The Burton sisters haven't been nominated for an Oscar. They've yet to pose on the cover of Vanity Fair or get a perfume named after them or even sign very many autographs.
And still, wherever they go, these five filmmakers are causing outbreaks of full-blown, star-magnitude jealousy.
"They so make me wish I had four sisters," a movie director says.
"What an awesome way to live," a producer's rep sighs.
"Will you all be on one check?" asks a waitress, but you can tell as she lingers at their table that she really wants to ask, "Will you adopt me?"
The reason for all this Burton envy is as easy to find as it is hard to fathom: They actually get along. The whole dark-haired, bright-eyed bunch of them. You suspect this from the way they squeeze each other's hands (affectionately) and laugh at each other's stories (loudly and often). You know for sure when you learn that they've made two feature-length films together without a single attempted sororicide.
The Burtons' first movie, "Just Friends," is a romantic comedy about a young man whose ideal woman is engaged to someone else. It has played to enthusiastic crowds at medium-tier festivals around the world and will be featured late this month at the International Family Film Festival in Albuquerque. A reviewer from Variety saw an early cut and called Maria Burton, 32, the oldest sister and the film's director, a "talent to watch." The Burtons have sold "Just Friends" to a number of foreign buyers and are negotiating a deal for a cable television premiere this summer or fall.
Their second movie, "Temps"--now in the last stages of post-production--is a comedy about young adults struggling to forge long-lasting careers and relationships.
Both films combine little-known performers with established character actors (Hal Linden as an insurance company boss in "Just Friends," Seymour Cassel as a film studio president in "Temps"). True to the name of the Burtons' Santa Monica-based company, Five Sisters Productions, the sisters do everything from writing to fund-raising to acting in key roles on-screen.
"I can't even think of any three-sibling teams, let alone five-sibling teams, other than the Burtons," says Jack Lechner, executive vice president for development and production at Miramax and a friend and admirer of the sisters. "And I think it's absolutely remarkable that they not only work together, but they work together so well and happily. And how well adjusted they all are. Almost to a shocking degree."
How the Burtons got so shockingly sane, and have managed to stay that way in a field that's anything but, is the sort of story you'd never believe on film. It starts in a suburb of Buffalo, N.Y., where the sisters spent most of their childhood.
"We were always together," says Charity, 24, the youngest. "And family was the first priority."
Their parents--Gabrielle, a novelist and screenwriter, and Roger, a psychologist and musician--had everyone tell true stories about their daily lives as they ate at the family's big round dinner table. (After meals, those doing the dishes got fictional stories read to them by those who were not.) They often took their daughters to movies. (Everyone liked to sit through them twice and critique them afterward.) Each summer, they splurged on family trips to such places as Alaska, China and India. (The sisters formed a singing group, Buffalo Gals, that performed at restaurants, hotels and nightclubs along the way.)
Sibling arguments were frequent but short. For one thing, the Burtons say, it was boring to sulk alone. For another, their parents made sure they talked problems out.
"You had to articulate what was wrong, what had happened," says Jennifer, 31. "You'd say, 'She's mean,' and Mom and Dad would say, 'No, what she did is mean.' "
"Or you'd say, 'She made me feel bad,' " Charity chimes in, "and they would say, 'No, the way you feel is up to you.' "
If talk didn't do the trick, the Burtons weren't above getting physical. "One time," Jennifer says, grinning at the memory, "Dad brought home cream pies for us to throw at each other." The sisters put on bathing suits and ran into the backyard for a lemon-meringue and chocolate-cream war.
Not that in-your-face was the family's usual style. The sisters successfully ran lemonade stands together and sold doughnuts. They shared clothes, chores, a paper route. One time they even, unwittingly, shared an obscene phone call. (The girls were under the impression that a dying man was on the other end--he sounded so out of breath, poor guy -- and they took turns on various extensions trying to calm him down.)
It was probably inevitable that the Burtons would end up sharing a production company too.
At first, though, after graduating from Yale, Harvard-Radcliffe and Denison universities with all sorts of theatrical experience, they started down separate paths.
