Cigar Aficionado continued

The mindset and artistic credo that Fishburne absorbed on the set of Apocalypse Now were clear and cast in stone, even though they usually went unspoken. With a rush of anecdotes about his heroes and mentors, Fishburne distills the essence of that credo: Filmmaking and acting, in their highest expressions, are not about star status or box-office grosses or the money or the prizes. They are art forms. And artists--the true artists, not the poseurs-- answer to a different call. They carry inside them a different flame. When the camera rolls, they do whatever it takes, they go to the bottom of their innards, they bring it all up and then they lay it all bare for the world to see. True artists do it for the challenge, for the pure joy of working with other artists and from bringing out their best. And they do it for one thing more: the enduring sense of pride they derive from knowing they got it exactly right.

The two years with Coppola and his team were a defining, transformative experience for Fishburne, and they've left a lasting imprint. Looking at him today, through the clarifying lens of Apocalypse Now, several facets of the man come into focus. Fishburne is a big man, powerfully built, and on close inspection you see that everything about him is stripped to the essentials: blue jeans, no belt. Black T-shirt, no pocket. Look him up and down and you see no rings, no chains, no hint of artifice or pretense. Some core part of him seems to be saying, World, this is it, the unvarnished me. Take it or leave it.

"Star" is a word that Fishburne loathes. "I won't sign pictures and that shit. Just won't do it," he says. Sure, he's now a big deal in the movies, and if people want to view him as a star, that's their business and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. But Fishburne says he refuses to think of himself as a star. He's an actor, an artist, and he believes that for an artist "star trips" are one giant step down the road to ruin. Nor is he about to parade his family life in public, the way some stars do. In 1985, Fishburne married casting agent Hajna Moss and they had two kids. The marriage didn't last, and today there is no way Fishburne will discuss the subject. He's happy to answer anything about his work, but private matters are strictly that: private.

The artistic credo that Fishburne forged in Apocalypse Now clearly serves him well; it's the shockproof, heavy-duty bullshit detector that keeps him on his path. But that same credo can also be something of a curse. For after you've gone to the well in something like Apocalypse Now, what do you do for an encore? Where do you turn, at age 17 or 18, to find that kind of juice?

After returning from the Philippines, Fishburne inevitably drifted to Los Angeles, looking for acting jobs. He found work but nothing with the fire of what he'd just come through. Then, as he struggled to find a new foothold, Fishburne came to a stark realization: his ride into acting had been wild, but his childhood had been cut dramatically short. So he decided to go home to Park Slope, to spend some time cooling down in the old neighborhood with his mother, one of the main anchors in his life.

Fishburne describes his mother as a remarkable woman. By training and profession, Hattie Fishburne was a science teacher, but her first concern was always Laurence, her only child. Laurence was born on July 30, 1961, in Atlanta. Hattie and her husband, Laurence Sr., split up before Laurence Jr. was born. After the birth, Hattie moved to New York to make a new life for her and her son. She found a house and made them a home in Park Slope, a melting-pot immigrant neighborhood that proved to be ideal for the precocious Laurence. To support herself and her child, she taught at a school for Jewish girls and tried to further her career by taking classes at Columbia. Hattie saw talent in her young son and pushed Laurence toward acting. When, at age 14, he lied about his age and conned his way into an audition for Apocalypse Now, and then got the part, who packed their bags and went to the Philippines, to watch over her vulnerable son? Hattie.

"I've got to tell you," Fishburne says today, "my mother is very bright. I mean she's got a really, really amazing mind. Now I'm a really smart guy. I'm bright. I know shit from shinola. And all that I get from her."