Here is Jeff Daniels, Michigan home boy, reluctant Hollywood actor-guy, grinning his sly, smirky grin. Barefoot and just slightly beered up, he paddles and putters his pontoon boat around the small lake on whose shores he makes his home. Daniels lives in the rural southeastern Michigan town where he grew up, a town whose name he prefers no one knew, because it is here that he likes to pretend that he is not a big deal movie star. To the locals, he is just plain Jeff, tavern squatter, softball zealot. To the contrary, he is the fine laconic leading man whose quirky charms have enlivened such films as Terms of Endearment, The Purple Rose of Cairo, Something Wild, Sweethearts Dance and Checking Out. Due next is Love Hurts, a tale of divorce and hope. Contributing Editor Bill Zehme spent one long afternoon on the pontoon and reminisces thusly: "We circled the lake roughly eight thousand times and drank many cold ones. Once, we went ashore to see the large house Jeff was building for his two small sons and wife, Kathleen. We watched workmen work. I asked him if he'd seen any signs of Elvis, who is rumored to be residing in the state. Daniels blanched and said that Elvis had recently stopped by, scrounging for money. 'He looked pale,' he reported, 'very pale. I told him to get lost.'"

Q 1

PLAYBOY: By living here in Michigan, you disprove the maxim that you can't go home again. Just how wrong was Thomas Wolfe?

Jeff Daniels: It's not the same as when I was growing up here. I mean, this lake was the whole world. Now it's just a three-mile body of water in one of fifty states. But it's a very grounded existence. You get a cleaner outlook, which is better for the kids. The people are nine-to-fivers, very realistic and have a different sense of humor. I told the guy in the general store today that Playboy's 20 Questions was coming. He just stared at me blankly. I said, "I knew that would impress you." The real stars in this state are the guys who read the news in Detroit. For me, living here between movies is much healthier than sitting around a pool in Los Angeles or being cramped up in a New York apartment, waiting for the next job. I can't rest in those two towns. There I'm an unemployed actor; here I'm on vacation. I also happen to live here.

Q 2

PLAYBOY: Twelve years ago, you left Michigan for New York. Take us on a tour of the hellish depravity only a Midwesterner sees upon moving there.

Jeff Daniels: One of my favorite memories was the big blackout in '77. I lived in this not-so-safe building at Seventh Avenue and Twenty-third. To get to my apartment, I had to walk up ten flights of stairs in the pitch black. I kept thinking, God, what's up this next flight? Is it my death? In the same apartment, there was a hole in the door where a lock was supposed to be. One day, I looked up from the couch and saw an eye peering through the hole. Then--whoosh!--the eye was gone. I remember walking down the street and seeing some guy just explode, vomiting something like green radiator fluid. I remember sitting on a bench in a subway station next to two people. Suddenly a screaming woman ran up, grabbed a hunk of hair from both of them and ran down the platform. Tore out a handful and just disappeared.

But New York's supposed to be a challenge. You're not supposed to be comfortable there. You're in the way. And they don't care whether you live or die. They don't care because they're in New York!

Q 3

PLAYBOY: You played a homosexual in Lanford Wilson's play The Fifth of July and shared a stage kiss, in successive productions, with William Hurt and Christopher Reeve. What did the folks at home think? And, more important, who was the better kisser?

Jeff Daniels: Oh, man. I had been living in New York for two years when my mother came to see it. She was very quiet after the play. I said, "Well, you know, Mom, it's a love story." She said, "It's not a love story, it's perverted!" And all there was on stage was a brief kiss in the first act. I mean, it's either kiss the guy or get fired from the job. In her defense, though, I hadn't dated anyone in a couple of years and I was living down in the Village. So there was some concern, yes. But Mom had no problems with it when the play later opened on Broadway [laughs]. By then, I was married, and although I was still kissing in the first act, that was considered, you know, fun.

As for who's the better kisser, both of the guys have tremendous pucker quality. It reminds me of the Hoover vacuum cleaners of the Fifties. Just fantastic. I mean, that's why they're where they are today.

Q 4

PLAYBOY: Tell us about your dramatic television debut on Hawaii Five-O. Any theories as to why Jack Lord's hair never moved?

Jeff Daniels: I was guest criminal--one of three college-guy jewel thieves--in the penultimate episode. We were standing on a windy cliff, shooting the "Book 'em" scene, as it was called. My hair is doing a dance. Everybody's hair is flying. Then you look at Jacks--boom!--its as rigid as Mount Rushmore. It was amazing, a freak of nature, a genuine phenomenon.

I remember Jack liked to use a lot of cue cards because, you know, Brando did, too. But he was the king of Hawaii, a god, and he commanded total autonomy on that show. For this particular scene, he was ready to deliver his big speech. My line to him was, "What now, Mr. McGarrett?" And he says, "I'll tell you what now! Prison for you punks!" But this was the sixth day of shooting and things were getting a little relaxed. At this point, the director didn't care at all. And somehow, I accidentally read my line as, "What now, Mr. Garrett?" Jack shouts, "Cut it!" gives me a very angry look and says, "That's Muhh-Garrett!" He then turns and walks away. The other actors are doubled over, stifling their laughter. I figured, Fire me, man. I've already got my Hawaiian vacation.

Q 5

PLAYBOY: Any lingering scars from playing the lecherous weasel Flap Horton in Terms of Endearment? Do you think women still hold you in contempt?

Jeff Daniels: Well, the worm is turning. A lot of people have been coming up to me, saying, "You know, I don't know how you put up with those two women for as long as you did." I think, Yeah, yeah! Because for a while there, it was tough to go outside. There was a driver who took me to the Today show and told me, in passing, "When I saw you in Terms of Endearment, I just wanted to beat the hell out of you." How does one respond to that? Say thank you? I went to see the movie in Times Square and there was a girl from Queens sitting behind me, delivering commentary. When I first appeared on screen, she says, "Oh, God, he's not cute." Two thirds of the way through, she begins repeating, "What a jerk, what a jerk." And she's loud. At the end, she's one of the biggest criers. Then the credits roll and, going up the aisle, I put my hand on her shoulder and say, "Hope you enjoyed the movie." Then I run out. You just know she'll never go to a movie the same way again. She'll be in revival houses, looking over her shoulder for Steve McQueen.