"I've been at Hollywood parties and seen those types," says Brown, "the ones that look all jaded and self-important. I don't want to be like that, ever." Peter Gregoire

By Maggie Haskins

By day he's Regular Rob Brown, just another student-athlete hitting the books and the weight room with his football teammates.

But if you've dropped by a multiplex recently, you may have seen another Rob Brown. This Rob Brown was playing ball on the big screen, going toe-to-toe with Samuel L. Jackson and -- yeah, he's the guy -- making out with Ashanti.

Who is this Rob Brown, you ask? He looks familiar, but you can't quite place him. And that is exactly how he wants it. You think Clark Kent wore those glasses to look trendy? Brown, the 20-year-old leading man of Finding Forrester and, most recently, Coach Carter, is not out flaunting his success at Avalon or Lotus or Marquee; instead he's holed up in his Amherst, Mass., dorm suite with his boys, his Madden, his psych books and maybe a new script to read.

Brown burst onto the Hollywood scene as Finding Forrester's Jamal Wallace, a teenager struggling to fit in at an elite private school. Remarkably, Brown had never acted before, at any level. He attended an open casting call hoping to land a role as an extra to make a little money to pay his cellphone bill, but director Gus Van Sant saw something in the then 16-year-old. "It was instantaneous," Van Sant told Jet in 2001. "We felt it at once. Here was Jamal." After a subsequent reading with costar Sean Connery confirmed Van Sant's instincts, the role was Brown's. Suffice it to say, making your silver screen debut opposite Academy Award winners Connery and Anna Paquin is kind of like taking your first collegiate kickoff 100 yards to the house.

But Brown had some other goals before fully taking on Hollywood. Enter Amherst College. The elite small college (enrollment: 1,600) in rural western Massachusetts presented about as un-Hollywood an environment as possible, which is why the actor chose it. It's the type of place where his peers got the "You're the man now, dawg" out of their system by the end of orientation. Now when Brown enters the dining hall, heads no longer turn. He's "Just Rob."

On an overcast Saturday in early February, "Just Rob" is taking part in a photo shoot outside a building on West 37th Street in Manhattan. Brown, who grew up in New York City, is visiting home for the weekend. He is quiet, humble and easy on the eyes. He is dressed in a black T-shirt and Sean John jeans. A small gold chain hangs from his neck, and two small diamond earrings sit in his ears. There is no entourage. "I don't ever want to be the person who goes, 'Get me a waaaater,'" says Brown, affecting an elitist air. "I've been at Hollywood parties and seen those types, the ones that look all jaded and self-important. I don't want to be like that, ever. Me and my friends usually make fun of those people."

He sounds no different from any other college junior, but there are moments when his alter ego, the Rob Brown with the SAG card, makes an appearance. He becomes animated and almost acts out every story he tells, and it's apparent what Van Sant saw in him five years ago. There's an air about him that screams star. During the photo shoot, for which he dons a Calvin Klein tux, Brown stands on the faux red carpet laughing and joking with extras posed as paparazzi and fans. They are giddy at this brush with fame, even as Brown remains perfectly at ease, riffing with the photographer one minute and nailing his mark the next.

Brown occasionally rubs his shoulders and neck; he just resumed working out for his role as a wide receiver for the Division III Lord Jeffs. Why does he subject himself to such punishment when an easy paycheck is a phone call away? Because he loves the game, the competition, the camaraderie. He acknowledges that he has virtually no shot at the NFL. (Brown saw limited action in his first two seasons and sat out last fall while recovering from surgery on his left foot.) He knows his window of opportunity to play the sport is quickly closing. His eyes brighten when we talk pigskin, especially the Amherst-Williams rivalry, D-III's version of Alabama-Auburn. "You have to be there to understand," he says. "I mean, there are fights in the stands."

Brown plays the part of regular college student well: class at the egregiously early hour of 9, two more at 12:30 and 2, lifting, dinner, kicking it with his teammates or roomies. School is his No. 1 priority. Yes, the psychology major took a semester off last spring to make Coach Carter. But for him to leave school, the film must be something special. He is sent as many as four scripts a month, and they usually get put on the back burner because of his studies. "I never think, I don't want to be here," he says of college.

He does his best to maintain a low profile wherever he is. "He will never use his fame to get things," says his teammate and best friend, Kelvin Coker. "Of course, I use his name to the fullest. If we're hanging out in the city, I'll walk up to some girls and ask if they've seen Finding Forrester or Coach Carter. I point to him and ask the girls if they want to meet up later. I have to do it on the down-low, because he hates it."

There is one perk, though, that Brown would be happy to take advantage of. "I wear Nike, so if I can get Nikes, I'm like, 'O.K., cool,'" he smiles. "But that's probably the most glamorous thing."

Rather than maintain a Hollywood 'tude on campus, Brown brings a collegiate vibe to movie sets. In a scene that was cut from Coach Carter, star Jackson gives the team new jerseys. Before shooting the scene for the first time, Brown and his costars replaced the jerseys with an inflatable woman and condoms. Did Jackson break? Not a chance.

Brown smiles as he tells this story and reflects on his good fortune. Connery called to wish him luck on Coach Carter and to make sure he's still in school. Producer Mike Tollin (Radio, Varsity Blues) praised his intelligence and work ethic. He met Denzel Washington when auditioning for Antwone Fisher. And, of course, he's made out with an Oscar winner (Paquin) and a Grammy winner (Ashanti).

Brown's experience locking lips with the R&B diva is the source of a constant stream of questions. "Her mom was on the set all the time," he says. "I didn't really think about it like that. It's work."

Just like this shoot. But work is almost over. In a few minutes Brown will exit into the Manhattan night. Once again he will become just another college student, this one getting ready to take his mom out for an early Valentine's Day dinner. He will study, play football and wait until he chooses to return to Hollywood.

Issue date: February 24, 2005