A man of characters: actor and "Appaloosa" director Ed Harris

TORONTO —

In "Appaloosa," a community lives under threats of violence from a man they can't capture or control. So they bring in tough-talking hired guns, and when the fellows say they're going to need a lot of draconian new laws, the town fathers push them through.

For some directors, that's a situation ripe for political allegory. But the plain-spoken director, writer and star of the film — all of whom happen to be one man, Ed Harris — is having none of it.

"I suppose you could draw some parallels, if you really wanted to," he says, making it clear he doesn't. "But this wasn't about, 'Oh, is this really relevant today?' I just wanted to tell this story — about people trying to live their lives and deal with their own feelings. I had just fallen in love with these characters."

But then Harris has always been character-driven, and frank about it.

It would have been easier for his career to go another way — the TV cop-show way, the maverick-with-a-gun movie way. With his chiseled features and cool blue eyes, the Tenafly, N.J., native could have parlayed his breakthrough space-jockey role in "The Right Stuff" into cocky stardom.

"That film put me on the map a little bit, I guess," he says. "But, you know, after that I went off and did 'Flash of Green' with Victor Nunez, which cost something like $700,000. I was always more interested in exploring things as an actor than in becoming some sort of star."

He liked what he read

Which is sort of how he ended up making "Appaloosa." Harris hadn't directed a picture since "Pollock," in 2000; he wasn't even looking for a project. And if he were being smart, he certainly wouldn't have chosen a Western, a genre that doesn't come with the tie-in merchandising and big foreign markets studios like to see.

But on vacation with his family — Harris and wife Amy Madigan celebrate their 25th anniversary this year — he picked up the Robert B. Parker novel. And after he put it down, decided he wanted to bring these characters to the screen — particularly the stoic marshal and his trusted deputy.

"I liked that the story was really about these two guys, and neither one would be around if it weren't for the other," Harris says. "They have respect for each other, which goes a long way, I think, and they have a sense of humor together. There's this real connection they share, but they're still very independent guys."

From the field to the stage

So is Harris.

He was born in 1950, and raised in the Jersey suburbs — but always close enough to New York, where his father, once a singer with Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians, could get to gigs on the Perry Como and Garry Moore shows. It was like "Leave It to Beaver" (or maybe, with that showbiz angle, "Make Room for Daddy,") complete with a doting mother and capgun fights in the street.

Harris was an all-around jock in school, captain of the football team and uninterested in show business. "It was only after my freshman year in college that I realized my athletic career wasn't going to go anywhere," he says. "And I'd done a little bit of theater, and enjoyed it, so I made the decision to really start studying it."

Harris switched schools a couple of times, finally heading to Hollywood. Although the process was grinding — he painted a lot of houses in between auditions — when he did land a part, he enjoyed the work.

"It was for a lot of the reasons I'd enjoyed sports — the physicality of it, the focus of it, the need to really just be in the zone," he says. "And, also I've got to say, that approval, that attention, whatever. You know, you score a touchdown and people clap and you're a big guy at school, captain of the team, blah blah blah. And you do a good job on stage and people clap — it's pretty similar, at first. But then it morphs into a whole other way of looking at the world."

A wide-ranging repertoire

"Knightriders" — a change-of-pace picture from zombie guru George Romero that combined Camelot with motorcycles — was Harris' first break. But even after his portrayal of John Glenn in "The Right Stuff" established him, Harris continued to do low-budget but interesting pictures like "Alamo Bay" or "A Flash of Green."

"Or 'Walker,' " Harris puts in, naming the surreal bio of an American mercenary in 19th-century Nicaragua. "That was a pretty strange film — making it, I knew a lot of people weren't going to be interested. But I thought, wow, what a fascinating guy, and [director] Alex Cox had all this insane energy. Sometimes you just do the parts you have to."

Sometimes that means paying the rent, too — along with "Paris, Trout," "Glengarry Glen Ross" and "The Truman Show," Harris' résumé also shows the occasional Stephen King or John Grisham potboiler. But whatever the roles, Harris finds something to interest him, and refuses to get precious about "his craft."

"I know that when I sign on for 'Copying Beethoven' with Agnieszka Holland, it's going to be a much different experience than doing 'National Treasure 2' with Jon Turtletaub," he says bluntly. "The nature of the film is different, the directors are different, what is demanded is different — and if you don't want that, you don't sign up for it. That simple."

Struggles and surprises

Moving the studio toward a green light on "Appaloosa" was another project. Although Harris was able to attract some names — Viggo Mortensen, who'd worked with him on "A History of Violence," signed on for the deputy — the budget remained an issue. Then the studio he was making it for was absorbed by its parent company, leaving the film's future briefly in doubt.

"It was always a struggle," Harris admits. But he's used to that — not just professionally but personally.

His feigned tantrum at a Toronto press conference a few years ago was dubbed a "meltdown" (although it was clearly meant to demonstrate what "A History of Violence" was all about); recently he pushed a paparazzi (although, once you see the footage, you can understand). And he admits his marriage to Madigan had "a few bumps in the beginning" (although even this skilled a performer can't counterfeit the delight in his eyes when he talks about her).

But Harris can't control what other people think. All he can control, to varying degrees, are the parts he takes.

"I guess I made some choices that were consciously away from Hollywood, but back when I was 28, I told myself, I don't want to be a big star. I just want to do good work. Of course, it's not like I was saying no to a lot of big studio movies then, anyway."

He allows himself a wry smile.

"I guess it's one of those games that you play with yourself, too," he says. "If you say you don't want it, then you're not setting yourself up to be disappointed if it never happens, because that was never the goal. And if does happen, well — you're pleasantly surprised."