At an upscale Stratford pizza joint frequented by both town and festival, everybody knows Colm Feore—and that his first name is pronounced “column.” A flame-haired, theatrically painted old lady waves at him from across the room, her charm bracelets dangling from her slender wrists. An evidently prosperous, crewcut retiree stops to chat, and Feore feigns surprise: “You’re here! I guess they must have released you on parole.” The waiter fusses over which is the best, most prominent table to give this local hero, but the actor prefers an inconspicuous one near the corner. After ordering a salade niçoise, he says, “If the acting slows down, maybe I’ll run for mayor.”

Feore has lived here since the early 1980s but hasn’t been a Stratford company member since 1994. This season, he returns to the boards—much to his Los Angeles agents’ chagrin (“They don’t understand why I do this”)—as the star of two plays (Coriolanus and Don Juan) and a musical (Oliver!), the latter directed by his trim, blonde ex-dancer wife, Donna. “It’ll be good to be at home for such a long time,” Feore says, referring to the much renovated Victorian residence in Stratford that he, his wife and three kids share.

His own father—an Irish immigrant doctor who rose to become the head of radiology at Windsor General—hoped to give his son a leg up by sending him to Ridley, the St. Catharines private school. But upon graduating, the football-playing prefect jumped off the straight-and-narrow, heading for Montreal’s National Theatre School. It’s hard now to imagine Feore lacking in confidence, but once, he assures me, he did. Only gradually did he move forward in the troupe at the Stratford festival, breaking out in 1984 with an ascetic Romeo (opposite Seana McKenna), and then following up with a slew of villains, including Iago, Richard III and Cassius. Feore’s species of baddie is cold, clinical and utterly in control—a tidy psychopath who’ll calmly stab you in the front.

After 13 seasons, he left the festival to try his luck onscreen, using as a calling card his performance in the film fest hit Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould. His highbrow training served him well in the often low trenches of the commercial film world. Bad guys are as in demand in movies and television as onstage, and you don’t age out of the roles as quickly as the heroic ones. Feore’s knack for villainy—his hauteur and crystalline diction—have helped him land such roles as Nazi diehard Rudolf Hess in Nuremberg and fire-breathing attorneys in Chicago and The Insider.

Because he wasn’t initially on the star track, Feore doesn’t take his success for granted. He’ll still, time permitting, accept almost any gig; when we met, he’d just voiced 10 Heritage Minutes about Canadian film legends. “I’m always grateful for the work. Also, my 10-year-old has expressed an interest in ear, nose and throat medicine—years of schooling. Let’s just say I’m motivated.” Which may explain his part in the big-budget Vin Diesel sci-fi flick The Chronicles of Riddick. (“As a Shakespearean,” he says, “you learn how to make hard, unnatural-sounding lines seem credible. That’s why a bunch of us [including Linus Roache and Dame Judi Dench] were cast in Riddick. Also, we’re used to big, heavy costumes.”) An avid collector of vintage cameras, he gave himself a Littman 45 as a present for taking the role.