By choice and by fate, says Eric Stoltz, he is not as well-known as Hollywood's truly big stars. Still, as the actor tells SARAH HAMPSON, even his 'minuscule' level of fame is 'a gift wrapped in barbed wire'

By SARAH HAMPSON

Saturday, October 4, 2003 - Page R3

TORONTO -- 'In Hollywood, you can walk into a room and people will be interested in you whether or not you're deserving, simply because you've been on the screen. That's an odd psychological state to deal with. It's hard not to think you're the most interesting person in the room."

Eric Stoltz rolls his eyes skyward as he says this. Don't ask how we got onto the subject of the psychology of fame. We are having a kaleidoscopic conversation. There are little bits of everything in this hour: his vegetarianism, his love of film, why he is still single at 41, why it bugs him people care. He keeps changing the pattern and the tenor of the discussion, to add more colour, some sparkle; to offer a series of brief perspectives on his life as director, actor, producer and sensitive guy in search of himself.

Oh yes, it felt like a therapy session -- an interesting one, mind you, because it gave some insight into what it's like to have the world think you're fabulous, in case you didn't know.

Celebrities, at least the ones I've interviewed, can be roughly categorized into a few convenient groups. There are the types like Peter O'Toole or Frankie Avalon, who see fame as an entitlement, even though they haven't done much to deserve it for, say, 30 years.

Then there are the prepackaged, like Faith Hill, for example, who knows what she is allowed to talk about: in her case, her dishy husband, Tim McGraw; her ideal family life with three children; that big ol' canary-yellow diamond ring winking on her wedding finger; and her music -- because she has a team of flacks, hovering in the background, to guard against off-image questions.

And then there are the Eric Stoltz types, for whom fame and even film itself is an existential exercise.

"I'm interested in and thrilled when I see film that captures a moment of accidental connection, whether it's with words or behaviour," he says, as he gazes out his hotel room window into clouds and air. "It's magical to me and it takes my breath away. There's always the possibility of having a visceral response to something you see in film, and when that happens, there's nothing like it in the world. It's what we aim for. A brief moment of transcendence."

Stoltz is all about the work -- the search for meaning in it. As a result, he is almost apologetically famous.

"I'm sure I've been caught up in my own bullshit in the past and I'm sure I will again. I've been doing this [work as an actor] for more than 20 years or so, and you can't help but notice how ridiculous and wonderful a profession it is.

"I try to deal with it as gracefully and quietly as possible," he says of his celebrity. "It's a gift, but it's a gift that's wrapped in barbed wire. I'm not complaining," he quickly adds, suddenly aware of not wanting to sound peevish, "because my fame is minuscule. I've been around people who are hugely famous and they can barely function in public, and that's debilitating."

His level of fame, he says, is "by choice and by fate."

Born in Whittier, Calif., Stoltz was originally cast as Marty McFly in Back to the Future but was fired after a third of the movie was shot. Michael J. Fox replaced him. A promising actor who had dropped out of the University of Southern California in his junior year to join a repertory company that performed regularly at the respected Edinburgh Festival in Scotland, Stoltz got a second chance at Hollywood stardom with Peter Bogdanovich's Mask, in which he starred alongside Cher as Rocky Dennis, a sensitive boy disfigured by a rare disease. That was in 1985, and ever since, he has fashioned an eclectic career.

It was prophetic that that career should have taken off by playing a character requiring so much makeup the public couldn't recognize the actor; and that the role was about a thoughtful boy at odds with his exterior.

Stoltz is exactly that, only the opposite. His boy-next-door looks belie a restless, creative soul. After talking to him for a while, his affable charm seems like the white-picket-fence curb appeal for a house with some quirky interiors.

Stoltz has played a range of characters, from Victorian-era tutor to drug-addled murderer, in films that include Pulp Fiction, Rob Roy, Sleep with Me, Little Women and House of Mirth. He has done indie films (The Waterdance; Bodies, Rest & Motion) as well as theatre. In 1989, he was nominated for a Tony and a Drama Desk Award for his work in Our Town on Broadway.

In 2001, he made his feature directorial debut with My Horrible Year!, a children's film, for which he was also executive producer.

One of the liabilities of fame, he rightly points out, is that his list of girlfriends has been as carefully compiled as his filmography: Jennifer Jason Leigh (1985 to 1989), Sensibility and Sense co-star Lili Taylor (1990), Bridget Fonda (1990 to 1998) and Australian actress Rachel Griffiths (1999), among others. "It's very weird. Any serious or failed relationship I've ever had is up for scrutiny," he says.

We tiptoed onto the topic of his love life, when discussing his new work, Out of Order, a new Showtime series that premiered on Movie Central and The Movie Network last week and continues with four more episodes over the next month. Written from the point of view of a screenwriter, it explores the long-term marriage of Mark (Stoltz) and Lorna (Felicity Huffman), capturing both its moments of tenderness and wrenching difficulty.

Lorna is manic-depressive. "Don't let it trick you," Stoltz's character tells his wife when she is clinically depressed. "I'm on your side," he sweetly tells her.

In another scene, in a van, as they discuss a woman, Danni (Kim Dickens) whom he is attracted to and later has an affair with, Lorna says, "She's not that good looking. Her lips come together funny."

"She's nice, that's all," he says.

With all its careful pausing and stiff phrasing, the dialogue, written by the screenwriting husband-and-wife team of Donna and Wayne Powers, brilliantly portrays the real and hidden emotions of marriage.

"It's clearly the work of people who have been in mature, struggling relationships and are dealing with love and lust and success and failure and parenting," Stoltz says.

Marriage has long fascinated him: "I think people invented the institution to control the heart and I don't know if that's open to legislation." His grandparents were married for 70 years, and his parents, both schoolteachers, were together for 43 years until his mother died a few years ago.

"It was good and bad," he says of his experience of his parents' union. "My understanding of marriage is that you do it, and you make it last. I think that might have prevented me from diving in with some of my relationships.

"I don't have a lot in common with the guy in Out of Order," Stoltz continues in his deliberate manner of speech. "But I have been in love, I have been in long-term relationships and I have been in love with manic-depressive women. So I could bring a lot to the table."

The scenes in which he and Huffman argue were the most fun. "It's rare to have rich, brutal material to really tear at each other," he says. "Most characters want to be loved or to be charming or to be polite."

He admits that some of the excitement of acting has waned for him. "What was once magic is now not so enticing. I have seen the man behind the curtain," he says, sounding suddenly melancholic.

Then comes the admission. "I have been in therapy for years," he tells me. "To help me find more meaning and value in my life."

There's ennui to fame? He nods.

Isn't that where marriage and family can help?

Stoltz lives on a ranch in New Mexico with two mutts and a cat. "I do have a longing for kids and family," he confesses. "I'm not sure if that's because I'm in my 40s or because work is no longer as thrilling or fulfilling to me," he trails off.

Geez, Stoltz doesn't need marriage. His relationship with fame and success is complex enough.

Sometimes I think this column should be called Talk Therapy.