Premiere January 1998

The looping room is as quiet and cool as a tomb. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Costner rocks back and forth on the heels of his two-tone cowboy boots, waiting for the film to silently rewind and cue up. His hands on his hips, he faces the screen. The large bulge in the back left pocket of his worn jeans throws his butt off. An over, stuffed billfold. It is distracting, a focus puller. What's in it? Driver's license? Platinum credit cards? Pictures of Annie, Lily, Joe? Scraps of phone-numbered paper? A wad of cash? How much? What if he had all those Postman bucks in his back pocket? Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The fourth beep is Costner's cue to dub dialogue: "Abby's a special person. She's strong. She'll probably end up running the damn place."

Jim Wilson, Costner's longtime producing partner, watches in a booth outside the room. "You're a smidgeon early on your second sentence," he says over the intercom. A good second take. "Yippy skippy," Costner says, ripping off a sheet of script, tossing it into the pile on the floor. "A little less to do."

"You've got to do a version for broadcast without the swearword," Wilson says.

"You can't say the word damn?"

"Warner Bros. sent a huge packet over and the word dam n was one of them."

"Forget it." Costner digs in and stares through the glass. "I don't care if it ever plays on a plane." Silence. Pacing. "Okay, I'll do it." He laughs. "Real tough talk, huh?" He does another dub, substituting the word whole for damn. Gets it on the first take. Happy, he starts singing, " 'Maria, I just met a girl named Maariaaaaa. . . .' Let's go to lunch."

Walking across the Warner Bros. lot to the commissary, Costner receives the nods of respect reserved for highly regarded politicians. And like a good politician, he can wave and walk and talk at the same time. "John's gone," he's saying sadly. It has just been announced that John Denver died. "A wonderful, beautiful songbird is gone. Oh man, that's bad.

"We're all a quarter away from life changing. A phone call away. Somebody picks up a phone and says, 'This just happened.' And Our life is changed forever." A mention of Princess Diana. "I have a whole interesting story about her," he says. "But I'm not going to tell you." Not even off the record. "Sorry, baby." he shakes his head. "You're going to hive to take a walk with me in the hills someday. It wouldn't be right to tell it now. Not proper. Too many people cashing in on her. It's a wonderful story. Actually, it's very sad. So sad." A tour trolley. (And to our left, ladies and gentlemen, one of Warner Bros.' biggest attractions, Kevin Costner!) The polyestered, fanny-packing, finger-pointing sight-seers rubberneck around. Slow down! Slow down! Their faces longing for a longer look.

The POST OFFICE is afraid of this movie, they're so stupid. It's like an $80 million commercial," Costner says of The Postman. "They're worried about their image." It's safe to say that a man in postal uniform never looked so good. The postapocatyptic tale casts Costner as a cold, hungry drifter who happens upon a mail truck with a dead body inside. Necessity meeting opportunity, he becomes the Postman. And it is through him that a fractured United States becomes united again. But not before he restores hope, falls in love, leads an army, and delivers the mail all in about three hours.

Costner hadn't directed a film since Dances with Wolves. But after customizing the screenplay-"I just wanted to be real comfortable with the words"-he was talked into it. "Everybody was saying, 'Well, why don't you direct?' And I said, 'Because it's big and it's a bunch of stuff!' " Once the script was retooled to his standards, Costner felt the hard part was over. "I was thinking, who couldn't direct this now? It's really laid out. Anybody could. And Jim Wilson-who I trust the most-finally said, 'How are you going to give it to somebody else? That's going to drive you crazy!' "

Just what Costner will earn for his efforts he isn't saying. "I don't care who you ask, you won't get the answer," he says, smiling coyly. "I have the best deal in Hollywood, that's all I can say. I do have the best deal in Hollywood." In a town obsessed with "Mine is bigger than yours," how does that feel? "It makes me feel good, doesn't it?" By the look on his face, it does.

But with an actual budget of $76.9 million, and no Jurassic size visual effects, where is the money going? "What do you mean, where is the money going?" Wilson asks. "What do you think Kev gets?" Do tell. "Twenty million. I write the check, it's sitting right here! He also gets paid as a director. I can't tell you how much, but it's not a great deal, because you're paying so much to have him star." Throw in his cut of the box office gross, and it's a great gig if you can get it. "Listen, I'd like it! I'll do it for half," Wilson says. "I'll take $10 million ad act my pants off!"

Wilson catalogs the rest: "Two and a half hours of music with a 100-piece orchestra. One hundred and ten visual effects. Eighty-five speaking parts. Thousands of extras. Hundreds of horses in every damn scene. One hundred-and-ten-day shoot moving from Arizona, Oregon, Washington state, L.A......... And bad weather. "Everyone was so surprised when it rained every day," says costar Olivia Williams, a British actress making her film debut. "And I thought, Even in England we know it rains a lot in Washington. I could have told you!" She laughs. "We spent quite a lot of time staring at raindrops."

The rough cut came in at four and a half hours, which has since been whittled to about three. Even at that, Costner says, "I could make this movie really muscle up-high point to high point to high point. But sometimes, for anything to survive, it his to have fat."

But, for a studio executive, “ epic” is anxiety inducing. Warner's chairman Terry Semel remembers taking a pass on Dances With Wolves: "There wasn't a person around who didn't say, 'How commercial could a movie be that's over three hours long, includes subtitles, and is about American Indians?' " The Postman is an occasion for similar tsuris. One test screening didn't go well, and while everyone involved hopes for a Dances, it's hard to forget the ponderous Wyatt Earp. Even Costner cautions against unrealistic expectations. "I don't know how a movie like this can be a hit, given what goes for hits now," he says.

"Warner's knows very well who they're getting into bed with," Wilson says. "Kevin doesn't look at a clock. He's epics. Epics R Us." And Costner is the epic record holder: "I've been in four movies that are over three hours," he says, in a tone that suggests this is a good thing. "I don't know if anybody [else has] been in over three."

WHEN COSTNER is good, he is an underrated actor, and when he's bad, he's in overrated star. Watching him act early on in Fandango, Silverado, and No Way, Out, you knew his destiny. Charismatic and sexy, he had a reckless, compulsively watch able talent. He acted as if he had nothing to lose. But by the time he started in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Wyatt Earp and Waterworld you could feel the weight of the box office on his shoulders. Too often rewarded for playing serious larger-than-life, save-the-day heroes, he wasn’t fun anymore.

"Kevin likes those big heroes," says Ron Shelton, who directed Bull Durham and Tin Cup. But his most interesting work is these guys that are flawed: Bull Durham, Perfect World, Tin Cup. He hits more notes in Tin Cup than you could dream of: anger, rage, humility, stupidity, intuition, shrewdness, sexiness. And made it look so easy! How many other people can do it? He should have gotten an Oscar nomination. Comedy is not recognized. Never has been. Tootsie is a better film than Gandhi. Gandhi won the Oscar that year. Does anybody ever go rent Gandhi?

Costner concedes his more unconventional roles are a lot more fun than the characters I traditionally have to play. But you don't always find them that well written." And they usually aren't the lone leads. While a Tommy Lee Jones doesn't make $20 million a movie, in terms of acting, he gets the best parts. Throw that into the air and Costner leans forward, points to himself, and very seriously says, "I get the best parts."

But wouldn’t it be fun to take a role in, say, a Quentin Tarantino movie? "No." Costner makes a face. "Why?"

Oliver Stone, who directed Costner in JFK can sympathize. "Financially, he has an operation, commitments, a company. He has a lot to carry," Stone says. "Sometimes that backfires: You're in the wrong indie movie and before you know it, you've lost that clout." Costner compares his position as a leading man in Hollywood with a basketball player: "I’ve got to take center. I'm the tallest guy on the floor. I should play center, even though I'm a natural guard. Even though I love to act-I love to play characters. I do know what I have to do." Annoyed, he asks, "You want me to talk with a lisp and a limp and a boomdoodleydum? I can do that! If I find some little quirky movie, I'll do it. And I guarantee you, when I do, it won't be a career move. And it won't be a 'Look, Ma! I can act!' move. You know? Most people can't do the movies I do."

So says his Bull Durham costar, Susan Sarandon: "When some of these guys play heroes, you believe their anger, you believe their violence, but you can't believe it when they love somebody . Kevin can do all three."

HE WAS GOING TO save her too. Princess Diana. He was going to save her onscreen. That's what he would tell you on a long walk in the hills someday. Once upon a time, not so long ago, a beautiful princess was talking to Kevin Costner about costarring in the sequel to The Bodyguard.

He is not happy to have this known. It has been a well-kept secret among those involved for over a year. But when someone reveals this unbelievable truth, both Costner and Wilson reluctantly confirm the details. "Diana and I talked on the phone about the level of sophistication and dignity that the part would have," Costner says. "And that it would be tailored for her in a way very similar to Whitney [Houston]. She said, 'Look, my life is maybe going to become my own at some point. Go ahead and do this script and when it's ready I'll be in a really good spot.' "

"I mean, listen," Wilson says, "we were smart enough to write a role for her that didn't take her beyond her qualifications as an actress. She very much plays that beautiful princess that she was with the really great political stances that she was taking. It played beautifully into her hand."

The story-a love story, of course-was set in Hong Kong. "Again, here's the last person you can fall in love with, and she you, but you know that happens in this world," Wilson says. "So there was definitely a love thing going on between the bodyguard and the princess." Imagine the kiss. Imagine the box office. Replies Wilson, "Well, I did think of the box office."

Costner's voice is quiet. "She wanted to talk. Her life was complicated. She wanted the right to reinvent herself. But she wanted to be delicate about it. I said, 'When I come to you with the script I'm going to try to be hard to resist. I'll tell you truthfully this is going to be good or I wouldn't be doing it. She laughed at that." He laughs sadly. Three day before the car accident, a second draft of the script came in. Costner put off reading it. And then she died. "I picked it up and the first 30 pages were totally her. It was dignified, sexy, smart, funny. And I couldn't finish. I stopped. It broke my heart."

DRAMA IS WHEN you fight to not do something," Costner says. "To not hit someone, even though you're mad as hell. To not kiss someone. And so the dilemma is, what will you do? You're dying to kiss her. That's where drama exists. Once he kisses her, it becomes passion. Romance. It translates into a new thing: Is he going to tell her about the other woman? Is he going to tell her?"

The star has acted out his fair share of drama, both onscreen and off. To those who knew him and to those who read the tabloids, it was no surprise when his sixteen-year marriage to Cindy came to an end. The announcement was just a period at the end of a very long sentence. The settlement was a reported $80 million. Emotionally, the price was higher. "He really loved this gal and it didn't work out for a variety of reasons," Wilson says. "This was the real deal. He'll tell me flat out. And it must be hard for him to love anyone like he did her. I know it is."

"Put it this way," says Shelton, "when we made Bull Durham we were both married and maybe we shouldn't have been. Okay? We both married school sweethearts, way too young for anybody to have been married. Everybody's lives were changing. By the time we made Tin Cup, he was wrestling with what it was like to not be married. I think that he'll always be ambivalent about that."

Which makes Costner's indiscretions that much more revealing. Like having a fear of water and yet putting yourself in situations where you might well be swept away. Watching the marriage go under left those who knew what it meant to him disconcerted. "I'd do anything for Kev," says Wilson. "But at the same time, I'm not out and about with him a great deal. So in the aftermath, you know, 'What were you thinking? What's going on?' " Adds one close associate, "We all know about [the rumored affairs]. Stupid. Cost him a very high price. But that's not movie-star stuff. That's personality. That's, like, why are you sabotaging your life?"

Costner admits he would have done "things differently in my personal life." (Costner has reportedly been paying child support to Bridget Rooney, granddaughter of the late Pittsburgh Steelers owner Art Rooney, with whom he had a child after his divorce), but allows that it hasn't been easy. "It's been about a turbulent three or four years," he says slowly. "You hurt and you're bruised and vulnerable. But you also have children, you've got to go forward. You've got to deal with what their problems are. You have to try to be a man about it. You know what you've admired in other men, so there's a very good measuring stick for how you should behave.

"You can say this: My ex-wife does write the loveliest letters in the world. As long as I've known her."

D0 YOU HAVE A boyfriend yet?" He wraps both arms around the wardrobe woman, gives her a squeeze, and kisses the top of her head, a slow blush. "No?" he says, feigning surprise. "I'll be your boyfriend." Observing from the wooded edge of the Postman set, arms crossed over her chest, Mrs. Costner is shaking her head. Tall, slim, handsome, she wears a look of amused patience. She's familiar with the harmless charmer, having been married to him for 49 years. "We met in the ninth grade," says Bill Costner, who, when asked the secret of their marital success, bellows, "Well, I love the woman!"

Meanwhile, their son Kevin is behind the camera between shots and in the midst of charming a girl himself-his daughter Annie. The teenage beauty is perched in his director's chair, having just come back from the doctor with a sore throat. Her father has a remedy. "You want a root-beer float?" he asks. A nod yes. "You got it." He gives her a kiss and she gives him a smile. Annie and her younger siblings Lily and Joe play small parts in the film. It was Annie's idea to have her character develop a crush on the Postman. "She said, 'Dad, what if my character was in love with you and clearly has to see that you're in love with an older woman?' And I said, 'Annie, that's a beautiful idea. I'll film it, but I don't know if it will make the movie.' "

Costner walks over and greets his mom and dad, who have just arrived on the remote Metaline Falls, Washington, set. They positively beam when near him, like proud parents watching their son direct and star in a school play. He is their American dream come true. Members of the hardworking middle class, the Costners are products of the Depression. Bill moved his family from town to town in the west, working for Southern California Edison. He is made of the stuff his son admires.

"My father is the most decent man," Costner says. "Didn't know how to mix a drink. Never got ahead in his company, because he would split things right down the middle. He's an even-Steven man. "I used to think he was uncool because he couldn't . . ." Costner pauses, changes direction. "I always thought he was missing out. And he said, 'I'm not missing out on anything. I don't ever want to compromise myself.' "

Costner recalls being young and anxious about what he'd do with his life. "And a preacher said, 'You'll hear a calling.' And I used to always sit there in church, going, 'God, don't make me a preacher, don't make me a preacher, don't make me a preacher.' " He laughs. "So, I kind of relate to Ray in Field of Dreams going, 'God, why do I have to hear, "Build a baseball field, build a baseball field . . ." What the fuck?' "

His good friend Kathie Lee Gifford likes this story. "Well, being a movie star is much sexier than being a preacher!" she says. "That's so funny. I was thinking the other day that I would love to do a remake of Elmer Gantry with him. He'd make an incredible Elmer Gantry! And I'd like to be the sinful woman for once in my life all my fantasies come true!" Until then, Gifford settles for the memory of sitting at Costner's right hand during the private dinner he recently held for Mikhail Gorbachev: "I felt like Cinderella at the ball."

The two met on Live With Regis and Kathie Lee when Costner was promoting The Bodyguard. But it was when the press attacked her over labor issues that they became close. Costner was the first to call and offer support. "He said to me, 'Kathie, just remember this: Greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world.' Which is a quote from Scripture. And I remember saying, 'You were raised in the church, weren't you?' And he said, 'I really was. I don't always live by it. But I've never forgotten it.

While Bull Durham's aging ballplayer Crash Davis believes in the "the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, [and] good Scotch," Kevin Costner believes in "God and a higher power than myself. I believe in myself ... and I believe I've got to get better.

"Somebody said the other day, 'It blows a lot harder at the top of the mountain,' " Costner says. "You get there and you've got to deal with all the elements that you didn't have to deal with two feet below. There's things that are threatening to blow you right off the mountain. And when you get there you've got to make a real judgment. Was it worth getting here? How my life's been opened up, was it worth getting here? And nothing's worth some of the stuff I've put up with. But I have been blessed to find out what it was that I wanted to do. Which was movies."

THE THEATER MARQUEE advertises two options: The Lost World: Jurassic Park and The Fifth Element. Two big-budget movies. One box office hit. Farther down the street of dinky downtown Metaline Falls, the smell of microwave popcorn fills a makeshift screening room in an old building. The cast and crew, and kids and dogs, file in. The nightly show is about to begin. Dailies. The lights go down. Various bits of rough footage shot earlier in the week play. Take after take of the same scene, some takes better than others. Costner, who is shown directing and acting at the same time, comments, praises, and suggests from his front and center seat. A night scene comes up. An outdoor dance lit with tiny, twinkling strings of light. The extras twirl the floor in their rags. Post apocalypse chic. "Beautiful lighting," says a voice in the crowd. "It should be," Costner calls back. "It only took you two hours."

In the scene, Annie's character is eyeing the Postman from afar, trying to work up the courage to ask him to dance. He, meanwhile, is searching the crowd for someone else, the woman played by Olivia Williams. There she is, walking toward him. At the same time, the young girl approaches, but he turns from her and begins dancing with the older woman. The young girl looks crestfallen. That's the end of the scene. The music stops, everyone breaks, but the camera keeps rolling. Annie Costner runs over to her father and throws her arms around him. She is laughing. Looking to someone just off-camera, she cries, "I got him!" He is laughing too. Relaxed and happy. In this offhanded moment, captured on film, he is as handsome as you can remember when. Sexy as all hell. It was moments like these that showed us what he would become. Still hugging his daughter, the blue-eyed star-director-producer smiles to the camera and draws a finger ear to ear across his throat. Cut.