When we last talked, Ray Liotta was thinking a lot about mortality. “I’m at the age now there are some things you just forget,” he mused. “60 was a motherf*cker for me.” He was 64 at the time, soon to turn 65, but somehow his face, which once seemed older and wiser than its time, now seemed timeless. “Some people age better, and with some it’s like, ‘Whoa, what happened there!?’” he laughed. “You’re like me,” he told me. “We look younger.
You’ve got a babyface and you’re not lined. I have really oily skin. In high school it sucked because I had zits, so I have a whole complex about that to this day.” He laughed with that twinkle in his eye that propelled his iconic turns in Something Wild, Goodfellas, Field of Dreams, not to mention Cop Land, Narc, Smokin’ Aces and Hannibal.
He did plenty of forgettable films too, the kind any actor does to make a living, but he could always dial it up. I’d hoped to get a glimpse into the ups and downs and the long road of a working actor, and Liotta did not disappoint.
We met in Toronto, at the restaurant in the Marriott where the tables look over the left field of the Blue Jays ballpark. Our view was directly obscured by a window that had a spider-webbing crack.
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