Slippin' around on the road with Brad Pitt

And with that, the stillness of the afternoon air is broken by the minor explosion of the champagne cork. Glasses are filled, laughter ensues, and the barmaid is off duty and devoid of any plans for the rest of the evening. The night lies before us like a road twisting and turning into a question mark.

"By the way," says Pitt, leaning in close. "You realize that we're not leaving Glasgow, don't you?"

Brad Pitt has never been a student of film. He has always been a movie fan. Case in point: It seems that Pitt, given any topic in the world, can bring it back to Planet of the Apes ("You gotta get out and see things; that's what bugs me the most about religion, because it tells you not to," says Pitt. "That's why I love Planet of the Apes. At the end, when Charlton Heston sees the Statue of Liberty ... man").

Pitt is also a self-taught bohemian. He is endowed with a Zenlike ability to wander. "I just like going for a little road trip," he says. "I'm not leaving anywhere. I'm going somewhere." But he also possesses the overwhelming self-confidence to know he'll always land on his feet. Taken to a Pavement concert in London, Pitt dove into the mosh pit alone, despite having never heard the band. He believes he will be a great father. Asked whether he would rather be a movie star or rock star, he says: "Are you kidding? A rock star. I want to do a male version of Marianne Faithfull's 'Why'd Ya Do It?' I'd tell her exactly why." He enchants those around him indiscriminately — male, female, young, old — but to such an extent that you question his sincerity. Although he points out that "I don't go around robbing people, and I wouldn't say I'm that great in bed," he realizes that his role in Thelma and Louise (as the lovable ne'er-do-well who literally charms the pants off Geena Davis) is the closest he's gotten to playing himself.

And all those qualities are coming in mighty handy right now. Afternoon has become night, and a few beers have given way to the beginnings of a binge. What we need is some rest. What we are doing instead is eating homemade chicken soup with the mother of the much-mentioned barmaid. If ever there was a time to be well-mannered and affable, this is it. Here goes. Pitt talks about his architectural tour of Glasgow, relating the similarities in the work of Mackintosh and Frank Lloyd Wright. He talks, quite correctly, about how the good people of Glasgow have opened their arms to us. And his voice teetering on the brink of Southern-tinged Eddie Haskellness, he mentions that this is most assuredly the kind of soup a chicken would be proud to die for. He shoots, he scores. The point is scientifically proven: Brad Pitt is the kind of boy you can bring home to mother. And these qualities are about to make him a major movie star.

"Brad has kind of come into acting by being himself, hasn't he?" says Jordan. "He's come into it by being this incredibly charismatic character. But I think he's far better than he pretends he thinks he is. I think he's great, and I think he actually knows he's great. People are either stars, or they're not. They either project it, or they don't. The minute Brad walked into Thelma and Louise he did that. He was a star from then on."

Certainly Thelma and Louise, which also led to a romance between the then-unknown actor and megastar Davis, was the first domino to topple in Pitt's career. Unless, of course, anyone happened to catch Glory Days, a 90210-style drama for Fox that mercifully expired after a handful of episodes. "It was terrible," says Pitt. "Man, I'd rather do nothin'." So despite having had a number of roles before it, Thelma and Louise will always be the foundation upon which Pitt's career rests.

"I always figured my break would be playing a good of' boy," says Pitt. "But I hear people gripe all the time about coming to L.A. and not being taken seriously. You've gotta show 'em. When I first started, I was being sent out on sitcoms. I like sitcoms, but I would be shitty in 'em. So I have to find something I can do and go out and get it. Then they go, 'Oh, he can do that.' But wait, there's more. I want to do this now."

This came in the form of a diverse slate of films that found Pitt on a killing spree (Kalifornia), patrolling a cartoon universe (Cool World) and becoming a pathetic, pompadour-coifed rockabilly idol (Johnny Suede). None of the three will ever inspire a stampede on a video store. They did, however, broaden Pitt's horizons — ultimately stretching all the way to Montana where he went to work on A River Runs Through It, the first quality film that Pitt was called upon to carry on his back.

"I felt a bit of pressure on A River Runs Through It," says Pitt. "And I thought that it was one of my weakest performances. It's so weird that it ended up being the one that I got the most attention for."

This is Pitt's standard practice — to downplay his craft. Complimented for the innate understanding and dead-on realism hinted at by his perpetually stoned slacker in True Romance, Pitt simply says: "That was fun. But I was only there for a couple days." Asked about his greatest passions, acting fails to get a mention. Instead, Pitt babbles excitedly about music. He owns three guitars but swears his main connection is purely as a listener. His love of architecture and drawing is so consuming that he sketches and studies continually in his spare time. He also hunts down antiques and professes a fervent respect for anyone who creates beautiful handcrafted furniture. And then, of course, he loves to wander aimlessly.

"It's easy to disappear if you want to," says Pitt. "In L.A. the conversations don't vary much. Truth is, I've got other things I want to do, so I go do them. People take this all so seriously. My answer to everything that I don't have an answer for is 'Don't take everything so seriously.' Really. Lighten up, please. That's the way I do these movies. I do a few of these, I can do some other things. Because I have other things that I'd really like to do that have nothing to do with movies."

What He Who Walks the Earth wants most is to blend into the mob, to "get under" with the Glasgow crowd. Having survived parental approval, we are seated in a nightclub, quietly chatting with a small group of friends who swap stories like extended family. The day's second complimentary bottle of champagne is chilling beside the table, and our barmaid/tour guide is delighting the drunken masses around her. It's 3 in the morning, and our road trip has reached its destination. Pitt smiles and chats with our hostess. Glasgow falls silent. Lights out.

I break everything into stages," Brad Pitt is saying. "There've been some good healthy stages and some that are really unhealthy. The unhealthy ones are sure more fun. And I'd say, right now, I'm just getting out of the moron stage. It's a shame we can't cover them all. They're very interesting, but I'd like this article to have a PG-13 rating."

OK, Pitt has some control issues to work out, but one thing is certain. This is one great location to start a new life stage. It's late summer, and Pitt has just purchased a stunning new home in the Hollywood Hills. Typically, he immediately asks: "Can you please not write about this place? It's kind of special to me, really sacred." Suffice it to say that it is a home that stands as a monument to Pitt's obsessions. Gorgeous antique tables, chairs and Tiffany lamps litter the inside of a fortress that itself is nestled neatly into a perfectly sculpted compound. Not to cheat his musical fixation, the house was once owned by Jimi Hendrix's manager. And in case you forgot his roots, the first shotgun Pitt's father gave him rests alongside another 12-gauge and Pitt's handgun. Pitt might be Mr. Live and Let Live, but you're not going to get his gun unless you pry it out of his cold, dead fingers.

"It's a big deal in Missouri — the way I grew up — to have a gun," says Pitt. "And damn right. If someone comes into my house in the middle of the night, I'm going to shoot their ass. I tell all my buddies. You know, they'll be drunk and come sneak into the house to crash. I tell 'em, "Don't be pulling that without letting me know you're there."

Soon the home will be a petting zoo overrun by Pitt's three dogs, dozens of chameleons and the two bobcats owned by his current girlfriend, Jitka, who is, surprise, surprise, personable, soft-spoken and beautiful. At the moment, however, all the animals are at his old abode. Pitt is seated by his swimming pool, and his every gesture seems remarkably relaxed and content. He is at his base camp. At one time in his life, Pitt set up house with ex-girl-friend actress Juliette Lewis — whom he met while filming a TV movie, Too Young to Die?, and whom he dated for three years — but that was a different feeling than the one invoked by this place. "That wasn't the same," says Pitt. "We were trying to be Sid and Nancy or something. We were idiots. We were just having a great time."

When Pitt is home in L.A., he doesn't venture out often. "I save wild nights for the road," says Pitt. "Or I have wild nights at home. All I know is that I'm not doing whatever Charlie Sheen did, because that boy's in the paper every other night."

So as Mr. Wandering Spirit lounges around the homestead these days, thoughts are filled with what comes next. His going rate per movie has leapt into the realm of the ridiculous (more than $3 million per movie), and he confesses that he is fighting to come to terms with just what the obligation of stardom entails. Interview promises to be a blockbuster, and Legends of the Fall, despite lapsing a tad into the domain of a TV miniseries, is not only a quality film but also utterly dominated by Pitt. "There is a responsibility there," says Pitt. "I just haven't figured out what it is yet." In the interim, such complex and heady dilemmas are being bypassed for crappy late-night cable. "Outstanding," says Pitt when asked about his penchant for such cheese. "I spend all my time, until like 4 in the morning, watching bad movies. Richard Grieco did this one that is just the best. It's called Tomcat: Dangerous Desires. That's Tomcat, colon, Dangerous Desires. Wow." He laughs. "I was in one myself, and by all means, please seek it out. It's called Cutting Class. Butt awful."

But for all his nonchalance, it is clear what Brad Pitt wants most is to begin a career of some longevity and significance. He agonizes over roles more than ever. At the same time, almost every penny he has ever made has been sunk into the estate sprawling around him. So what's a young, free and easy neohippie to do? Pitt's plan is to search out the best and brightest of his generation. A moment is at hand in Hollywood, Pitt is sure, and he wants to be part of it. Problem is, young Hollywood is also full of a lot of assholes. That's not exactly a news flash. It is, however, a quandary.

"When I got back from Vampire, I wanted to meet some of the young contemporaries," says Pitt when talk turns to the Stephen Dorffs of the world. "I met a bunch of people, and it was that whole competitive, look-over, high-school-cafeteria thing. It was a shame. What's with that? That's why I was so impressed with Christian Slater. It was a tough spot to walk into, the end of the film, everyone's just looking to get done, River's gone. He came in and was just a real person. He walked in like a pro, no ego or anything."

Pitt grabs his can of cream soda and saunters down the stone steps toward his living room. For a moment he pauses and looks across his back yard. "I mean, some things get harder, but then again, look at this place," he says. "Things get much easier, too. I'd love to have a Wilford Brimley career — Wilford it straight down the pipe. That would be ideal. But who knows, it could all go away. I could pull a Mark Hamill." He pauses weightily. "You come here with this impression that just isn't true. Being in the movies doesn't make you laugh any harder and doesn't make you any less sad."

Pitt walks inside to the stereo, replaces a Gipsy Kings CD with a Stone Temple Pilots one and settles onto one of his antique chairs. He fields questions and fidgets in his chair. For all his elusiveness, Pitt gives the impression that he wants desperately to be understood. Not necessarily known, but most definitely understood. He pulls his knees up toward his chin.

"I have to use a cheesy word, but I'd say I try to guide my life by honest," says Pitt. "And that's a hard thing. I haven't mastered it by any means. I can be a lying shit sometimes."

The question is asked: if it ever worries him that the job of acting is inherently dishonest. Pitt wriggles in his chair and indulges in a long, uncomfortable pause.

"I'm not worried because I'll never be too good an actor," says Pitt, his voice becoming exaggeratedly down-home. "I'm a good actor, I'm consistent, but I'll never be a great actor. Every now and then I'll be great. Every now and then I'll be lousy." He smiles contentedly, confident that he has made his point but still kept his cards close to his chest. As the night winds down, Pitt decides against heading out into the dark for a nightcap. He walks his guest to the driveway and watches the tail-lights fade down the street, content to stay safe on his side of the compound line.

[From Issue 696 — December 1, 2004]