Andrew Hubatsek delivered a performance that has haunted audiences for over three decades as Zelda, the terrifying, bedridden sister in the 1990 film adaptation of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. Despite minimal screen time, Zelda’s grotesque appearance and chilling demeanor cemented her as a horror icon, a figure of childhood nightmares for an entire generation. In this rare interview, we delve into Hubatsek’s experience embodying this unforgettable character. Originally conducted in 2014 for Empire website, this interview resurfaces to shed light on the making of a monster and the legacy of Zelda from Pet Sematary.
How did you, a man, come to portray the infamous Zelda, sister to Rachel Creed?
To this day, the decision to cast a male actor as Zelda remains somewhat of a mystery. Interestingly, my audition was initially surrounded by boys around the age of twelve. At 25, I felt a sense of urgency, thinking it was now or never for this kind of role.
The most logical explanation, in retrospect, points to the extensive makeup process. Transforming me into Zelda was an arduous 14-hour undertaking. Two makeup artists meticulously applied prosthetics to my back, upper chest, face, and hands, all within a frigid trailer in Maine. This required me to be shirtless for extended periods. From a practical standpoint, and perhaps considering modesty, this might have been more challenging with a young woman or girl. Beyond the practicalities, casting a male actor might have also contributed to the unsettling, uncanny nature of Zelda, enhancing her otherworldliness.
Can you share your memories of being on the set of Pet Sematary? Given Zelda’s scenes are flashbacks, did you interact with the main cast?
My time on the Pet Sematary set exists as a fragmented, almost dreamlike memory. I arrived during the final days of shooting and was immediately immersed in the grueling makeup chair for what felt like an eternity – at least 14 hours. Filming then commenced, stretching for another 18 hours straight. The removal process, using solvents to unglue the prosthetics, added another six hours to the ordeal. Exhaustion, a touch of illness, and an altered state of mind became my companions. Perhaps this physical and mental state inadvertently contributed to the unsettling portrayal of Zelda on screen.
Despite the intense focus on my scenes, I had the pleasure of meeting Fred Gwynne, who lived up to his reputation of being incredibly kind. Denise Crosby was also wonderfully supportive, generously feeding me lines from off-camera and offering encouragement. Director Mary Lambert was equally fantastic, creating a supportive environment amidst the demanding production.
Zelda, despite limited screen time, is consistently cited as the most terrifying aspect of Pet Sematary, even by those who are not fans of the entire film. What do you believe contributes to her enduring impact? Does this continued recognition surprise you?
Over the years, I’ve received a steady stream of responses – phone calls, letters, and even some rather peculiar emails. My experiences at horror conventions in the United States have been particularly telling. When people recognize me as Zelda, after overcoming their initial surprise that I’m a man, the interactions often follow a similar pattern:
“You completely traumatized me,” they’d say, “You messed me up as a kid. Even now, I struggle to watch those scenes. My sister still imitates your voice to scare me!” Intriguingly, many follow this up with, “So, when my child turned five, I showed them Pet Sematary.”
This recurring anecdote is fascinating. Zelda seems to embody both genuine childhood terror and a strange sense of delight for many. It’s surreal to consider that a performance requiring only a few hours of my life could have such a profound and lasting impact on so many people. This is a stark contrast to my extensive theatre work, which is ephemeral, existing only in the moment and fading quickly from memory.
Your career is deeply rooted in theatre, yet IMDb lists only two film credits: Pet Sematary and Blue Steel. Is this an accurate reflection of your film work? Was film not a primary pursuit for you, and what draws you to theatre?
Those two films, Pet Sematary and Blue Steel, represent my only credited roles with named or featured parts. I did undertake extra work in several other film productions. For many years, I actively auditioned for film roles, but without success. If offered, I would have gladly taken them, as I appreciate the cinematic medium and the immediacy of film work.
However, my passion and career have always been deeply entwined with theatre. My theatre journey began long before Pet Sematary, and it continues to this day. I perceive theatre and film as distinct art forms. I often joke that I might be too theatrical, too “hammy,” for contemporary film acting now.
What stage achievements or roles stand out as most significant or personally meaningful in your theatre career?
Each play presents a unique world to explore, making it difficult to pinpoint definitive favorites, as each holds special significance for different reasons. It might sound cliché, but performing Hamlet three years ago was a monumental experience. I dedicated a year to preparation and found immense joy in the process. It truly felt like a crucible for any actor’s abilities. Interestingly, I believe I portrayed perhaps the “happiest Hamlet” imaginable, which, of course, is entirely contrary to the character’s inherent nature.
What projects are you currently engaged in?
Currently, I am immersed in the role of King Gorgeous III in Charles Ludlam’s The Enchanted Pig. As a teenager, I had the privilege of witnessing Ludlam perform in drag as Camille, and it’s a pleasure to pay homage to him in my own way. Following this, I will be directing The Merchant of Venice. I’m actively working on pre-production for it here at the theatre during my downtime from rehearsals.
Zelda from Pet Sematary remains a touchstone in popular culture, a testament to the power of performance and makeup to create lasting cinematic terror. Andrew Hubatsek’s portrayal, though brief, is a crucial element of this enduring legacy, forever etched in the nightmares of moviegoers worldwide.
