Nearly a generation has passed since Burt Reynolds's last movie of note: Boogie Nights, the 1997 Paul Thomas Anderson masterpiece in which Reynolds played, with disquieting authenticity, the porn titan Jack Horner. It's easy to believe the real Reynolds is somewhere in that character (which won him a Golden Globe), especially when you go back one more generation and remember the schticky, toupee'd boob he perfected in the late-70s and early-80s: Smokey and the Bandit, Cannonball Run, Stroker Ace, Sharky's Machine. (Reynolds cemented his image as a kind of high-redneck Lothario when he married Loni Anderson in 1988, then lost a shit-ton of money in their divorce five years later.) What's too easily forgotten is that there was a time (1978 to 1982), when Reynolds was the number-one box-office star in America—and anchoring landmark films that are not just classics of the male-experience (The Longest Yard, Semi-Tough), but also on the National Film Registry (Deliverance).

These days, the seventy-nine-year-old Reynolds spends his days down in his native Florida, in the town of Jupiter. He has a tight circle of friends and meets them regularly at a small cafe. Sometimes he goes fishing with his local pastor, asks him about what lies ahead. And recently, Reynolds has been talking about his new memoir, But Enough About Me, which is, of course, mostly about him.

In your book, you talk about being an asshole. And you have said that, in a way, this book is something of an attempt to make up for having been an asshole at certain points in your life, and with certain people. So my question is: Why are we men so good at being assholes?

It's God's fault. [laughs] We just do what we are programmed to do. But if I knew why, life would be easier. I'm not sure why I was an asshole. I just hope I can fix some of it.

How do you define an asshole?

Someone who can't think about anything or anyone but themselves. You see it most, of course, in Hollywood. People who can't talk about anything but their next picture. Or their women. Or their conquests of women. Hollywood, of course, has a preponderance of assholes. More famous people than not are assholes.

You also write in the book about being a survivor—and about how, right now, your most challenging re-invention of yourself is as a survivor. Tell me about that.

This past year has really been a humbling for me. I think about the generation of people we've lost this year. It's been humbling. And I'm not stupid enough to not know that I'm on the list. I can't make up for all the asshole behavior. I'm just trying desperately to hang on to my true friends. Like Jon Voight. We laugh all the time at how stupid we are.

When you lay in bed at night and think about the people in your life you've lost, who do you miss most?

Dinah (Shore). No question. I miss her a lot.

Tell me what you miss.

Her honesty. Her ability to tell you not to be affected by the bullshit of life and of the business. She was the epitome of class.

What did you learn from her?

How she treated people. She was kind to everyone. And she never let something nag at her or bother her or drag her down.

In your book, you talk a lot about what a mistake it was to marry Loni Anderson. Most men, it seems, at one point in their life, date someone who is "crazy." And some guys don't just date the crazy, they marry the crazy. So, why is it men often times can't see the crazy until it is too late?

Well, crazies are the sexiest. They also have an ability to be really smart. They come after you and give you a "shit or get off the pot" ultimatum. And of course you don't want to lose them because they are so full of life. Or so it seems. At some point, you hear the voice telling you to run.