Cinema: What's Eating Leonardo DiCaprio?

A giant, hairy man is pushing Leonardo DiCaprio on a cart through a supermarket, and no one is looking. I'm expecting European paparazzi, women with Sharpies offering their decolletage, or at least furtive glances from other shoppers. Nothing. Not even when DiCaprio, wearing a cap and glasses, gets off the cart and awkwardly lifts it over a cereal-aisle blockade. "You see, dawg. I just lifted that cart, dude," he says loudly, bragging about the effects of his new weight-lifting regimen. But nothing happens at the West Hollywood Ralphs branch besides deliberation in the brownie-mix aisle over Ghirardelli's, Hershey's and Duncan Hines'. And a good deal of time spent choosing steaks. And quite a few minutes debating the merits of ginger-ale brands. And waffle mixes. And protein bars. DiCaprio is the Hamlet of Ralphs.

DiCaprio is indecisive about almost everything, including his willingness to shop for food with a reporter. He vetoed taking me to the dentist, thinking it would be too embarrassing. Working out with his personal trainer would display too much complaining. His house in the Hollywood Hills is out. And he's certainly not going to a bar, considering he wants to lose the party-boy image. "Hey, we can go to the movies because, you know, I do movies," he jokes, trying to deconstruct the whole process.

Spying a Ralphs Club discount card peeking from his wallet, I express deep skepticism that he actually uses it. DiCaprio insists he's saved more than $40 with the card but shies away from my challenge to go shopping. "It seems a little forced, like I'm saying, 'Hey, I'm everyguy. I go to Ralphs too.'" He pictures himself in print trying to explain it: "I go to Ralphs often. Do I get recognized? Once in a while. But the groceries still need to be in my home, so I persevere." I offer to pay for all his groceries in a once-off, anything-goes, no-time-limit Supermarket Sweep run. Even though he made $20 million for his new movie, The Beach, DiCaprio finds this impossible to refuse. Still, he is hyper-aware of how this will play out in print: "That should be the title of the piece: 'Leonardo DiCaprio: What's His Beef?' And you'll base the whole article on the type of beef I choose. Skirt steak: the thinnest, unmanliest, most wussy, soft meat you could buy," he says. (See sidebar.)

Only smart guys think this much--it's the John Rockers who speak openly to reporters--and for a guy who left school at 16 to be in movies, DiCaprio is pretty bright. He's also so self-aware, it's paralyzing.