Throughout a 40-plus-year career in movies and television, James Coburn has probably been called "cool" more often than any other actor. The most recent of his almost 90 movies, Affliction, won him a best supporting actor Oscar for his role as the inebriated and violent Pop Whitehouse. Coburn's cool has endured in films that include The Great Escape, Charade, The Americanization of Emily, Our Man Flint, In Like Flint, The President's Analyst, Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, Cross of Iron and The Magnificent Seven. Now in his 70s, Coburn is sorting through post-Oscar offers, reading a lot, tending to his brace of race cars and collections of exotic drums, gongs and flutes. Contributing Editor David Rensin recently met with him in Beverly Hills. Says Rensin, "Coburn is not so much tall as imposing, with craggy features, a shock of white hair and a joyful laugh that comes only from loving life. We shook hands and he sank into a couch, fixed me with that smile, and said, 'Whaddya want to know?'"

Q 1

PLAYBOY: Does winning an Oscar later in life mean more than if you'd done it when you were young?

James Coburn: If I'd won earlier I would have had a lot more acting opportunities. Since Affliction I've been offered lots of nasty-old-man parts. I also haven't worked [laughs]. I won't do just anything. Making a film takes a hell of a lot of energy and a lot of concentration, and since it's something I would rather do than anything else in the world, I want to do it right. Some you do for money, some you do for love, and Affliction was a love child. Maybe that's the key to it all. Better to win it for a love child than to have it given to you late as an honorarium, as they did with Cary Grant and other greats.

Q 2

PLAYBOY: Affliction is about passing on the curse of violence from father to son. What was passed on to you, and what have you passed on?

James Coburn: My father was a mechanic, so I've been around automobiles all my life. I learned to drive and race and play with them. He gave me that. He also survived the disaster of the Depression, which taught him to be almost pathologically frugal. He wouldn't take a chance; he wouldn't risk anything. My mother was a schoolteacher and far more liberal. She wanted to see me educated. From her I learned to never finish educating myself. All you have to do is take it in, and it works inside you.

What I've passed on, I hope, is that if you learn to do one thing, and learn to do it well, you can do anything. At one time my son was scattered, but now he's a sound mixer, very focused and successful. As for my daughter, I probably haven't given her as much love as I should have. Then again, I haven't given many people a great deal of love; I've given lots of affection. But the kind of love that fathers and mothers give their children is special, and you have to show that more. It's not just giving them money or helping them with their homework. There's a genuine emotional response and interaction. It's taken me years to learn how to do that, and my current wife, Paula, has shown me how. Love has to be done. It's not a reaction, it's an action. You have to love consciously.

Q 3

PLAYBOY: Exactly what does "in like Flint" mean?

James Coburn: It was a takeoff on "in like Flynn," meaning Errol Flynn, who was notorious for fucking all the women in town.

Q 4

PLAYBOY: You're widely considered an icon of cool. Define cool.

James Coburn: Cool has to do with telling the truth. It all came from the Flint movies. I played my idea of the complete man, the ideal individual. It was pure Americana. Making that choice means certain character qualities are eliminated, like expressing too much fear. Rather than be fearful or angry, I chose to take action. Was I intentionally trying to be cool? No. But people responded to it. For instance, Flint spoke with the whales and used it to get to the island. But he had to learn how to do that. It wasn't some endowment, some brilliant thing, like the Bond guy, who was always perfect. Flint--and I--were learners trying to evolve. Flint was someone I'd have liked to be instead of just play. Of course, it was a great deal of fun: He had a harem.

Q 5

PLAYBOY: You're responsible for one of the coolest moments in The Magnificent Seven. You had a knife, your opponent had a gun, and you threw your knife underhand and struck him in the chest. How did you get the part? Do you recall the day you shot the scene?

James Coburn: The whole thing. I was familiar with The Magnificent Seven through the Kurosawa film. It was the first Japanese film I'd ever seen. I saw it in New York and I became fascinated with the character--a great swordsman--and being shot in the back by a half-blind guy. Great irony. I was in LA scuffling around, doing little movies here and there and a lot of television stuff. I ran into Bobby Vaughn, with whom I had gone to school at City College. I said, "Hey, man, what's up?"

"I'm doing The Magnificent Seven."

"What? Who's doing that?"

"John Sturges. Steve McQueen's in it, Yul Brynner."

I said, "Jesus! Has it been cast?"

He said, "No, I think there are still a couple parts left."

I made an appointment to see John Sturges in the morning. He was familiar with me, and after the interview he said, "Yeah, OK, Jim, you're in the movie. I just don't know what part it is or where it's going to take place, but probably at the railhead. There's one of the seven who hasn't been cast yet. Rick, the guy with the knife."

I said, "Is that the guy who, in the Kurosawa movie, was the greatest swordsman?"

He said, "Yeah, that's the guy."

I said, "Well, that's the part I want to play, man."

He told me John Ireland and Sterling Hayden also wanted the part and there was a problem with money or something. Sturges said, "Listen, if I can't work this out with these other guys, the part's yours." We met on a Friday and the film had to be cast by midnight Saturday or he couldn't start shooting it because of a looming actor's strike. At three o'clock that afternoon Sturges called me and said, "All right, Jim, come on over and pick up your knives." Boy, talk about thrilling. Richard Farnsworth taught me to throw the knives. There was no underhand way--only straight and cross-handed--so we had to invent one. It looked like I was throwing a softball or something. We had it coming down my sleeve and I had to catch the blade, and off it went. Sturges never said anything about it. Whenever I asked him a question I'd get some kind of weird answer or adage, and I'd think, Jesus, that's really far-out, really esoteric. What was it? The only thing he wanted me to do for sure was push my hat up when I looked up the first time. I did that, but everything else was up to me.