Byline: RYAN GILBEY
No one could accuse John Malkovich of not being game. But even those admirers who were surprised when he lent his high-fibre integrity to the lowrent thrills of the action blockbuster Con Air must have been shell-shocked to see him enter the weird world of Being John Malkovich.
For this screwball fantasia, in which characters paid handsomely for 15 minutes inside Malkovich's head, the actor played himself as a pompous creep given to sniffing underwear and putting sleazy moves on unwilling lovers.
It could have destroyed him.
'I did have concerns or preoccupations before committing to that film,' he reflects now, lounging on a hotel sofa in a spotless cream suit and striped shirt, a chic white crocodile-skin case resting beside him. 'I am generally left alone when I'm not working, and I wondered: does …