He claims to be "leery of show business," yet Greg Kinnear sure looks like he knows how to play the game, having gone in record time from cable TV wise guy to network chat-show host. Now, will he manage the jump to the silver screen with Sabrina?
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Sydney Pollack wanted Tom Cruise. Instead he got Greg Kinnear. Who the hell is Greg Kinnear?
That's what I wanted to know. So for a week I walked around Los Angeles with a notepad that said, in big letters. GREG KINNEAR. I approached anyone lucky (or unlucky) enough to cross my path, told them that I was doing research for an article, and asked if they knew who he was. A group of rockers at the Mondrian hotel pool look a look at the pad and said, "Sorry, we can't help you, we're from Sweden." Just then, a woman climbed out of the pool and ran toward me. "I'm American. I'm American." she shouted, as if that was something to brag about, "maybe I can help." I showed her the pad. "Oh. no," she said apologetically. "I don't know a thing about music."
"He's not a musician." I told her and the rest of the crowd that had gathered around us. "He used to he the host of 'Talk Soup' on the E! channel."
The crowd passed the pad around, as if they'd figure out who Kinnear was by osmosis. "Sorry," said a guy with dread-locks, "I don't think we get the E! channel in Michigan."
At the bar. I passed the pad around to 10 more people. "Maybe you know him as the Eagle pitchman," I tried, hoping they'd remember his car commercials on TV.
"I tape," said an Englishman, "and then just fast-forward past the commercials. Never heard of the guy." His friends were all frowning and shaking their heads.
On Melrose Avenue the new day, I showed the pad to anyone who looked as if they might stay up past mid-night. "Greg Kinnear," said one guy, "isn't he the dude who has that talk show with the other dude?"
"Yes, he is," I told him excitedly. "He has a talk show called 'Later with Greg Kinnear' that goes on at 1:35 in the morning,.."
"Oops, wrong guy," the fellow told me. "I had him confused with that redhead, what's his name'.' Conan O'Brien. Sorry."
I showed the pad to Brian, the maitre d' at Tommy Tang's on Melrose. "Yeah, sure." he said. "Greg Kinnear, 'Talk Soup,' right?'"
I nodded like one of those dolls that bob up and down in the rear window. "And they're remaking Sabrina ..." I began.
"Sabrina" Brian said, not missing a beat. "Nineteen fifty-four. Billy Wilder directing Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart and William Holden. Am I right?"
"Sure are," I said, "only this time it's Sydney Pollack directing Julia Ormond. Harrison Ford and Greg Kinnear."
"Greg Kinnear in the William Holden part?" he asked, brow knitted in concentration. I nodded again. "Well," he said finally, "I might have gone a different route there."
Yes indeed, a lot of other people might have gone a different route there, too. But according to Sydney Pollack-- director of Out of Africa, The Way We Were and Tootsie, among others--when Tom Cruise turned down the role because it wasn't meaty enough and he was getting ready to shoot Mission: Impossible, the filmmaker went looking for someone new, "It was difficult to find somebody who could play the irresponsible, younger brother of Harrison Ford," Pollack told me. "Then someone who works with me suggested Greg, because they had seen "Talk Soup.' I was very charmed when I met him and I did a video test. It was promising, so I spent a couple of weeks coaching him. Then I did a very extensive video test of his scenes with him, with me playing all the other parts. I found him delightful, and my instincts were right: he's exceptional in the film. Anyone who has their doubts better hold off till they see the guy's work."
I am one of those doubters. Not just about Kinnear, but about the whole remake of Sabrina. I remembered it as a wonderful Audrey Hepburn film, and I couldn't understand why they would remake a classic. But when I looked at Sabrina again, I had to admit that this is one very slim movie, in which both the male leads are miscast and terrible. So maybe they do know what they're doing. But still, Greg Kinnear?
Kinnear films "Later" in the same Burbank studio as "The Tonight Show." Jay Leno's Mustang is parked right next to the front door, so I walk around the parking lot looking for the spot with Kinnear's name on it. It's not very far from Leno's, which must mean something. Inside the "Later" offices, dozens of people are running around. It's hard to believe that more than 70 people are needed to put together the half-hour show, which consists of a short monologue by Kinnear and then his chat with one guest.
"It's insane, isn't it?" Kinnear asks, rolling his eyes--something he has down pat--while escorting me to his office. "It's like a beehive, everyone working towards the same goal."
Kinnear, at 32, is so dry that it's often impossible to tell when he's kidding. When we get to the office, he settles in behind his desk and looks jittery. "I'm not used to being interviewed," he says. "I'm a little nervous."
"What do you have to be nervous about?" I ask. "You're the one with a parking spot a stone's throw from Leno."
"Yes, they just upgraded me recently. I'm slowly moving closer to our offices here, but I've still got an extra quarter block to go."
"What do you drive?"
"A Jeep Cherokee."
"Aren't you the spokesperson for the Eagle Talon?"
Kinnear turns a bit red. "Well, I do some commercials for them, yes. And I should point out that I also have a Talon, which I love. But you asked me what I drive on a regular basis and, you know..."
"Relax," I tell him. I show him the pad with his name on it and explain what I've been doing.
"I'm sure nobody knew who I was," he says.
"Right you are," I tell him. "So, who the hell are you?"
"Well, now I work in the twilight hours in television, and you know what Tom Snyder said: 'You get the tokers and the smokers at that hour.' So those people may have some idea who I am."
"Do you stay up till 1:35 in the morning to watch your show?"
Kinnear shakes his head. "Very, very infrequently. I have a satellite dish, so I watch the feed that we get when it airs at 1:30 in New York, when it's 10:30 here in California. But to actually stay up till 1:30 in the morning, what are you, out of your mind?"
"I stayed up last night to watch." I confess. "Harry Shearer was the guest. I really like him, but truthfully, in order for me to stay up that late and be happy, Harry would have had to come through the TV and suck my toes or something."
"That's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that? The guests go out and have sex with the viewers! Martha, we're gonna make a million bucks off this idea."
"Sure, you'll make the million and you'll probably forget my name. Speaking of big bucks, how much money do you have in your wallet?"
"Right now?" Kinnear asks. "Probably $15."
"Can I see?"
"You want me to take out my wallet and show you?" he asks. I nod. Kinnear obliges.
"Oh, wait. I have a couple of ones, so that makes an even $17."
"Is that what you normally carry?" I ask.
"No, I'm a little low right now, a little tapped out. I would think your readers will be fascinated by that little tidbit, by the way."
"Hey, if Hugh Grant had a couple more bucks on him, he might not have become the laughing stock of the Western world. So we're interested."
Kinnear just rolls his eyes. I say, "I know you were brought up in Greece."
"I was born in Indiana," he replies. "My father was with the State Department in Washington, D.C. We lived in Reston, Virginia, for about three years. And then he got his first diplomatic assignment, to the American Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1975, no less, which was the year that the war broke out. So we were there for about nine months."
"What was that like?"
"When we first got there it was great, and then it just gradually deteriorated and by the end of our time there I would wake up invariably to the sound of shelling and machine-gun fire. I was about 12 or 13. I'd be in a daze and just walk out to the living room, and there's my family, mom and dad, my brother, sitting there listening to the BBC radio broadcast, as the opera of machine-gun fire is going on around our house. It was just bizarre."
"Were you frightened?" I ask.
"Now I'd be the biggest basket case in a situation like that, being in a war zone, but at that age, I thought it was great. Every time the shelling came close, I was near euphoria. But the reason they listened to the BBC was because that's where we would get the information that would tell us where and when to go in the event of an evacuation."
"In code?"
"Yes. One night they woke me up at three in the morning, and my mom said, 'We're going now.' And we head-ed off to this hotel where we met up with three or four hundred other Americans. At the hotel, there was this news camera and I kept trying to jump in front of it and get on the evening news with Tom Brokaw."
"Your first longing for fame?"
"May be those were my early, early yearnings for the camera." he says. "We were loaded in buses and taken to the airport through the PLO camp, where we were stopped by a tank. That was a very frightening moment. We got evacuated to Greece, and my dad was reassigned to the American Embassy in Athens. We were there for seven years, that's where I ended up finishing high school."
"Were you a cutup in school? Did you act out to get laughs?"
"No, not at all. I was on the debating team and stuff. In fact, it was great being in Athens, because they had these events--debate, duet acting, oral interpretations, whatever--the key was to somehow be in the performing arts world, because that ultimately equaled trips to faraway places like Cairo or London. Then I went to school at the University of Arizona, and then I came out here to California about 10 years ago. And I guess that about sums it up." Kinnear sits back, looking mighty pleased with himself.
"Honey," I say, wiping that smile right off his face, "that's just the beginning. What's your feeling about asking your guests about their personal lives?"
"I think it's pretty much their own business," he says, with a shrug.
"I agree, but my editor has a different feeling on the subject."
"What does your editor say?" he asks, rolling his eyes again, looking like he's regretting this interview.
"My editor says, 'Find out if he lives alone, if he dates, what he does when he's not working.'"
"Well, tell your editor that you asked, and that I just try and keep my private life private."
"You don't know my editor..."
Kinnear bites the bullet. "OK, I've got a girlfriend. She's not in the business. She just went back to school, and we've been together for a while and we spend a lot of time out of town on the weekends. Will that appease him?"
"Close enough," I tell Kinnear. "So, let's see, you came out to L.A., got a gig as a host on the Movietime cable channel, which you lost when the channel was sold." Kinnear nods, but offers nothing more. "Then you did 'The HBO International Report,' of which I know next to nothing."
Kinnear nods again. The image that comes to mind is Dr. Sidney Zelton, who was my dentist when I was growing up. He seemed to be forever in a cloud, which later turned out to be true (he was snorting nitrous oxide while his patients waited), and he'd continually smile a slightly crooked grin and nod.
"You acted in a TV movie, Murder in Mississippi, and on a series called 'Life Goes On.' Anything you'd like to add?" I ask.
'They were small parts," he says finally. "Fun to do, but I can't say I learned a lot."
"You also had a TV show on Fox called "Best of the Worst.' What in the world was that?"
"We'd show the worst jobs, the worst movies, the worst of everything. The idea was good, but I'm not sure it translated well."
"Then on to 'Talk Soup,'" I say. "Either you're the luckiest guy who walks the earth, or you're very ambitious..."
"No," he says, "I mean, sure. I want to do good things and would like to perform in front of bigger audiences. But I just have never been good at outlining where it is I'm going. For me to look five years down the line... I have no idea where I'll be. I truly believe that I'd have missed some great opportunities along the way if I had plotted it all out. I don't really have a well-thought-out plan, but I do know that I enjoy doing 'Later' a great deal. This is the most challenging thing I've ever done in my life, bar none. A talk show is really tough."
"Who's the best interview you've ever had on the show?'' I ask.
Kinnear looks uncomfortable. "I'd rather not say, because then it makes everyone else feel less than great."
"OK. then, who was the worst?"
"'You know," says Kinnear, "when an interview doesn't go well, I always blame myself. It's because I didn't work hard enough, or I wasn't funny enough, or I wasn't well-enough prepared."
"I used to feel the same way," I tell him, 'until I interviewed Harrison Ford."
"Harrison's agreed to be on the show," Kinnear says with a smile. "At least, I think he did."
"Call me afterwards," I say. "We can commiserate. So, how did it feel to get a role originally intended for Tom Cruise in Sabrina?"
"I'm pretty sure my getting cast in Sabrina was some sort of paperwork misshoveling over at Paramount. I know that originally Sydney Pollack was saying. 'Who the hell is Greg Kinnear?' but some women said he should check me out, and he did. When they called me about meeting Sydney Pollack for Sabrina, I assumed it was a crank call. But he was great at putting me at ease. When he found out that I'm from Indiana, and he's also from Indiana, I guess I had it sewed up at that point. It's just the craziest piece of luck."
"What was it like working with Ford, who's the most successful star in the business?"
"It seems to me that the bigger they are, the more powerful they are," Kinnear says, "you get a sense that they can be any way they want. Sometimes that can be very dark and negative--I mean, you hear those stories and you read about them. But Harrison is the exact opposite. This is a guy who can be any way he wants, and what's remarkable is that he's unbelievably gracious, nice and down-to-earth. He didn't have to go out of his way to make this an easy experience for me, but he did, from the very first day. I was standing around and it seemed to me that everybody knew everybody else, except for me. I don't come from this world, you know, so I was the guy standing over in the corner eating a bran muffin. I fell very awkward. All of a sudden, up walked Harrison and he said. "So you're my brother, huh? God-damn good-looking, isn't he?' And everyone started laughing. I will be eternally grateful to him for that,"
"You sound like you'd been pretty intimidated about the prospect of working with him."
"What was the intimidation factor of working with Harrison Ford? We're looking at about 101 on a scale of 100."
"So you felt like an outsider the whole time?"
"Well, I never felt like an insider, definitely not. That might just be a product of my own being, though. I'm not sure I feel like an insider to the late night world either, and I've been doing this for a year and a half. I have always felt a little bit leery of show business in general."
"Did you worry about remaking what some people consider a classic?"
"I had never seen Sabrina, and I sort of half-assed watched it before I went in to meet Sydney, so I had nothing invested in it. But I'll tell you something: every night when we do 'Later,' I have 250 random Americans from across this great nation of ours silting there ..."
''People who couldn't gel into Jay Leno?"
"Exactly. I do a quick warm-up before the show and answer some questions, and invariably there's a person who goes, 'Hey, how's that movie going?' I explain to them that I'm in the remake of Sabrina, and say, 'How many of you have actually seen the film?1 And what I hear is the kind of eerie silence usually reserved for executions. Not one of them has ever seen it. So to me, that makes it a good film to rework. But I'm listening to the advice of my friends, who tell me. 'Don't quit your night job.'"
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Marsha Frankel interviewed Steve Guttenberg for the November Movieline.