P: What kind of theater were you doing?

R: By that time I was doing Equity Waiver Theater in Los Angeles with the Actors’ Gang. We had done our first show, Ubu the King. It was kind of a surreal life, you know, to wait tables at this stuffy country club, then head off to the theater by midnight to perform and early French surrealist classic in a real anarchic style. Same thing when I started acting in episodic television. In order to survive I had to continue my other jobs. So it was a very strange period: going to the set of a movie or TV show, then calling from the set and telling the pizza place that I couldn’t be there on time. You know? And then hoping I wouldn’t get fired.

P: What was the guiding philosophy of the Actors’ Gang?

R: There wasn’t really a guiding philosophy, other than the idea that we wanted to bring to the stage a certain amount of energy and anarchy. In the beginning, it was a male-oriented group; all of us were athletes and we wanted to bring that kind of athletic ethic to the stage – go out and sweat and work hard and do lots of physical comedy.

P: Doing theater in LA has been compared to doing mime for the blind.

R: Oh, that’s not fair.

P: But LA is a notoriously unsupportive atmosphere for theater.

R: I disagree completely.

P: Why?

R: In fact, I would say that New York is not conductive to theater. New York does not encourage its young. It does not encourage experimentation. Consequently, anything that’s new or innovative comes from outside New York. Regional theater is where it’s at. Look at Angels in America, for example. That play started outside of New York and was given support by regional critics. Then it came to New York, and New York got credit for a Pulitzer Prize-winning play. It’s not true at all. If that play had opened off-Broadway in New York, it would have been destroyed. It’s high-stapes poker in New York, a masochistic venture, I think, for a playwright. We have, what, two legitimate plays on Broadway right now? We’re not doing theater for any kind of working class. We’re not doing theater for the people who live in the city. We’re doing theater for tourists and people from Connecticut. What LA offered was a long process of nurturing and support from its major news outlets. The Los Angeles Times came to see our first play; we got a bad review, so I called the paper and asked another reviewer to come down. That time we got a rave. Now, that’s simply not possible in New York. We were allowed to grow and learn because of that kind of support. I would also venture to say that the audiences in Los Angeles are more adventurous.

P: After all the work you had done in theater, what was it like to begin working in television?

R: It was exciting. Interesting. A different kind of acting. It was great training for the movies because in television you don’t have many takes, three at the most and you’re out of there. So you had to have a certain amount of self-discipline if you wanted to come off with a good performance.

P: How much did your looks affect the kinds of things that you were being offered?

R: Well, I was not going to get any little-guy roles. [Laughs] You know, I’ve been lucky in that regard. My looks haven’t put me into one category. I don’t look like a blue blood. I don’t look like a criminal. I don’t look like anything.

P: Come on. What do you look like?

R: Uh, some guy. Some tall guy.

P: Three adjectives often used to describe you are: baby-faced, gangly and shaggy. Agree?

R: Shaggy I agree with. I’m not gangly; I’m very coordinated. When I think of the word gangly, I think of someone who’s not comfortable with his body. I’ve played characters like that, but that’s not who I am. And baby-faced? Well, yeah, I do have a bit of a baby face. But I guess that just means I’ll be working longer.

P: What was your first film experience like?

R: It was in a film called Toy Soldiers. It’s not much of a movie. The thing I remember most about it is coming back from lunch with Jason Miller one day and seeing the director deck the producer. It was my introduction to film. And here’s what was interesting: Right after the producer went down from the punch, the director reached down, pulled him up and said, "I’m sorry. I had to do that."

P: You’ve said that in the beginning you were in movies and TV for the money you needed to support the Actors’ Gang. Did you have to keep reminding yourself about that when you agreed to make Fraternity Vacation?

R: Yes, I did. I certainly didn’t think I was doing art by any stretch of the imagination. It was my first lead in a movie, and how can you turn that down when you’re delivering pizzas?

P: When they talk about the expensive bombs of the Eighties, they usually list Heaven’s Gate, Ishtar and Howard the Duck.

R: I’m very proud to be in one of the top three. [Laughs]

P: What did Howard the Duck feel like while you were making it?

R: It felt like a big mistake from the start. But again, I wasn’t in a position to turn it down.

P: Obviously. It was a big part in a highly visible film. When you were cast, did it feel like your big break?

R: Yeah. It felt like it was going to be a big break – until I got to the set and saw the duck. And I saw the direction they were going with the duck. At that point I knew we were in trouble. I had read the comic books and had a different perception of what t hat character was. The movie went for cute and adorable, and it should have gone for offensive and gruff.

P: When you saw the finished film, was it worse than you thought it would be?

R: I was at Universal Studios, sitting in a screening room that was frigidly air-conditioned, and sweat was still rising on my neck. It was… it was… it was one of those hard screenings to watch. It was just a huge reminder of six months of hell.

P: You once said that, early on, you didn’t have a huge appetite for success. Why not?

R: I was talking about the years before Bull Durham, when it was just as important for me to do theater as have success in the movie business.

P: Did you do anything special for your Bull Durham audition?

R: I had to pitch. I had to show Ron [Shelton] that I could throw the ball, that I had some kind of pitching form. He didn’t want to have to fake that.

P: How is your pitching motion?

R: It’s pretty good. I played third base for a long time, so I had a pretty good arm. What I discovered when I got down to North Carolina is that power pitching is really all in the legs, which I never realized before. It’s all in the push off the mound.

P: Once you started pitching for the movie, did you have any delusions that you could do it for real?

R: No, because I didn’t have the control. That was real. Nuke’s lack of control was real.

P: When you were making Bull Durham, did you have any sense that it would be such a runaway hit?

R: No sense at all. All I knew is that we had a great time doing it, that everyone liked one another, that it was a blast to make. And it was a dream to be able to do a movie in which, between takes, you got to throw the ball around.

P: After that movie came out, was there an effort to typecast you as Nuke?

R: Absolutely. Countless scripts with doltish guys.

P: So how did you choose your next few movies? For example, what attracted you to Miss Firecracker?

R: A role of a man with passion and intelligence and poetry in his soul. Very different from Nuke. I liked the script. I was happy with the performance, too.

P: Cadillac Man?

R: Primarily the possibility of working with Robin Williams. And I’m really glad I did that film because Robin has become a good friend. Above all, that remains the most important thing about that film.

P: Erik the Viking?

R: To work with [director] Terry Jones. I’d been a huge Monty Python fan, and I wanted to be a part of that kind of madness. I’m not sure why that movie doesn’t work. I discovered that there’s a different sensibility of comedy between the English and Americans. I think that may have been what kept it from going further.

P: Jacob’s Ladder?

R: It was an amazing script. My first real dramatic lead. And what a journey for the character. What a challenge to play some of those situations.

P: Is that what selecting movie roles is all about for you: the challenge?

R: What I’ve tried to do throughout my career is play different kinds of people from movie to movie. This has been very beneficial in the long run because now I’m offered different kinds of roles. That’s a great position to be in as an actor. The downside is that audiences can’t get a grasp of who you are, so you’re not as bankable as someone who tends to play the same role over and over.

P: How did you define success when you were starting out?

R: I thought it would be a great way to earn a living while I worked in the theater.

P: How do you define it now?

R: It means freedom to choose what I want to do. It means being able to take five months off and work on a play or a screenplay or hang out with my family. It means getting good Knicks tickets.

P: When do you most feel like a movie star?

R: [Laughs] Well, recently it was when I was able to get into the victory party the night the Rangers won the Stanley Cup. I’ve been a Ranger fan since I was a little kid, and I used to sit up in the blue seats and watch these teams that were great and some that were not so great. But it was a long time coming, this victory. After we won it, a friend and I got into a cab, and the driver knew where the party was. Took us right there. Police barricades, cops all over the place. And I have to say, I don’t do this very often, but I shamelessly used any celebrity I had to get past those barricades. And it was such a great party. To see [Mark] Messier walk in with the Stanley Cup, and to drink from the Stanley Cup –

P: You got to drink from it?

R: Yeah. I was in heaven. And at 6:30 in the morning, everyone was still drinking and there were bagpipes – Scottish dress, full bagpipes playing as the sun was coming up. It was pretty magical.

P: What parts of moviemaking do you like the most and the least?

R: There are times when you’re in a performance and you get in a zone: The lines are flowing perfectly off your tongue, you’re completely there as the character and, if something unexpected happens, you roll right with it – you aren’t phased at all. You discover a moment that is true magic, a moment that wasn’t scripted, that wasn’t prepared or planned. What I like least: not seeing my kids.

P: Let’s talk about them. Has having kids changed your life?

R: Profoundly. I have different priorities. I realize what’s important in life. Kids put things into perspective.

P: In what sense?

R: Well, you have a hard day at work, but it doesn’t mean a thing when you’re home. It just disappears, because you find out soon enough that you can’t bring the baggage of your life and its pressures into their lives. And you go to sleep a lot earlier. I now take better care of myself. And I haven’t been to a bar in a long time.

P: You have a weekend house in Westchester County, somewhat uncharacteristic for a city boy. What was the attraction?

R: I’d never lived in the country, and now that I’ve earned enough money to do something with it, Susan and I decided we wanted a place where we could take the kids, a place where they could run around on the grass, experience a little nature. That’s one thing I was never able to experience as a child. For me, trees grew out of the pavement. I like the area we’re in in Westchester. We have neighbors with kids around the same age as ours, and all the kids can go out and ride their bikes. I like it that they have that opportunity.

P: So why not live there full-time?

R: Because I wouldn’t want to live outside of New York City. I actually think New York is a good place to bring up children.

P: Why?

R: Because it’s honest. It’s a real democracy at work: people from all economic strata intermingling, all kinds of languages being spoken everywhere. For me, it’s a good way to introduce children to what life is really about. One tends to become sheltered in upper-income communities in the suburbs and in the country, and I don’t think those children are as ready for life and the surprises it holds as kids who grow up in the city.

P: What parts of fatherhood didn’t you anticipate?

R: Sleep deprivation.

P: What part is exactly what you thought it would be?

R: None of it. I had no idea that it would be as thrilling as it is.

P: what’s your favorite part?

R: Playing with toys again.

P: And what is your least favorite part?

R: Not being able to protect my children from disappointment and heartbreak.

P: Do you feel a difference between fatherhood and stepfatherhood?

R: Not much, no.

P: What are the drawbacks of raising kids in the city when you and your mate are famous?

R: Being out with your kids and someone wants your autograph, and you just want to be with your kids.

P: How do you handle it?

R: We ask the kids if it’s ok with them if we sign an autograph.

P: And what do they say?

R: Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If they say no, we explain to the person that our son or our daughter would prefer that we not do it right now – that we’re with them.

P: How much of a sense do your kids have of what you do?

R: I think the older kids know exactly what we do. The baby probably has an idea that, from time to time, we live in trailers during the day. [Laughs]

P: So, overall, what kind of father are you?

R: That’s not for me to say.

P: Are you strict? Are you soft? Are you the disciplinarian?

R: I would rather not get into it. I’d rather not get behind the door of my house.