HOWZAT

As did the death of his friend River Phoenix in 1993, for whom he was often mistaken around town, once even by the police when he was pulled over for speeding. “There was a point in my life when I wasn’t sure how much I was going to be around,” he says. “It was shocking that he passed away, it introduced a level of mortality: I could die and that was scary. I had never thought past 24. I just became a lost person, out of touch with my soul. I wasn’t seeing my mother, who was having a terrible time. I didn’t have any connections anywhere. I either had to leave the planet or crash. I really didn’t know if I was ever going to act again, but what else could I do? Going to jail is a big shifter. Then having to go outside and clean cars and having people see you and the paparazzi getting shots of you doing that. I took a long time to rebuild myself.”

He started by returning to the theatre, where he felt safe, doing the Tony award-winning play Sideman on Broadway with Edie Falco in 1999. In 2000, he married Ryan Haddon and took time off while their two children, now aged five and two, were born. He also experienced an on-set epiphany and decided he didn’t want to play doomed and dying characters any longer. “Why was I dying in every frigging movie I did?” Returning to LA, scene of his wildest and bleakest times, he began seeking out fresher parts, of which Peter Richardson’s forthcoming comedy Churchill: The Hollywood Years (in which he plays Winston as an American GI) is a current favourite. “It’s a crazy, off-the-cuff, goofy idea, but very, very cute.”

Like all loud, funny, opinionated men, Slater can probably be as infuriating as he can be amusing, but his raving, foot-stomping enthusiasm for the play and all those involved — they are all “simply perfection” — is invaluable to a production utterly dependent on the high-wired energy of its lead. That clash of bullish and larky helps explain why he has been compared to Nicholson so often. He has no fear of being accused of imitating him on stage, however; his theory is that McMurphy taught Nicholson everything he knows. “All the things he did in the movie that have become how we think of him as an actor, they’re all in the play! He’d just read the script very well. I’m reading it and going, ‘My God, he’s one of the greatest actors, but it’s all here. It’s like he’s been playing this role his whole life.

It’s not Nicholson, it’s McMurphy!’” Slater might have retreated from the dangerous margins of life, but he is not ready to leave the riotous good times behind. He will continue to play unhinged, dark, worrying men because, however charming and sweet he is today, they tap into a part of him that has peered into the abyss and cannot resist going back for the occasional thrill. He may be happier and more settled than he has ever been, choosing his work carefully, taking classes with the coach Larry Moss, chasing his desire to be just a “kind, respectful, good guy in my life”, but something tells me the occasional indiscretion will stalk him through his middle years.

A few months ago, there was a public fight with his wife. One would not want to condone violence or recklessness, but there is something reassuring about the old-style hellraiser in a profession of raw-food faddists and yoga bunnies. One is not sure how reformed he is or ever will be; more to the point, neither is he. “I’m certainly a work in progress,” he coughs delicately, “and it is a process. I make mistakes and have accidents. It’s just living your life the best you can.” His wife will be moving to London to join him with their two children soon. The twinkly smile suggests that the naughty boy intends to have fun before the family man returns. q

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Assembly Rooms, Edinburgh, from Friday