Mr. Reynolds, still a “rascal” at 82, talks about his latest film, “The Last Movie Star,” loosely based on his own life, and his action-star heyday.
After 60 years in the movie business — five of them, from 1978 to 1982, as the top box-office star in America — Burt Reynolds might appear to be an open book, his every feat, foible, affair and chest hair chronicled so vividly that almost nothing about him could surprise you the way that naked Cosmopolitan centerfold did in 1972.
But “ The Last Movie Star,” Adam Rifkin’s study on fading glory, lost love and regret, written especially for Mr. Reynolds, does just that. (The film, now on DirecTV, opens in theaters on Friday, March 30.)
Mr. Reynolds lays his soul bare as Vic Edwards, an all-but-forgotten film icon given a lifetime achievement award by what he assumes to be a major Nashville festival that had previously honored the likes of Robert De Niro. Instead, he’s saddled with shabby accommodations and a lippy, tattooed driver, Lil (Ariel Winter of “Modern Family”), for a grass-roots gathering scraped together by some local fanboys.
Vic is not amused.
But on his way back to the airport, he has a yearning to visit his hometown, Knoxville. And soon he’s walking — very slowly, with Lil reluctantly by his side — down memory lane.
“I heard he wouldn’t do it unless I did it, and that sort of swung me to the project,” Mr. Reynolds said of receiving Mr. Rifkin’s offer, which he agreed to almost immediately. “But I liked it. It was very different than anything I’d done. There weren’t any cars or things jumping other cars or girls and stuff. It was a fun picture, and he was a nice man.”
Visiting New York from Valhalla, his estate in Jupiter, Fla., Mr. Reynolds, 82, arrived at The New York Times with an entourage before heading to a career retrospective at the Metrograph in downtown Manhattan. His body ravaged from stunt work, he made his way with help from a fancy cane. But he fired off a barrage of jokes, and that storied charisma was still there. Here are edited excerpts from the conversation.
How much did Adam Rifkin get right about you in his script?
Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been acting for 60 years now. I don’t know who the hell I am. But I think he did a real good job. We wanted the guy to be an Everyman who thinks he’s a movie star, but it’s over. There are these ups and downs where he realizes he’s not a movie star anymore. So he just sort of wanders into the ghettos and streets and makes friends with a lot of down-and-outers, which is what he is. He’s a real sweet man, when you get to know him, I hope.
Sweet but something of a rascal.
I think you have to be a little bit of a rascal, because people would be disappointed if I didn’t do that. [Chuckles] We’re only here for a little while, and you’ve got to have some fun, right? I don’t take myself seriously, and I think the ones that do, there’s some sickness with people like that. That’s why I live in Florida.
Vic butts heads with Ariel Winter’s Lil. What was she like to work with?
She started out trying to be tough. Her language was atrocious. I didn’t like it. So I took her around behind the wagon and said: “Ariel, I don’t know if you heard Anne Bancroft talk like that or who, but I can tell you Sally [Field] doesn’t. And you don’t have to. It doesn’t mean anything. But not only that, it throws me. I think I’m doing a scene with this girl, and you say the F-word and we don’t need it. And please try it a couple of days without it.” Well, she didn’t do it anymore, and I was so proud of her.
What’s the difference being a movie star now and at the height of your career?
In the ’70s, [people in the industry] protected you a little more. “Where are you going tonight?” “Well, I’m going to dinner with my lady.” “Where?” “I don’t want to tell you where.” But I’d end up telling them where, and they’d end up being there, two tables away. Now you’re not protected, but if you learn how to laugh and have fun with it…
If I was as tough as I’m made out to be in movies, I wouldn’t have to worry. But I can’t beat my way out of a paper bag now. I’m too beat up. I haven’t had two hours of no pain for, gosh, I don’t know, honey, 20 years. Because it was always this macho crap that you’re full of, and I always thought, “Well hell, I could do that [stunt].” And I could, except sometimes I didn’t quite make it.
Is there anyone now who reminds you of yourself back then?
George Clooney. He’s got a sparkle. And he just seems like a good guy, welcoming you to the set, which I always do. “We’re going to make a movie, and I don’t know if it’s going to be any good, but let’s have fun.”
I had the strangest thing happen. I said [to an actress], “We’ll have a good time.” And she said: “Hold it. We’re not going to have a good time. I’m not one of your girls.” And I said: “What are you talking about? I’ve had an affair [on the set] with two women in 50 years. Sally Field and my ex-wife [Loni Anderson].” Should have married the first one and not the second one.
You’ve said many times that Sally is the one who got away. Did you ever try getting her back?
I’d be afraid to ask her out because I think she’d laugh and hang up. Joanne Woodward got me my first agent, and we’re really close friends, and she said: “What in the hell’s the matter with you? Why don’t you go up to her house, get on your knees and ask her if you can’t be friends?” And I said: “I can’t do that. What if she closes the door on me?” And she said, “Well, I closed the door on Paul [Newman, her husband] twice, and he came back.” But I couldn’t. All you’ve got left at that point is your pride. And I didn’t want to bash that in too much.
The film inserts your character into scenes from your own movies, like “Deliverance” and “ Smokey and the Bandit .” It even nods to your days as a sex symbol with your Cosmo centerfold. What’s it like looking at that bearskin rug now?
You do stupid things. I wish I hadn’t done it, but I did it. And I rose above it, I guess. Or I didn’t, I don’t know. But I’m still here. [Sings a line from “I’m Still Here.”]
Elaine Stritch, boy, could she sing that song. I went out with her one night. It was just for fun, but we had the best time, laughing and giggling. And I’m saying good night to her, and I said, “Elaine?” And she said, “Yes?” as she was walking away. And I said, “I’m still here.” And she said, “So am I, hon.”
Now you teach a Friday night acting class in Florida.
It’s hysterical. [The age range] goes from 18 to 80, and the lady that’s 80 was a Follies girl, and she must have been a knockout because she’s still very sexy. I have more fun with her.
I’m going to graduate next year from Florida State in education. I go to classes. At first it was a little shaky. But now it’s fun. [The students] all wave. It’s good for me, and it’s good for the school, I think.
You still act in a handful of films each year. Why not slow down?
I don’t know why I think this, but maybe I’ve got my best work ahead. Maybe I’ll be putting my teeth in the glass, and maybe it will be a very different kind of role, but I want to do something where I’m not driving a car or a truck, where it’s real. Something that people wouldn’t expect me to do. Probably a man in search of himself. But we’re always searching for ourselves anyway.
And now you’re the subject of retrospectives. Do you enjoy basking in the adoration?
Sometimes it’s fun. But sometimes people surprise me with their anger.
