Men's Journal

Photo credit: Illustration by Joe McKendry

James Caan, 69, lends his voice to Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, opening September 18. Here, Caan talks about cheating death, crazy women, and how to make the perfect scrambled eggs. 

Interviewed by Steven Russell

What adventure most changed your life?
My whole family was in the meat business in New York. My godfather — my great uncle — he had a big meatpacking plant on the river, and my job was unloading goddamned hindquarters from these trailers at 4:30 in the morning, when it’s colder than a well digger’s ass. Something told me I didn’t want to do this for the rest of my life, but I could see the writing on the wall coming through the Midtown tunnel every morning. For laughs I had taken some acting classes at Hofstra. So one day I just walked into the Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theatre. You were supposed to fill out an application a year in advance and have three interviews, but being a maniac was in fashion at the time, and they took me. It was a jump shot at the buzzer.

What should every man know about women?
They’re fucking nuts. You have to either accept that or you do like me: You get married four times. I think after you get divorced twice it should be like driving — you lose your license. 

What should every man know about money?
Well, if you like girls, you gotta have it.

What hidden skill do you have?
I make great scrambled eggs. It’s an art, but if I tell you how, then fuck it, everybody will make them, won’t they? All right: First, add a little cream to the eggs. Milk will do, but certainly not that 2 percent shit. Then beat the hell out of the eggs to get them fluffy. Get your pan really hot and put in some butter. Here’s the key: When you pour the eggs in, let them sit just a few seconds before you take a fork and start drawing very gently from the edges into the middle. Keep going around until the eggs stop running. They’re so fluffy it looks like you’ve got a dozen. It’s almost like cotton candy when I get through. Simplicity is beauty.

What piece of gear should every man own?
A jockstrap. And maybe a little base-ball bat in your car — what they call an attitude adjuster.

What’s the best survival skill you have?
Instinct. There’s just something about growing up in New York that I wouldn’t trade for anything. There were a thousand kids all over the place, right? I learned who to push, who not to push. I learned how to get along, how not to get along. It’s almost a sixth sense.

How do you identify the toughest guy in a room?
If a guy comes up to me in a bar and starts yelling, “Hey, you fuckup, I’ll tear your ass!” I’d fight that guy in a minute, because he’s trying to convince me he can do it. But the guy who says, “Listen, pal, do me a favor, have a drink and relax because I don’t want to rip all the skin off your head,” I’d believe that motherfucker. A lion doesn’t make a lot of noise before he attacks — he just goes whack and you’re dead.

What article of clothing should every man own?
What kind of fucking question is that?  

What advice would you give the younger you?
Have a little more patience.

Have you ever cheated death?
A few times. I was pulled out of a lake when I was five. I’ve had close calls with speedboats and rodeo. I was on drugs, which was life-threatening every day. And I had a horrible motorcycle accident about 15 years ago when I was riding with my friend. A car cut him off, and I went after the shithead on my Harley. I hit the top of a hill and went airborne doing about 70. I grabbed every kind of brake and slid all the way down that hill with my bike rolling over me. I shattered all my ribs, and my collarbone was up around my ears. 

What trait should every man have?
Loyalty. Even though my sons grew up out here in L.A., they have this New York morality where they will not rat on a friend. That’s not a wiseguy thing. That just goes along with being a man.

What’s the key to staying young?
I try not to pay attention to how old I am, but I’m constantly reminded when I get out of bed in sections — first the legs, then knees, then hips. I looked at my birth certificate a few years ago and decided it was time to take up golf.

What should every man do before he dies?
My dad was a tough guy. He never said, “I love you.” I knew that he did, but it still fucked me up a lot. So tell your children you love them. 

—-

This article originally appeared in the September 2009 Issue of Men’s Journal

Print this article