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TONY: How has marriage changed you?
BF: I'm still a newlywed. I'm learning. But I now feel safe. At home plate. As if I've scored the winning run. In the World Series. Beating out a throw. From centerfield. Chucked by Ken Griffey Jr.
TONY: I don't get it.
BF: You won't understand till you do it. It does change you. Marriage has increased my happiness in a way that keeps redefining itself--every time you get a handle on it, it advances.
TONY: Your wife has an interesting name.
BF: Afton. It's from a Robert Burns poem. There's a hymn, too. [Sings] "Flow gently sweet Afton...."
TONY: Do you and your wife spend a lot of time apart?
BF: Not Really. The longest was three months, when I was shooting The Mummy in Morocco.
TONY: Was it a fabulous adventure?
BF: Yes. At one point we were 100 kilometers from Algiers, where there had been bombings in the market. We had Moroccan army helicopters standing guard, in case we had to evacuate.
TONY: What are Moroccans like?
BF: Intense. They have such a sense of world history and knowledge of it and of their surroundings: "This wall was built in the third century." It made me feel very adolescent.
TONY: Do you like living in Los Angeles?
BF: Yes, I do. I used to think it was like a war camp. I think that's because I was 22, 23 years old, and Rodney King had just happened. There were riots and earthquakes; it was as though plagues were descending on the city. But now L.A. is where I can work; it's where I feel the most productive. I can't imagine a place where I have the same opportunities. And it's a town built on diversity, which is a key word for me.
TONY: What are other key words?
BF: Stability. Aspiration. You can fulfill aspirations, too. You really can. It was an aspiration for me to work with a truly great actor. And I worked with Sir Ian McKellen.
TONY: So what was it like to fulfill a dream?
BF: I can die now. I watched Acting Shakespeare tapes at Cornish College in the library.

I don't even remember the lessons; I just remember watching a man so committed to what he was doing that that alone was enough reason to act. There was this effortlessness, bringing everyone in and making what was seemingly impossible so tangible and real. I was 19, 18, and I thought it would be wonderful to meet that man.
TONY: When did you first meet him?
BF: He did Richard III when I first moved to Hollywood, and I lobbied to get on the movie. I thought, I'm gonna take the bull by the horns: I'm going to write him a letter. And I did. You can get embarrassed when you talk about how wonderful someone is--at least I do. So I was trying to be, like--
TONY: Non-stalkerlike?
BF: Shogun. Mindful. It was a fan letter that I was trying to disguise as a business letter. But the casting director wanted nothing to do with me. She was not a nice person, and I had a humiliating meeting with her. The producer was absent; the only person who responded to me was Ian. He sent me a card, handwritten, that said, "We could use your enthusiasm on this project, but we don't have a role for you. I hope to see you in the future." When I first met Ian, I showed him the card.
TONY: Were you nervous?
BF: It wasn't like that. I went to see him downtown at his play, A Night Out in Los Angeles. It was a one-man show--a lot of Shakespeare but very forward and progressive. At the end of the show, he said, "I'm going to be working on a film with Lynn Redgrave and Brendan Fraser." To hear him say my name on opening night just put an electric bullet between my eyes. I saw him afterwards at the opening-night party, and there were all these photographers yelling, "Tawk to each othah!" We started meeting on a regular basis after that. He was renting a house in the hills, and I'd go over and make breakfast for him. He's not an early riser by any means.
TONY: What does Sir Ian McKellan eat for breakfast?
BF: Omelettes, whatever.
TONY: What will you be doing when your 40?
BF: Hopefully still acting. And I'll have an affiliation with a production company---maybe my own. I think the next logical step is to produce.

I think actors make good producers because they have had the opportunity to be in the trenches and see what really makes it to the screen.
TONY: You're romantic, aren't you? What's the most romantic thing you've ever done?
BF: Propose to my wife. It was a dumb show. It was classic.
TONY: What's a dumb shoe?
BF: A comedy of errors. I don't know why I'm telling you this--you'll go and print it. We were on the Pont des Artistes in Paris. I had the ring in my pocket. It was our last day; we were packing up to go home. I had brought my Polaroid camera, which had a timer on it. I set up the camera, set the timer and ran into the frame. But the wind was blowing, and the camera fell over. So I tried again and again. She was getting cold, and I was saying, "Let's just get on more shot." So we were Walking along the Seine, trying to find some light. And it worked: I caught an image of the two of us, with me holding my coat open. I handed her the Polaroid--in it, my jacket was open, and there was a tag [attached to the lining], a little piece of paper that said "Marry Me."
TONY: So you are romantic. Are you melancholy, too?
BF: I see and aching beauty in things, I guess.
TONY: Give me an example.
BF: Gods and Monsters. D. H. Lawrence. Death in Venice. I can feel things deeply. But I can be cold and dismissive, too. I guess hypocrisy is the thing that bothers me the most. And it's the thing you don't want to see in yourself.
TONY: What are your anxieties?
BF: Probably just not pleasing people.
TONY: You have that one? That one sucks.
BF: Yeah, but you should have that one. Through making it work for other people, you find a way of making it work for you.
Blast from the Past opens February 12.