Ironworks Gaming Forum - Keanu Reeves

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Keanu Reeves is 39 years old and through making apologies. In younger days, he told interviewers he was a ''meathead,'' sensing their dim opinions of him and meeting them head-on with bodacious self-effacement. (Call it the Ted Offensive.) But little of that old self-consciousness is in evidence now. The tics are still there, of course. He fidgets constantly, crossing and recrossing his legs, Gumby-ing his obscenely thick hair from side to side. Any query that comes across as even vaguely invasive is deflected with polite monosyllables, but one mention of Hamlet elicits an entire soliloquy (''If it be now, 'tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now.'') and a bardolater's joke about his all-black outfit. (''My inky cloak,'' he cracks.)

Reeves is famous for quoting Shakespeare at the drop of a hat, but you can see why Hamlet agrees with him: a regal yet mercurial soul, confounding our often low expectations. And confound Reeves has, every step of the way. With ''The Matrix Revolutions,'' he concludes a sci-fi trilogy that entranced audiences in 1999 and befuddled them in 2003, grossing nearly $1.2 billion worldwide along the way. Whether it will lure back those whose heads are still spinning from ''Reloaded'' is today's multimillion-dollar question; Reeves himself admits the second movie was ''dense'' and says that it ''benefits from a second viewing.''

But just when you were getting used to Keanu in that sleek-if-impractical black cassock (''superhero evening attire,'' he calls it), you'll have to readjust to him in ''Something's Gotta Give,'' a romantic comedy that positions Reeves -- a doctor in this one -- opposite Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson (opening Dec. 12). Next he'll be seen as a New Age orthodontist in ''Thumbsucker.'' And after that...well, you can follow him into hell, or at least halfway. That's where his next big role -- hard-boiled ethereal middleman John Constantine, of the ''Hellblazer'' comic -- will strand him. Sensing a pattern here? Don't worry. Neither is anyone else.

Reeves' identity has always been a bit of a blur. He's your average bass-playing, beer-drinking motorcycle enthusiast who's only now getting comfortable with moonlighting as a tremendous celebrity. One thing is clear: He's no longer the guy who once said, ''I make excellent good short copy because I use words like 'excellent.'''

''Ah,'' he sighs, smiling. ''That's an early '90s quote, isn't it? Early '90s Reeves?''

He smiles beatifically and offers no further insights. No doubt about it, the guy is downright mysterious. Of course, there is a competing theory.

''He's just sullen!'' laughs Alex Winter, the Bill to Reeves' Ted and a longtime friend. ''If someone thinks he's a mystery, it just probably means he doesn't like them very much.''

But just when you were getting used to Keanu in that sleek-if-impractical black cassock (''superhero evening attire,'' he calls it), you'll have to readjust to him in ''Something's Gotta Give,'' a romantic comedy that positions Reeves -- a doctor in this one -- opposite Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson (opening Dec. 12). Next he'll be seen as a New Age orthodontist in ''Thumbsucker.'' And after that...well, you can follow him into hell, or at least halfway. That's where his next big role -- hard-boiled ethereal middleman John Constantine, of the ''Hellblazer'' comic -- will strand him. Sensing a pattern here? Don't worry. Neither is anyone else.

Reeves' identity has always been a bit of a blur. He's your average bass-playing, beer-drinking motorcycle enthusiast who's only now getting comfortable with moonlighting as a tremendous celebrity. One thing is clear: He's no longer the guy who once said, ''I make excellent good short copy because I use words like 'excellent.'''

''Ah,'' he sighs, smiling. ''That's an early '90s quote, isn't it? Early '90s Reeves?''

He smiles beatifically and offers no further insights. No doubt about it, the guy is downright mysterious. Of course, there is a competing theory.

''He's just sullen!'' laughs Alex Winter, the Bill to Reeves' Ted and a longtime friend. ''If someone thinks he's a mystery, it just probably means he doesn't like them very much.''

But just when you were getting used to Keanu in that sleek-if-impractical black cassock (''superhero evening attire,'' he calls it), you'll have to readjust to him in ''Something's Gotta Give,'' a romantic comedy that positions Reeves -- a doctor in this one -- opposite Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson (opening Dec. 12). Next he'll be seen as a New Age orthodontist in ''Thumbsucker.'' And after that...well, you can follow him into hell, or at least halfway. That's where his next big role -- hard-boiled ethereal middleman John Constantine, of the ''Hellblazer'' comic -- will strand him. Sensing a pattern here? Don't worry. Neither is anyone else.

Reeves' identity has always been a bit of a blur. He's your average bass-playing, beer-drinking motorcycle enthusiast who's only now getting comfortable with moonlighting as a tremendous celebrity. One thing is clear: He's no longer the guy who once said, ''I make excellent good short copy because I use words like 'excellent.'''

''Ah,'' he sighs, smiling. ''That's an early '90s quote, isn't it? Early '90s Reeves?''

He smiles beatifically and offers no further insights. No doubt about it, the guy is downright mysterious. Of course, there is a competing theory.

''He's just sullen!'' laughs Alex Winter, the Bill to Reeves' Ted and a longtime friend. ''If someone thinks he's a mystery, it just probably means he doesn't like them very much.''

The mystery -- or lack thereof, depending on whose theory you're buying -- began on Sept. 2, 1964, in, of all places, Beirut, Lebanon, where Reeves was born to itinerant hippie parents who soon divorced. He ended up in Toronto, studying hockey and drama, which eventually intersected in ''Youngblood,'' a 1986 Rob Lowe hockey flick where Reeves won a supporting role. Not long after, he packed his bags, drove to Hollywood, and began attracting attention with nuanced turns in small dramas like ''River's Edge'' and ''Permanent Record.'' But it was a comedy that established his reputation. With ''Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure'' in 1989, he and Winter made the suburban slacker duo an enduring movie trope.

Ted proved a potent character -- perhaps too potent. Reeves, between his minimalist face and the low, slow wavelength of his speech, became the archetypal Valley boy: He even did a Ted reprise in 1989's ''Parenthood,'' playing Martha Plimpton's doofus boyfriend...Tod. Suddenly, the actor was facing the prospect of a long and lucrative career playing morons -- and Hollywood was only too happy to pigeonhole him.

Through it all, Reeves continued to receive high marks for quirkier fare like ''Little Buddha'' and ''My Own Private Idaho,'' in which his performance as a bisexual hustler drew praise (and the obligatory gay rumors). Still, he had to fight for any mainstream part perceived as outside his dude-erific purview. Longtime manager Erwin Stoff recalls that landing Reeves the role of tubular FBI special agent Johnny Utah in ''Point Break'' was no picnic: ''People thought [production exec] Larry Gordon was out of his mind.'' But ''Break'' met with some success, and a door cracked open -- a door that would lead to ''Speed.'' Suddenly, the Hollywood establishment was calling Reeves the anointed king of action.

By 1999, Reeves was involved in a big-budget head trip called ''The Matrix'' (for which he'd received a rather surprising $10 million paycheck). ''If you really analyze it, I think all his baggage really worked,'' says ''Matrix'' producer Joel Silver. ''Because when the movie begins, you see Thomas Anderson as this goofy Bill-and-Ted kind of guy, working as this software programmer who is never going to be a hero of any kind. At the end of that movie, you believe that he has transformed himself, and is Neo.''

''Of course, he's not a flake at all,'' says Diane Keaton, the crux of a Reeves-Nicholson love triangle in ''Something's Gotta Give'' -- and someone who knows something about being identified with a fictional flibbertigibbet. So take it from Annie Hall: ''You can't be a flake and be Keanu.''

Reeves' friends and associates have a tendency to defend his intellect even when no one's really attacking it. ''I learned my lesson the first time we played a game of chess,'' recalls Laurence Fishburne. ''We were living in Sydney [filming 'The Matrix'], and I thought we'd have a little game and I'd see how bright the motherf---er was. Beat my ass in 15 minutes and left.''

Reeves guards his privacy, and not without reason. He's had some hard knocks over the years, and not just from the spills he's taken on his beloved hogs. His sister Kim's battle with leukemia (and his tremendous financial support both for her and for cancer research) is a verboten subject, as is the tragedy surrounding his late girlfriend, Jennifer Syme. (Their baby was stillborn in 1999; a breakup soon followed, and in April 2001, Syme died in a car accident.)

Fortune's door has swung both ways. Reeves' ''Matrix'' deal, reportedly a combined $30 million for the last two movies, against 15 percent of their gross, would put his total compensation between $100 million and $150 million. He's performed some quiet heroics to redress that karmic imbalance, reportedly distributing a few million of that sum to crew members.

But Reeves generally prefers his heroics gray, not black-and-white, which is why he's so fond of John Constantine, his next major screen incarnation. In ''Constantine,'' he plays a bloke who's on barely speaking terms with both heaven and hell. ''And he hates them both,'' Reeves reports with great satisfaction. ''I think that was actually always the attractive thing about Batman -- he had some kind of inner demon.'' He contemplates this for a second, then grins wistfully. ''But I didn't get to play that guy. Now I'm too old.''

Keanu Reeves turning 40 is hard to imagine, if you're not Keanu Reeves. If you are Keanu Reeves, however, it's easy. ''I'm feeling 39, that's for sure. So I'm sure I'll feel 40, too.'' He laughs. ''Forty: Here comes a crisis. Forty: Here comes the mortality reflection....I've ordered the Ferrari. I'm going to get the whole midlife-crisis package.''

(This is an online-only excerpt of Entertainment Weekly's Nov. 7, 2003, cover story.)

(Posted:10/30/03)