Barry Pepper: Hot Pepper

Thanks to the two Oscar-beloved films he's done, Saving Private Ryan and The Green Mile, and the upcoming big-budget sci-fi flick Battlefield Earth, just about everyone in Hollywood thinks Barry Pepper is one of the hottest young actors working. Everyone except Pepper, that is.

_______________________________________

There's something sweetly old-fashioned about Barry Pepper. He stands while I take my seat at a table at the Oyster Bar in New York's Plaza Hotel and remains standing even when I drop my bag, spill water on my tape recorder, and generally act like I'm in a remake of Dumb and Dumber. When the waiter comes by to ask what we want, Pepper waits patiently while I take forever to decide, and only then ventures to place his own order. That done, he sheepishly takes out his cell phone, puts it on the table and says, almost wincing, "I hate to leave it on, but I'm waiting for a call from my wife. She's wandering around the city and she's pregnant." I chose the Oyster Bar because Pepper said he wanted something "really New York," and now, upon hearing that this place has been here for over 30 years, he docs a slow pan around the room, as if trying to divine its history and mystique. Pepper grew up in Vancouver, where he and his wife of two-and-a-half years, Cindy, recently bought five acres on the ocean. "You really can have a life out-side of LA," he insists.

At 30, Pepper has made exactly three movies you've seen--Saving Private Ryan (he was the Bible-quoting sniper). Enemy of the Suite (he was one of the bad guys chasing Will Smith) and The Green Mile (he was one of the sensitive prison guards). He's about to appear in a major role opposite John Travolta in the big-budget sci-fi flick Battlefield Earth, and he's the star of the upcoming indie Knockaround Guys, in which he's got Dennis Hopper and John Malkovich for company. All of which makes his unassuming gentility kind of touching.

"It says in your bio that you like to hunt," I begin.

"Well," Pepper says cautiously, "the only hunting I've really done is duck hunting. My father was a hunter and fisherman and he raised us on wild game and fresh salmon. We grew up on a farm. But now I don't do much hunting--I do skeet shooting, which is a lot of fun. I know people have a bad attitude about hunting..."

"Not me," I assure him. "If my meat stopped coming wrapped in plastic, I'd be out there with my rifle tomorrow."

"You New Yorkers never cease to surprise me," he says earnestly.

We continue co chat for a while about Pepper's childhood, which sounds more romantic than he claims it was. His parents built a 50-foot sailboat and then took the brood (Pepper has two older brothers) for a five-year trip around the South Pacific.

"I don't know about this," I tell him. "I think if I were going very far on a boat, I'd rather it'd been built by someone other than my dad in the backyard."

Pepper laughs. "That's because you're a jaded New Yorker," he tells me. No argument there.

After the family docked back in Vancouver, Pepper's mother enrolled him in a ballet class to balance out his love of baseball, rugby and football. That might explain the photo I'm holding up--of him, with long Leif Garrett hair, an open leather jacket with no shirt, and enough gold jewelry to choke Puff Daddy. It's a still from a music video he did in the early '90s.

Pepper hides his eves and groans, "I thought I'd bought every single copy of that thing." He takes a stab at an explanation. "I was in this band.... No, let me start from the beginning. I used to teach breakdancing." I nearly fall off my chair laughing, and he swats my hand, pleading, "C'mon, this was in the mid-'80s when that stuff was new and all the kids wanted to learn it. I went to this audition for something like New Kids on the Block. They were looking to start a band with two guys who were appealing-looking and maybe had some musical or dance talent. But talent wasn't a prerequisite. The whole tiling was a total cheesefest. The band was called Banned in the UK. I got to do the choreography because of my extensive break-dancing background." Pepper's face is now beet red. "I'm telling you," he says, "if I'm ever lucky enough to get on Leno or Letterman, I'm showing that video, because if anyone else discovers it first... "

While Pepper is still reeling with visions of late-night embarrassment, I ask him about a persistent rumor--that he had a nose job a few years ago. That makes him laugh. "The rumor popped up on the Internet. When I was doing The Green Mile, it became a huge joke on the set. I don't know why people would say that. I've never had anything done." He turns to show me his profile, which is perfect for his face and not at all the kind of thing a cosmetic surgeon would think of.

"Let's talk for a minute about Travolta and Battlefield Earth," I say. Pepper probably thinks I'm going to bring up the whole Scientology deal, since the movie's based on founder L. Ron Hubbard's novel, but I'm not interested in that. '"Did you get to do any dancing with John when you were making the movie? I ask everyone who's worked with him that question."

"No. I didn't," replies Pepper, taking my question very seriously. "But he was a champ. The first day of shooting, I'm supposed co be out in the wilderness, hunting and gathering for my family. I'm wearing this costume of skins, and I'm rubbing mud on myself. And who should come traipsing up the hill but John, who hadn't been around up till then. He's in his city clothes and he's slipping and sliding around. He comes right over to me and starts helping me apply mud."

"A guy covets you in mud and you call him a champ?" I ask.

"Well, he did other things," Pepper says. "We had this lousy location with terrible food. Someone complained about it, and the next thing we know, John has his chef up there. I'm telling you, it was lobster and chateaubriand after that!"

"Ah, a star's life..."

Pepper is silent for a minute. "Truthfully," he says, "I love acting and hope I can do it for a long time. But I've been a bartender, I've been a commercial fisherman--those are hard jobs--and if this all ended tomorrow, I could go back to doing one of those things." As usual, he's completely serious. He really doesn't get it that he's never going to have to do any such thing.

_______________________________________

Martha Frankel interviewed Armand Assante for the Aug. '99 issue of Movieline.