Sandra Bullock: At Home With a Speed Queen

Bullock leads me on a stroll through the house --still a work in progress. In the living room--which has a giant picture window that looks out on a wildly grown backyard that's the size of a small park--she reaches for a black-and-white photo of Keanu Reeves. She stares at the image of him and marvels at her luck in nailing her co-star (photographically). "It was the only time he turned toward the camera," she says. "Nobody could ever get him to pose for a picture." Framed alongside the picture of Reeves are snapshots of Tate Donovan mooning the camera ("That was taken during the shooting of Memphis Belle," she says, "and you know how guys are when they're together") and a bloodied Bullock on the bus that serves as Speed's centerpiece.

"I don't like blood makeup because it's made from corn syrup, which attracts flies -- and that's not very attractive." Bullock looks back again at the Reeves picture. "Keanu is so mellow, a saint," she says. "He's so relaxed, so centered. He seems to know what works for him and what doesn't; I, on the other hand, am always in turmoil. I feel compelled to constantly entertain people while he just sits there, providing the soothing element."

I had heard that Bullock has a slightly steamy moment on-screen with Reeves and wonder how that went for the actress who once wore electrical tape over her nipples in the straight-to-video Fire on the Amazon as insurance that no aureoles would show up in the final cut. "Keanu and I did not exactly have a love scene--darn it," she says, sprawling on an odd-looking wood-slatted reclining chair. "But it is a scene of mutual affection. We were standing in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard and I was handcuffed. We'd start kissing and I'd be there thinking that people were looking at the way I kiss and wondering, 'Why does she do it that way?' Keanu's so sure of himself, but I was back there spraying the Binaca and hoping that I don't offend him."

She contemplates this for a beat, then adds, "A scene like that is nerve-racking at first. But in the long run, when you look back at it and have a glass of wine and spill the beans, you're like, Yeah, I like my job. I get to kiss Keanu Reeves for crying out loud! I'll be the envy of all the women from six to 60." Bullock drops the hyperbole, then quietly concludes, "At least I got to kiss a nice person instead of a schmuck."

Like much of the art throughout Bullock's house, the pieces that dominate her living room are dark iconic religious images by Terrell Moore, a painter friend of hers from Venice, California. They suit the sprawling, Mediterranean-style home with its wrought-iron chandeliers, beamed ceilings and ornate fireplace stocked with red votive candles. However, what is noticeably missing are real trappings from what Bullock does day-to-day. There are no prop souvenirs from her films--no electrical tape from Fire on the Amazon, none of the hair that was glued to the actress's upper lip in Love Potion No. 9. I ask where the movie souvenirs she's managed to salt away are hidden.

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