. And her yelling and kvetching is fast making her a household name. AT&T, in fact, now uses Harris and Stiller for a popular anti-calling circle campaign in which she, yep, lets it rip.
But don’t expect her to shriek during her off-set hours. Unless, of course, you innocently ask if there are any similarities between her slacker TV son and her own children–Eric, a psychiatric social worker; Glen, an NYU film-school grad who doubles as his mother’s manager; and Taryn, a disabled cop.
Her answer, she happily bellows: “None whatsoever! I’m proud of them.”
“Estelle Costanza,” she explains, “has nothing to be proud of.”
