the natural

Hollywood tried to turn him into a heartthrob, the handsomest of the Chrises. But while everyone was taking him for granted as the likable dude with the thousand-watt smile in franchise fare, Chris Pine was figuring out just what kind of actor n De and man he really wanted to be. Twenty years into his career, at his home, high up in the hills of Los Angeles, Pine ponders the next twenty. But first, a shvitz.

-  ALEX PAPPADEMAS

"OKAY-CEDARWOOD," CHRIS PINE SAYS.

"Here we go. Rosemary."

Monday morning in the hills above Hollywood. We're in Pine's sauna, a cube of wood and glass near the edge of his property. Pinelightly bearded, shock of graying hair, wearing only orange board shorts-is perusing little bottles dripping essential oils into a waist-high chimney topped with hissing hot stones, fine-tuning the vibe.

"Oh, yeah. Enoki leaf," he says. "We'll do that." Pine flicks the thermometer: 120 degrees and rising. He picks up a bundle of leafy twigs-to move the air around, he explains, not the kind you whip yourself with, though he's got one of those, too. He moves the air around. Then he climbs onto the bench next to me and folds himself into an impressively deep yoga squat, ass down by his heels.

The air in my mouth feels like cotton candy. I reach for the insulated water bottle I've been provided "If you taste something in that," Pine says, "I put a bit of barley tea in there." He tried it at a Korean restaurant: now he's into barley tea. It's become part of the overall sauna process. Pine enjoys a process. Making an espresse, building a fire. "I love any sort of ritual," he says. "I can even get into a Catholic Mass because I like the aesthetic. And a sauna is a whole ritual. It's about gifting yourself a period where there's nothing to do other than to purify, to release, to cleanse, to start again."