Costarring with 73-year-old screen legend Paul Newman in the crime drama Twilight triggered "a lot of jealousy" for young actor Liev Schreiber. "Paul was very popular, very good-looking, and everybody loved him," says Schreiber, 30. "I figured at the very least the young women on the set would like me because, well, I'm younger. But when Paul's around, it's all him, him, him!" Schreiber is getting used to taking such blows to his ego. Despite recent roles in Scream 2 and Sphere, he's having trouble making a name for himself in Hollywood. "People always pronounce it Leave," says Schreiber, whose first name is pronounced Lee-ev. "I walk into a casting person's office and the first thing I usually hear is 'Leave!'"

Article transcribed by MovieGal99

by Jeff Dawson

Liev Schreiber is detailing the merits of his sudden elevation to "Next Big Thing", the status currently conferred by all manner of entertainment glossies on news stands across the Pond. ‘The money’s good and I get car services," he quips. "I come out of my house in Brooklyn and there’s this shiny black limo waiting. I just want to stand there and wait for my neighbors to appear and go to their work. (Pulls mock smug grin) ‘I’m off to do an interview A little film I’m in with Paul Newman.’"

Not that such perks are all they’re cracked up to be, for Liev—that’s Lee-ev—is more than a little tardy as he swans in for a tête-à-tête with Empire here at The Essex House, one of the grand old hotels on the southern edge of Manhattan’s Central Park.

The affable actor, now 30, accumulated some solid Broadway credits and recurring roles on American TV since graduating from Yale in 1992 (with an additional year spent at dear old RADA), but Schreiber’s film career has thus been far restricted to appearances in such films as Mixed Nuts, Mad Love and Ransom—"Generally character weirdo types," he says.

More recently, however, Dame Fortune has flashed her minty grin, what with a spurt of prominent roles for him in Sphere, Scream 2 and Twilight, films which have conspired to come out pretty much all at the same time in both the US and UK.

"I don’t think it’s that big a deal to be in this many films because there are so many films," Schreiber dismisses, fearing that the instant star thing might be getting a little out of hand. "I think it’s a different world, the film business now, than maybe it was five years ago. I remember, especially as a kid, that movies would be in the theaters for tow or three months. Now some of them don’t last four or five days. So I figured I had to be in everything that came out. That’s my solution to the problem."

At least such opportunities are pitching him with some very esteemed company, like the aforementioned Mr. Newman, with whom he stars in the forthcoming twilight, Robert Benton’s interesting but ultimately underwhelming noir—guns, dick (private) and lots of rooting around in other people’s drawers.

"I was fairly intimidated by Paul Newman," he admits. "He’s such a hero to me. He’s so good looking. He has a halo around him. But to me what is most impressive is this guy’s business, the Newman’s Own products. All of the proceeds go to various charities. It’s a phenomenal thing when you think about the climate of our times and how sort of reckless capitalism is, at least in my generation. I mean, personally, I’ll come in here and tell you that I want to make money but there he is, trying to do something with it that’s intelligent. To me that’s evidence of the person behind the film character."

Their pairing resulted in an interesting introduction as the script required Schreiber to administer a sound beating to his hero on the very first day of filming.

"I didn’t like having to hit him and all this stuff, I felt terrible about it," he laughs. "It was ‘Okay, go in there and kick Paul Newman in the face.’ I’, thinking, you know, Jesus! And he’s going, "No, no, no—harder!’"

Still, it’s not every day that you get to work with such a god. Or even demos-ones like Dustin Hoffman, Sharon Stone and Samuel L. Jackson, come to mention it, probably the only bonus from working on Sphere ("Somehow I became an astrophysicist," Schreiber jokes with a look of incredulity.)

"The really exciting thing for me in that was Barry Levinson," he adds. "The decisions made for me have been less on the scripts than the fact that I got to work with the people I got to work with."

Still, Scream 2—in which Schreiber plays a man wrongly-convicted as a serial killer—should guarantee some compensatory staying power. In with his forthcoming Broadway role in Macbeth (which he rather untheatrically refuses to call the Scottish Play—"I’ve doomed myself already!") with Alec Baldwin and Angela Bassett, not to mention playing opposite Robin Williams in Jakob the Liar, interest in Schreiber is hardly likely to wane.

"Matt Dillon, Brad Pitt? Let ‘em try, bring ‘em on!" he growls, through mercifully and untypically for a young American actor, he’s actually only joking.

And then there’s his favorite film of the whole lot, the impending Over the Moon, opposite Diane Lane, documenting the arrival of the Woodstock Festival in upstate New York and its effect on the summer "Borscht Belt" communities of vacationing Orthodox Jews.

"Dustin produced that," he says. "While Dustin and I were doing Sphere, he brought that script to me."

Dustin?

"Oops, it’s a big mistake, isn’t it? I should say Dustin Hoffman," he laughs. "My mum does it. Even if she hasn’t met them she’ll say, ‘Dustin was saying...’"

Fortunately for Liev there are others in the old Brooklyn homestead less susceptible to that tawdry mistress called fame.

"My brothers are sort of my barometers," he says. "They’re incredibly cynical. They fall asleep in movies, they fall asleep in plays, and if they can stay awake in anything I’m in then, man, I know it’s probably good...

Article transcribed by Angie

Shari Roman

Liev Schreiber, wearing a gray sweater, is sitting is a dim East Village café, slowly swirling his dark coffee in it’s cup. A penumbra of cigarette smoke curls over his head. He sighs, musing over his film oeuvre. "I die a lot in my films, don’t I?"

Even in the recent New York Shakespeare Festival’s Public Theater production of Macbeth, in which he played the noble Banquo to Alec Baldwin’s power-mad Scotsman, he says, " I died. Eight times a week."

Schreiber is tall, an excellent fencer ("At Yale I was the best; I had this fantasy of being a swashbuckler"), and at unexpectedly muscular six-two, he’s nobody’s fool. His deep voice is also a surprise. "It’s because I have such a baby face," he says, "because the characters I play are generally soft and weak."

Scream 2's "maybe killer," Cotton Weary, weak? Schreiber lights up another cigarette. "I’m just feeling dark. I’m a little burnt. I think I did seven films in ‘97." That would be Sphere, with Dustin Hoffman; Twilight, with Paul Newman; Scream 2, with Neve Campbell; Phantoms, with Ben Affleck; The Blouse Man, with Diane Lane; Jakob the Liar, with Robin Williams; and His and Hers, "Well, starring me."

If Schreiber seems to be working overtime, there’s a reason. In a world where cinematic interactions play like the anticipatory whack of a sitcom punch line, Schreiber’s work threads like a virtuoso jazz riff. Contrapuntal hits, unexpected rhythms that slip and soar between the beats. On screen, that innate musicality reads as an unconsciously detailed and wonderfully vulnerable humanity.

"I do identify with the characters that feel sort of messed up," he admits. "Most people do. They’re more interesting than pectorally endowed, flawless geniuses, because their flaw is the core of the character. It becomes the heroic element that we love in them. And if you investigate it, I guarantee you, it comes from a desire to be loved." Schreiber’s eyes gleam warmly through the smoke. "If you can find that, that’s the key."

Jakob the Liar, which also stars Schreiber’s idol, Alan Arkin ("Also a very tall man, like me."), "is a Holocaust-themed story that was shot in Poland. In winter," he adds meaningfully. He plays a busybody boxer whom Jakob, played by Williams, used to manage. "I force him into a situation where he has to lie, and because of that lie, the whole ghetto looks to him for hope. But wait!" he cries excitedly, "I don’t die! Wait, I have two movies coming out where I don’t die. Maybe it’s a trend."

The other would be The Blouse Man, "a story that’s very close to home, probably the closest of anything," says Schreiber, brightening further. No, wait. The Daytrippers is pretty close to home. That’s why (director) Greg (Mottola) is so brilliant. He makes fun of people while at the same time casting such a golden light on their humanity that you forgive them all their sins. Ah," he stops himself, "but back to Blouse Man."

The story is set in the 60's, amid the Catskills resorts where many Jewish immigrant families spent their summers. "And along comes sex, drugs, and rock and roll," says Schreiber. "Kids are going up to Woodstock, driving by in convertibles, and offering this total mind-expansion vibe. I’m this great, hard-working guy who’s got two kids with , and been married since he was 17 to, Diane Lane. Meanwhile, she has an affair with this hippie vendor"—played by Viggo Mortensen —"the ‘blouse man’. But she realizes she loves me," says Schreiber, stubbing out his cigarette. "I love this character. I based him on my grandfather. He aspirations, but his priority was family....the sacrifices people make, especially for each other, are very emotional."

With his high-profile work schedule humming along smoothly, returning to new York to tangle with Macbeth was the first time he’d been home, consistently, in a very long time. He smiles. "That’s part of why I’m so dark and conflicted right now." Schreiber longs to be the settled-down "sunny guy."

"That way lies happiness," he says. "But I have to curb all the other demons in me that say, ‘Go here, do that; come here, do that.’ I’m in the process of letting them go. Because at the end of the day, why are you here in this world? It’s not the money and not the successes —although I do want all those things. At the end of the day, the measure of a person is how much they were able to give of themselves. That’s how you really make your mark in the world."

Article transcribed by Angie

"As he walked throught the door, I realized I had never before taken into account just how roguishly handsome he is. He swaggered over to my table, then with a smile that would have stopped the bulls of Pamplona, he. . . "

I don't know what happened next, because that's not how my date with actor Liev Schreiber started. That's what Liev scribbled on a napkin when I asked what he thought I should write.

What actually took place: When I showed up at the Chelsea Piers Sports Center Cafe, Liev was slouching sleepily at a table working on a crossword puzzle.

And I already knew how roguishly handsome the 30-year-old New Yorker is, having admired him in "The Daytrippers," "Walking and Talking," "Scream," and "Sphere."

What I didn't know is what a flowery writer he is.

But who needs Hemingway when you're out with an un-self-consciously sexy actor who is the "alpha male" in the New York Shakespeare Festival's "Cymbeline" (so designated by a certain New York newspaper that doesn't have comics)?

"More Shakespeare, please, Mr. Schreiber," this same critic begged, thus guaranteeing that Liev would be in high spirits for our afternoon date.

Just to be sure, I laced the encounter with mood-enhancing substances: an hour workout (endorphins), a relaxing massage for him at the Origins spa (fragrant oils), sushi at Nobu (protein, carbohydrates and wasabi).

Unfortunately, Liev had indulged in another substance (alcohol) the previous night and was not keen on exercise, which he claims to avoid despite evidence to the contrary.

Liev relented, insisting -- to my horror -- upon yoga. I'm up for anything not involving stretching, which is certain humilation for my none-too-pliable self.

Liev's first maneuver was to open his limber legs into a near split, raise his arms, arch forward and put his head on the mat. Mine was to hunch over and try to grab my knees.

"My God, you really are inflexible," he said.Thank God for years spent slouched in front of a keyboard, because my plight impelled Liev -- a former yoga instructor -- to come over and cantilever me into several heretofore unexplored positions.

"Don't you want to do yoga?" I gasped as he turned my legs into string cheese.

What he said; "I can't! You're too much of a mess."

What I heard: "I can't bear to take my hands off your thighs."

I yelped in pain as he untangled me.

"Too bad I have the massage now," he said, "because you could really use an hour of stretching."

Curses! Even though the massage had been my idea, I suddenly realized that I was sending him off so someone else could rub oil all over his naked body. That the someone else was named Bob was small consolation.

Luckily, things got more intimate as we rode to Nobu -- on his motorcycle. "Hold on," he commanded as he revved up the engine. I daintily placed my hands on his shoulders.

"No, around my waist," he ordered.

I moved my hands down to his love handles (if Liev had any, that is). We peeled out of the parking lot, me still fumbling to gather in my skirt.

"Forget about your dress," he ordered. "Just hold on tight."

I couldn't help imagining this suggestion in another context as I wrapped my arms around him and let my hands rest on his excellent stomach.

Nobu came all too soon. If only I had made reservations in a little joint in, say, Paramus.

And my motorbike thrill evaporated moments later, following a most regrettable indiscretion.

While Liev turned his attention to the menu, my hand somehow landed on his "Cymbeline" baseball cap on the seat. I couldn't help noticing it was soaking wet.

Sweat? I wondered.

In a flash, I picked up the cap and took a whiff. I couldn't smell anything and quickly tried to put it down, but was caught wet-handed.

"Oh, my God, you sniffed my hat!" Liev cried. "I can't believe it!"

"Some people's sweat smells really good," I offered meekly.

"But it's not sweat -- it got wet at the gym. But how nasty is it that you sniffed it?"

"But you know what?" I countered. "I'm writing the article and you're not."

"You're not going to put the hat-sniff in? Coward!"

Twisted? Maybe. Cowardly? Ha!

I promptly turned the conversation to other matters, like who would Liev most like to date: Gwyneth Paltrow, Winona Ryder, Catherine Keener, Courtney Love, or Halle Berry?

L: I like them all. How about you -- Dustin Hoffman or Warren Beaty?

F: Hoffman. What kind of girl do you like?

L: Believe it or not, I still don't know.

F: Do you have a girlfriend?

L: No. I had one.

F: What happened?

L: She broke up with me. I wasn't around enough. And she got the dog. I love the dog, but she was right, I was never there. I just want her to be happy.

F: She's a fool.

L: You mean that?

F: Yes. I have a dog, you know.

And then it was over. Having polished off our sushi, Liev went off to meetings, cell phone calls, and "Cymbeline" and I loped back to work, genuinely sad the date was over -- and not because of his roguishly handsome swagger.

Though you never really know with a movie star -- even a comparatively uncorrupted one -- Liev was a great one-afternoon stand: wry, familiar, engaged and antagonistic is the most charming way. Not to mention good with his hands.

But, in the end, he's an actor doing an interview, and I'm a reporter doing a story, and all this writing is making me tense. Nothing, I suppose, that an hour of stretching couldn't cure.

Article transcribed by Angie

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