In front of Costner is a glass of mineral water.
As he leans forward to take a sip, he reveals his highlighted, balding head and a parcel of flab around his midriff. At 53, with his goatee and deep tan, he looks like an ageing golf pro. It’s only when Costner cracks his wonky half-smile that he resembles a movie star, but, in the course of our time together, he has little cause to do so.
Outside, a gaggle of publicists are twittering away, comparing BlackBerrys. When the interview is over, they ask an obligatory question: “How did it go with Kevin?” I’m not sure what to say. Our conversation encompassed Costner’s views on death and failure. He became irritated. At one particularly frosty moment, he demanded: “What is with these questions?” He also called me “weird”. It was, I tell them, a mixed bag.
In Los Angeles, Costner is, like Bernard in Death of a Salesman, “liked, but not well liked”.
more from The Times here.