Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, August 25, 1995 TAG: 9508250111
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RIC LEYVA ASSOCIATED PRESS
DATELINE: NEW YORK LENGTH: Long
Faced with the unhappy task of talking about himself, he is obliging, even forthcoming, although his body language betrays deeply mixed feelings.
He listens attentively and answers intelligently, but eying the tape recorder with distrust, he fidgets shamelessly, squirming in his seat trying to get comfortable.
Too often, he rubs his eyes, laughs nervously or coughs, tugs at his hair in frustration or manhandles his shirt collar. He doesn't seem to notice. Every now and then, he suddenly stops speaking and leans forward, elbows on knees, squeezing his cheeks between both hands and moaning slightly like he's in pain.
Revealing himself to a total stranger who'll put his every thought into print isn't Quaid's idea of a good time. But he's a movie star. It comes with the job. And he's always been a pro, so naturally he delivers.
Just don't expect anything less than the truth.
``I don't read anything that's written about me,'' he says. ``I won't read this, either.''
Oooh, that felt good. He sits still for a few self-satisfied seconds, maintaining eye contact now and grinning his grin, that winning Quaid half-smirk that melts tender hearts in movie houses.
This time, though, it means he won't go down without a fight.
``There's no way I could put myself into a nutshell, because I don't see myself from the outside,'' Quaid says matter-of-factly, without the slightest trace of defensiveness. ``That's what these stories are, being seen from the outside from another person's point of view.
``That's fine and everything, but that's also the reason I don't read them, because I'm living in here,'' he says, patting his chest.
Prodded for details, his complexity surfaces with the revelation that modesty is as much a factor behind his media aversion as anything else.
``I read one way, way, way back and I just kind of felt like, gosh, I sounded so self-important, you know.''
The boy is a man.
Forget about trying to understand Quaid's labyrinthine psyche. The versatile actor has stymied any attempt to label him during a 20-year career that includes more than 35 films, most recently ``Something to Talk About'' with Julia Roberts.
They haven't always been hits.
``A lot of my movies have taken a pounding,'' he says with a shrug. ``My reward is when I'm doing them. That's the only kind of satisfaction you can get. It's the only thing that's real.''
Dennis, husband of actress Meg Ryan and younger brother of actor Randy Quaid, established himself in the late 1970s with the cycling film, ``Breaking Away.'' He was strong in ``The Right Stuff'' (1983) and ``The Big Easy'' (1986).
Then came his perhaps too-realistic portrayal of self-destructive Jerry Lee Lewis in ``Great Balls of Fire,'' which came at the height of his own self-destructive romp through the '80s.
``During `Great Balls of Fire,' I was pretty much overboard in my life,'' he admits.
And while he's tired of rehashing his past problems with drugs and alcohol, he's not trying to sweep anything under the rug.
``That's the old story. That was years ago. I've been sober for over five years,'' he says. ``It's sort of a good thing to talk about though, in a way, so anybody else out there who has suffered knows that you can walk away from it.''
Nowadays, Quaid, 41, gets high being a doting daddy to Jack, his son with Ryan. He even skips precious trips to the links with Uncle Randy for the sake of fatherhood.
``I'd rather spend time with him,'' he says. ``Golf will always be there, but he'll never be 3 again.''
The onetime Hollywood hell-raiser is now an unapologetic family man.
``The strongest glue of society is the family,'' he says. ``It's where we learn everything. It's where we first learn how to eat with a fork, how to not go to the bathroom in our pants. How to say `please.'
``People who don't learn all those basic social skills, well, later in life, we all pay for it as a society.''
After a two-year hiatus following ``Postcards From the Edge'' in 1990, Quaid returned to full-time movie work, making little-seen films such as ``Wilder Napalm,'' ``Undercover Blues'' and ``Flesh and Bone.''
Unfortunately for him, the trend continued through ``Wyatt Earp,'' Kevin Costner's lackluster Western epic. It was a shame because Quaid's admirable turn as Doc Holliday, for which the 180-pound actor lost 45 pounds, went largely unnoticed.
``I'm really proud of that one,'' Quaid says, his voice trailing off sheepishly.
He likes his prospects for a long happy life with Ryan, joking about how they'll endure together.
``The next Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy?'' he says with a laugh. ``We'll have to wait and see about that. We've done three movies so far. I think we should back off a little and wait a while before we do another one, although I'd love to work with her again.''
(They met on the set of ``Innerspace,'' and later made ``D.O.A'' and ``Flesh and Bone'' together.)
A private pilot who learned to fly while making ``The Right Stuff,'' Quaid joins John Travolta in a passion for jet travel.
``He and I are the only jet-rated actors,'' says Quaid, the new owner of a Citation jet plane. ``It's a big thrill. I made it here from L.A. in 5 1/2 hours. Going back will be against the wind though. That won't be so thrilling.''
Pressed one last time to sum himself up, he's direct.
``I can't change what I like,'' he says. ``I like what I like and I know what I know.''
He pauses a second before concluding: ``I am happy.''
by CNB