Jodie Foster's entire being seems concentrated on the screen of her Macintosh LCIII, which is the first thing she's drawn to, as if by a forceful lunar pull, the minute she walks into her office at Egg Pictures, her film-production company. And you can hardly blame her: As computers go, Foster's seems to demand full-time attention, constantly flashing important-looking messages and assorted Egg-biz bulletins. It's also responsible for today's incessant background music: Even during the most crucial of conference calls, Foster's right hand compulsively fiddles, tapping the mouse, causing her Mac to resonate with a piercing ding! With the telephone receiver jammed between shoulder and ear, Foster begins conducting business. "Hi..." -- ding! -- "What does Michael think?"

Ding! On this weekday morning, in her high-rise corner office with the palm-treed vista of Hollywood, she's ostensibly here to discuss her new picture, Maverick. But first she must strategize with Renee Missel, co-producer of her next picture, Nell, on how to cajole Natasha Richardson into using a dialect coach. In Egg's first "go" project, Foster stars as a backward recluse who speaks in an invented tongue. But her co-stars -- Richardson, who is English, and Liam Neeson, who is Irish -- have to sound like they're from the Deep South. Foster doesn't want to get stuck tattling to British director Michael Apted if she detects another actor's cadences are off. Thus the hiring of the accent police, "I'll tell her it's a fait accompli," Foster concludes. Ding!

It was only a year and a half ago that the 31-year-old used her accumulated credentials -- two Best Actress Oscars (The Accused and The Silence of the Lambs, her well-received directorial debut (Little Man Tate) and her obvious bankability -- to strike a production deal with Polygram Filmed Entertainment. Foster, who is notably discreet, is willing to divulge only so much about the hard financial specifics of her three-year agreement (it's been reported that Polygram could invest up to $100 million in her productions).

Not that she's turned into Jeffrey Katzenberg or anything. In fact, the first few moments of the interview go far in encapsulating her corporate style: Twenty minutes after our meeting was scheduled to begin, Foster bursts into her cream-colored waiting room, fishing in her purse for a door key she never finds. When an Egg employee finally lets her in, she charges into her not-quite-furnished headquarters and flings her double-armload of scripts, papers and a leather briefcase on the floor, thus burying her car keys, which will later serve as the object of a brief but panicky search-and-rescue operation.

But you'd have to be a complete naif to witness Foster's so-human demeanor and believe she is anything less than a model of efficiency. Like any shrewd film-production honcho, she has assessed her natural resources -- her youth, throaty laugh, maybe even the undeniable poignancy that after all these years she is still here --and put them to work. All the while, Foster distracts people from noticing that she problem-solves with the abrupt decisiveness of an old-time movie mogul.

When Foster was a child star, her mother and former manager, Brandy, sweetened the interview process by making bets with her on how soon the ridiculous questions -- "How much money do you make?" "Do you have a boyfriend?" -- would escape from a journalist's lips. Endless profiles later, Foster is even more adept at the media game, waxing articulate while the expression in her blue eyes conveys a certain far-off emotional detachment. Interestingly enough, it's when Foster answers the oddball queries -- about clothes, cars and the like -- that her personality reveals itself most forcefully.

Foster also tends to let personal information slip out in offhand asides or casual observations. The topic of John Hinckley Jr., for example, the whacked-out admirer who attempted to kill President Reagan in her honor, is absolutely off-limits. Yet, when discussing how she chose her office location, she rhapsodizes over the building's security system -- not everyone's first consideration. When she professes distaste for lurid news stories, it's not unreasonable to wonder if her queasiness stems from seeing other hapless subjects end up as a punch line in late-night TV monologues.

If Foster's characters over the years -- the salty preteen (Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore), the baby hooker (Taxi Driver) and the toughies (Carny, Foxes) -- have anything in common, it's wariness. But in her most recent screen appearances, she appears to be aiming for something warmer and more immediate. In preparation for Sommersby, the post-Civil War drama she co-starred in with Richard Gere, she confessed to director Jon Amiel that she was ready to reveal to her audience "a whole different side -- softer, more vulnerable," recalls Amiel. "Loving, accepting. She said, 'I think I feel ready to share parts of myself that I've only shared with my friends up until now.' "

Not surprisingly, Foster shows off this same sparked congeniality in Maverick, directed by Richard Donner (Lethal Weapon) and lightly based on the TV show of the same name. In it, she plays Annabelle, a syrupy-voiced Southern scam queen. Her co-stars are Mel Gibson and James Garner (star of the TV version) -- notorious ad-libbers both -- and Maverick is loaded with broad-stroke improv, something notably absent from Foster's previous work.

Foster claims that she hit the set annnouncing, "I'm just a tourist here." But Donner says otherwise. "She just says things like that to make everyone fell better," he explains patiently. "She's not a tourist. In fact, she came back at them tenfold."

People characterize you as very intense. Is that true?

There's the macrobiotic jag that I'm on for Nell, which is definitely making me tense. But Nell has never known civilization. She's lived in the woods, and she's had a very clean diet. So, if I'm going to look like that and act like that, I'd better do it.

Um, Jodie? I can't help but notice you're drinking coffee.

Coffee is my one vice, which I'll ultimately have to give up because it shows as well. I have before, and it's not a pretty sight.

You've been quoted as saying you don't work that often because there aren't many good scripts out there.

It's hard not to give 130 percent -- that's why I don't work a lot. You can make a good movie, but why bother when you can make an excellent movie that changes people's lives, the way movies have changed mine? If I say yes to a picture, it's because I want to die for it.

What made you want to die for 'Maverick'?

That's actually what's so weird about Maverick: The experience of it was so unlike anything I've ever done. I got hired two weeks before we started shooting -- Meg Ryan dropped out. I'd never read [the script]. But my agent knew about it, and he said, "Listen, read this." I read it on a Thursday afternoon. I met them on Friday morning, said yes and was in costume fittings on Saturday.

And you said yes because...?

I loved it. The thing about comedy, which I'm thoroughly amazed at — it not being a genre that I do very often — is that the only thing that matters is whether there's life onscreen. So what do you do? You make stupid jokes, you drink coffee. Half the film is improvised — it's just s--- that happened.

It's hard not to notice that in 'Maverick' and 'Sommersby' there is a renewed sense of immediacy to your work. You don't seem so "above it all." Do you agree?

I don't know if it's the chicken-and-egg thing. Is it the movies you pick: You feel more open, so you pick movies where being connective is appropriate to the character? Or do you just bring that? I think's it's the movies you pick. When I was 18, 19, 20, I had this thing where I thought: Oh, acting — big deal. It's not intellectual enough, not stimulating enough for me. I kind of glided through performances by being sort of "too good" to connect.

Why do you think that happened?

I didn't trust the story lines enough to allow myself to be vulnerable. Then, I would have been the victim of..., the girlfriend of..., that passive thing.

So the immediacy in your recent work isn't about...

A new me?

You say that with some sarcasm, but your work has changed. Do you know why?

Well, I think Tate was the beginning of that. I trusted myself as the director, so I knew I could be as open as I wanted to. I don't think it's a new me. I think it's just the old me that I didn't choose in my earlier years to show anybody. I didn't want to be a vulnerable bimbo for some director to take advantage of.

How did you keep that from happening

I didn't always have my choice of films, but I tried to pick movies where that was inappropriate. Of course, when I was younger, my mom picked everthing I did. And what she wanted me to be is very revealing.

Which is?

She wanted me to be taken seriously. If I was going to be an actor, I was going to be a real dramatic actor: taking Martin Scorsese movies and not doing The Brady Bunch-style films. Playing women who survived crises intact.

Does your mother still manage your career?

No. I don't have a manager.

At what point did she officially stop being your manager?

I don't really know what that means.

You used to call her your manager. Now you don't.

I don't know that she's less involved. Well, she is less involved, but she's...[pause] I don't know that she's less involved. [Pause] Now I'm thinking "in print." What's my mom going to think when she reads this? She's really valuable to me. She's really smart and has really interesting opinions about things. I don't want to devalue that at all. But I'm 31 years old — she's not really involed professionally now.

We've talked about some of your positive film experiences. Now I'm interested in knowing how [the 1990 bomb] 'Backtrack' happened.

I really don't know how that happened. Dennis [Hopper, Backtrack's director and star] is a very persuasive guy. Not a highlight in my cinema history.

Can you elaborate?

It was a tough shoot. Somewhere about a good week and a half into the movie, you realize what the movie is going to end up being, and you can't get off that train. It's the director's movie. There was a side of me that had big question marks all over my forehead all the time. Like, "This is a joke, right?" But there's virtually nothing you can do about it. Dennis is a phenomenon of control that is not to be controlled. I quickly realized that was pointless. What are you going to do? You said yes, you finish the movie.

What's your defense strategy when something like this happens?

When somebody tries to get me, I get really polite. I just kind of scratch my head and go, "Mm-hmmm, all right." It's Psychology 101: The more you try to get me, the less I'm gettable. But I have to tell you, if you ever ask Dennis how the experience went, he was happy as a clam. He's clueless. I think that's a typical AA-NA 12-Step personality, which is, "I'm so busy being me, I don't notice everbody's having a rotten time." I mean, I think he's really convinced — deluded and convinced — that it was a totally different thing than it was. Ultimately it's not an important movie, so I don't really care. But in one way it was a good experience because it made me realize what other people go through who don't have the confidence to know that there's another life out there.

Meaning...?

I was never humiliated or embarrassed in public. I think the experience really taught me about how to treat people. As a director — just like a psychologist — you're in a position to scar people for life. If you don't want to take on that challenge, then go to work at the dry cleaner.

Before we continue, I'd like to address one point. You're saying that you've never been embarrassed publicly, I know you don't talk about Hinckley but...

[Firmly] They're not the same thing.

But doesn't that count as a traumatic, embarrassing experience?

Yes, there are things in my life that have changed me, but I'm not a damaged person. And the reason is because I didn't have to endure systematic abuse in my life. Thank God that I could look at some kind of abuse, whether it be small or large, and be able to say: "This is foreign to me. This isn't who I am. This is about you, it's not about me."

We're talking about 'Backtrack' here, right?

There's a tradition of directors that basically become directors so that they can abuse beautiful women and make them cry. Then, as they watch this crawling creature who has absolutely no confidence, they can say, "Come, let me give you confidence." As a director, I'll never be part of that. That I know.

Regarding your directing: Did you read your reviews as the director of 'Little Man Tate' differently than you would criticism of your acting?

Oh yes, I took them completely personally. I could tell you the criticism backward and forward about what Little Man Tate is. But it didn't bother me as long as they were talking about the work and not about "She has fat thighs" or something. But I fared really well with Tate, so I shouldn't be complaining.

At what point did you understand that you had power in Hollywood?

The Academy Award, the first one, didn't help — I mean, hurt. But actually I'm not focused on the fact that I've "arrived." I'm focused on doing things right so that I can stay here. I have to say I'm not that interested in the power of it all.

You enjoy producing and directing films, being the CEO of your own company, yet you say it's not about power?

Maybe it is. Maybe it's about "Gee, I want to create bigger and better movies that in some ways will attempt to change people's lives." But it's not about wanting Mike Medavoy to sit next to me at a table and think we're the same person.

What are you willing to do in order to stay in the game?

Well, the movies that have really helped me, that really launched my career — like The Accused and The Silence of the Lambs — I had to fight for tooth and nail.

Why with 'Silence'?

He [Jonathan Demme] wanted Michelle Pfeiffer. She turned it down, so I flew myself to New York and sat down in Jonathan's office and said: "I want to be your second choice. I love this movie. I tried to buy [this book] a long time ago and couldn't. This is why I want to play this role: It has a resolution and a closure to a kind of 'victim' thing that I've been working with. I want to be the one who actually is obsessed with tracking down the killer and helping these women and saving them." Then I said: "OK, I'll probably never see you again, but I just didn't want this opportunity to go by without you knowing how committed and passionate I am about this. I don't care if you think I'm making a fool of myself. I'd rather be a fool for love."

Now, I'd like to ask you a series of random questions. Do you see human behavior in terms of absolutes of good and bad?

I'm the eternal mediator. I always have to see everybody's point of view.

What does the car you drive say about who you are?

I grew up in L.A. And I've decided that your car is who you'd like people to think you are. Your house is how you feel about yourself.

So, describe your house.

Well, my house [in L.A.'s San Fernando Valley] is too far away, so I don't live there. I thought I was going to visit a lot, and then I was like, "Why?" And then sometimes I go, but it makes me sad, so now I don't go. Now I live in a rented house with none of my things. [Long pause] That's really revealing, isn't it?

Why don't you sell it?

I don't know. [Laughs self-consciously] Because I can't.

Is that "can't" financial or emotional?

Well, it's both. I mean, there's logical financial reasons why it would be silly to sell it. Also, I would never sell a house when I didn't have another house — then your life is in boxes. I can't do that, it's depressing.

What's the most civilized home life you've ever had?

In college. Everybody always stayed over at our house because I had a real home. I cooked every night, we had our groceries delivered. I had a barbecue and a terrace. I had magazines delivered. I had a really nice, civilized home life — probably the most civilized home life I've ever had.

Do you have any pre-film rituals that you undergo

Right before I go away on location I do sometimes do something really odd: I make soups for friends to eat while I'm gone. I have this great soup cookbook that I really love. And I'll make soup with watercress and fennel, lentils, sweet-potato soups. Then I freeze them for them. Like, my friend Randy. He won't eat enything good while I'm gone — fried food or something.

Has making a lot of money changed the way that you relate to your possessions?

Right now, I'm not interested in shopping. I'm much more interested in getting rid of stuff. I look at expiration dates on virtually everything — even cans of tomato sauce. And then I go to other people's houses, and I can't stop myself from doing it at their houses, either. I look through their things and go: "Oh, look at that: That's a half-empty shampoo bottle! You're never going to use that!" I have to get rid of stuff, I don't what what it is.

When you accepted your second Oscar, you created a stir by wearing an Armani blazer with no shirt underneath. Are you still happy with that fashion decision?

Not true.

You didn't wear a revealing outfit?

It was not my second Oscar, I was presenting [an award]. [Laughs] I don't lose sleep over fashion remarks. [Pause] I don't want to continue this conversation because then it'll get printed, and then it gets more press than it deserves.

OK, let's move on: Would you ever have plastic surgery?

[Laughs] That's the funniest thing I've ever heard. I've never even thought about it. Sometimes you'll be interviewing actresses, and you can't remember their names...is it Julie? Sandy? Because it's the same nose, the same hair. If you just want to be like each other, then why be actor and play different people? Your physicality, that's what we work with — our voice, gestures and language. I'd rather have a big nose and sit down with somebody I don't know and have them [think], She has a strong nose, than have had plastic surgery and have them think, Gee, that person hates how they looked so much they changed themselves. I can handle people thinking I was unattractive, but not that I was phony. For me, I see [plastic surgery] as an admission of self-hatred and a kind of phoniness.

Do you edit your intake of media? Where do you draw the line in matters of taste?

I can't follow s--- like the Nancy Kerrigan/Tonya thing. I can't follow the Menendez trial. It's too vulgar for me.

Could you resist the Amy Fisher movies?

I did actually see all the Amys, every one of them. They were all just too stupid to pass up.

Under what circumstances do you choke on the job?

Well, I don't choke under pressure. But, yeah, there are certain odd circumstances where I couldn't perform. Want to hear a really weird example? If somebody treats me like a star or like I'm really special, I can't act.

Meaning...?

I once did this film...I had an opinion about something. Somebody asked me, "What do you think about that?" And I said, in my usual "I-know-it-all" voice: "Well, I think you're in trouble because of this, this and this. But there's a way to fix it: Just reshoot that, don't reshoot the other part. Get rid of that person, and hire somebody else. It can be done in less than five hours, and it won't cost anything." Then, as usual for a Friday night, I went home and never thought about it again. What do I care? It's not my movie.

Suddenly, it's Monday morning, and I'm watching these powwows. Something weird is happening, but I'm not part of it. Then the director takes me aside and says: "I just want you to know one thing. This is my movie. You said that we should do this, and we should do that." And I said: "I didn't say any such thing! Somebody asked my opinion, and I told them what it was." And he goes, "Yeah, well, the way it was presented to me was 'We better do what Jodie wants because Jodie's the star of the movie.'" And I said, "Well, then, you guys f---ed up because it had nothing to do with how I saw it at all." Anyway, it was a movie with an accent. And I got so flipped out that for the first time in the movie, I didn't do the accent.

A film with an accent: Finally, a clue. Was it 'The Silence of the Lambs' or 'Sommersby'?

It was Silence. I mean, Jonathan was really sweet to me. He came up and went, "You realize you had no accent in that." I went "Oh, God!" I was so embarrassed! A whole scene without an accent? I just forgot! I got distracted by the fact that I was different, that I wasn't like everybody else. Then we broke for lunch, and I started mumbling and getting really mad. I mean, there's nothing that makes me more self-conscious than somebody going: "We better not say that to Jodie! Better tiptoe around her!" I mean, if I'm worried that you're tiptoeing around me, telling me a bunch of lies, how am I supposed to trust anything that comes out of your mouth? If you're worried about my ego, then I can't trust you at all. I can actually take any piece of information that's hurtful or a problem, but can't take being coddled or receive any kind of special treatment. I get really self-conscious, and I can't act. Isn't that funny?

So, other than that, how was 'Silence'?

Perfect, just really great.

Were you raised to believe that you owed something to society or that society owed something to you?

I was raised the way you'd be raised if you were the ambassador to China, where there are things you do and things you don't do. When you work, you always pick up your clothes and put them on hangers at the end of the day. You always take off your makeup immediately, as soon as you finishing your work, because what if you have pimples the next day? All that stuff that was about being responsible to the rest of the people around you. I think my mother wanted to give me this idea — myth or fiction — that [acting] was an important thing and that I had a responsibility to what I was doing. Which, in the long run, was healthy for me.

In other words, good breeding can be a big advantage in life. Tell us about someone you consider living proof of that fact.

You know who's like that? Mel Gibson. He's actually more centered than most men I know. Good, but not in a saccharine way. He has a temper, he'll get mad at somebody, or he can be really disgusting — but he's really just one of the most solid people I know. With the right amount of levity and the right amount of depth and the right amount of [humility] in a situation...I don't think anyone else would say that about him. I think they'd probably think he's a goof.

I feel this strange protectiveness toward Mel. I really fell that if somebody tried to hurt him, I'd get their number and I'd run after them. Except for maybe the little boy in Tate, I don't think I've ever felt that way about anybody I've worked with.

You've always expressed a great need to spend lots of time by yourself. With all that has happened to you in the past several years, has this need decreased or grown much stronger?

I spend a lot of time alone. I'm really a private person. I don't like talking on the phone, and I don't like seeing people all the time. I see people every day of my life, people that come up tto me and talk to me. I mean, there's no such thing as my going to the market and not having somebody talk to me. I'm not complaining about that, it's just...I don't want to talk to anybody when I come home. the greatest luxury I can think of is to have dinner by myself in a restaurant and not hae somebody talk to me. I like going to some place, taking my books and going, "What's good today?" That, to me, is an incredible luxury.

So what you're saying is that right now you have no complaints?