But as you experienced at Comic-Con, the level of engagement is just as high, if not higher.

It’s another form of engagement. I think the success of Comic-Con is based on the partnership between the fans and the service providers, the entities — I won’t necessarily call them filmmakers — that supply the film product that supports their particular interest, whether it’s vampires or science-fiction fantasies or Transformers or whatever is going on.

Indiana Jones came back for a second life, there’s talk of Han Solo returning and there are rumors of a “Blade Runner” reboot. Is there another character you’ve played whom you definitively would not want to see revived?

Oh, gosh. Well, I think the smaller-scale movies, which I like very much, would be harder to conceive another iteration of.

It would be interesting to find out if John Book from “Witness” is living out his days on that Amish farm with his Amish bride.

He left, man.

You don’t think he married Rachel and became an Amish farmer?

No, no. I don’t think so.

You said, about playing Branch Rickey in “42,” that you felt you really had to be Branch Rickey, because otherwise the audience would just be seeing “Harrison Ford pretending to be Branch Rickey.” Is that something you’ve fought against throughout your career as an actor?

Yeah, it’s the dirty little secret — let me start over. The form of film in the ’70s and ’80s and early ’90s, when I was working more and playing leading-man roles, was such that I always felt the burden of having to carry the audience along. Of making sure that they identified with the emotional condition of the character. And knowing that if they lost sympathy or investment in that character, that happened at the peril of the film. The pleasure of being a character actor is that you don’t have to think about that.