What I learned most from my father wasn't anything he said; it was just the way he behaved. He loved his work so much that, whenever he came on set, he brought that with him, and other people rose to it.

I'm a big fan of country.

I love seeing somebody act real earnest and serious, like Jackie Gleason. He makes me laugh because he reflects back to me my own serious-mindedness and how ridiculous it all is. It's always easier to see somebody else in that position than yourself, and you laugh. It's like the classic slipping on the banana peel, or someone getting hit by a pie in the face. Why do those things make us laugh? Is it from relief, like: Thank God it wasn't me? Or is it something else: I'm being very serious now. I'm pontificating earnestly and solemnly about-POW! PIE IN THE FACE! The bust-up of certainty.

Unlike a lot of actors, my father encouraged all his kids to go into show business.

I remember when I was a kid, with the acting thing, I resented it because, you know, you don't want to do what your parents want you to do. You got your own things. And the whole idea of getting a job because of who your father is - that didn't feel right. But after a while I guess I figured I must be doing something right, because people wouldn't keep hiring me if I didn't have something to give.

I remember being on a black-and-white set all day and then going out into daylight and being amazed by the colour.

What are the aspects of yourself that line up with the character? You magnify those, and the ones that don't match up you kind of kick to the curb.