Robert Downey Jr., star of Less than Zero, Wonder Boys, and Chaplin, is serving a three-year sentence for drug possession in a California state prison. When he’s not doing kitchen duty, he’s trying to stay sane while facing the threats of violence and sexual aggression. How much longer can one of America’s most talented actors tough it out?

Roughly 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles, a good three-hour drive up Highway 99, a prison stands under a hard gray sky. Pull over at any exit along the way—Earlimart, Pixley, Weed Patch—and you will likely see wild dogs roaming in packs or goats loitering outside nameless gas stations. Except for the prison itself—a barracks-like facility holding more than 6,000 inmates—there is nothing here but California wasteland, mile after mile of dry dirt.

“In the winter, it feels like you’ve landed on the surface of the moon,” says Curtis Hanson, director of L.A. Confidential and Wonder Boys. “It’s so desolate and sterile and depressing.”

This is where Robert Downey Jr.—one-time Oscar nominee turned Inmate No. P50522—has been doing time since August of 1999.

Now he’s seated in the corner of a vast room guarded by three correctional officers. A sign on the wall reads: I KISS, I EMBRACE AT THE BEGINNING. I KISS, I EMBRACE AT THE END. HOLDING HANDS ONLY. As I approach, Downey smiles, his eyes crinkling. It’s the same mischievous look you may have seen in such films as Less than Zero, Soapdish, True Believers, Natural Born Killers, and Wonder Boys.

“Is this the most surreal thing you’ve ever seen?” he says, laughing. “I mean, I’m no more equipped for this than you are.”

For this visit, the first of five I paid to him over an eight-month period, Downey is in his “bonneroos”—jailhouse slang for being dressed to the nines. He looks gangsta chic in blue jeans and a prison-issue denim overcoat. Beneath the denim he’s wearing designer undergarments (known as “love-loves”)—a white Emporio Armani T-shirt and Calvin Klein boxers. His face has a healthy glow from his morning racquetball game, but there are stress lines in his forehead, and his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Downey wastes no time getting over to the vending machines for a breakfast burrito, a jalapeñto cheeseburger, and several coffees. I insert the coins and make the selections, since inmates aren’t allowed to touch the machines. “Now, don’t forget the condiments,” he says. “They’re crucial to the enjoyment of this fine fare.” Back at the table, Downey digs in, warning me not to eat from his snacks. “I’m probably, like, creepy-crawling with every disease in the book,” he says matter-of-factly.

Having lost 15 pounds—due in part to having in his system no cocaine or heroin, which gave him a doughy appearance when he was “using”—he looks muscular and lean. While he is noticeably Robert Downey Jr., the actor, he’s not recognizable to most inmates. Robert Altman’s The Gingerbread Man is not exactly in the prisoner’s film canon; neither is Richard Attenborough’s grand 1992 biopic, Chaplin, for which Downey, playing the title role, earned an Oscar nomination for best actor. Then again, there was Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers. In that one, Downey’s character helps incite a prison riot—something he’s certainly not going to attempt in real life. When Downey arrived here, he recalls, the assistant warden told him, “If we have any discipline problems with you, we’re going to come down on you like a ton of shit.”

Downey and I step outside, into a mini-yard surrounded by tall fencing. From here you can see some of the two-story buildings that make up the California Substance Abuse Treatment Facility and State Prison, Corcoran. This is no country club. The buildings on the prison grounds have security levels ranging from “minimum” to “maximum”; Downey lives in a “high minimum”-to-“moderate” building. Adding to the menacing atmosphere is the fact that right next door stands the maximum-security California State Prison, Corcoran, home to Charles Manson, numerous Crips and Bloods, and guards who allegedly forced inmates to engage in “gladiator” fights, shooting one who refused to participate.