LONDON ¨C In 1987, when Bruce Springsteen wrote the song ¡°Ain¡¯t Got You,¡± he was the biggest rock star in the world. He had vast estates in New Jersey and Beverly Hills, and he had not long returned from a honeymoon at Gianni Versace¡¯s villa in Lake Como. ¡°Ain¡¯t Got You¡± was Springsteen¡¯s attempt to make a self-aware nod to his outrageous fortune, the Rembrandts on his walls, and how he had come a long way from his working-class upbringing.

Before he released it, Springsteen played ¡°Ain¡¯t Got You¡± to Steve Van Zandt, his best friend since they were teenagers and a key cohort in his E Street Band. Van Zandt was appalled. ¡°I¡¯m, like: ¡®This is bulls¡ª-,¡¯ ¡± he recalled telling Springsteen. ¡± ¡®People don¡¯t need you talking about your life. Nobody gives a s¡ª- about your life. They need you for their lives. That¡¯s your thing.¡¯ ¡±

The argument came back to me as I waited to meet Matt Damon. If Springsteen is the voice of the American heartland, channeling its concerns and its struggles, then Damon is the physical embodiment. In a career that started for most of us in 1997 with ¡°Good Will Hunting,¡± a film that he co-wrote and starred in with his childhood friend Ben Affleck, the 42-year-old actor has specialized in playing the everyman. His most enduring roles ¡ª from the eponymous hero of Steven Spielberg¡¯s ¡°Saving Private Ryan¡± to the ex-CIA assassin with amnesia in three wildly popular Bourne movies ¡ª have traded on his skill to be relatable to a mass audience. And, quite simply, no one does it better: the U.S. business magazine Forbes found in 2007 that for every $1 Damon was paid, his films made $29 of gross income ¡ª the best return in all of Hollywood. He is the all-American movie star.