The luck of the Irish hasn't always helped Edward Burns. Sure, the writer, actor, and director bought J.F.K. Jr.'s old loft when he was 32, fresh off the success of The Brothers McMullen and an acting turn in Saving Private Ryan. And then of course he married Christy Turlington three years later, in 2003. But the critics—as one of his blood-runs-green characters might put it—keep busting his chops. "My films don't suck nearly as bad as the Post and the Times would have you believe," the 40-year-old Burns was saying recently in a nasal and, considering the subject, fairly cheerful tone. "None of the New York papers ever give me good reviews. Usually they take care of the hometown boy, but for whatever reason that's not the case. My friend has a theory: 'You know what your problem is? You didn't go to an Ivy League school, your old man's a cop, and therefore they gotta beat the crap out of you.'"

Burns doesn't necessarily agree with this assessment, but 12 years into the business (his latest film, Purple Violets, was released last fall on iTunes, the site's first-ever premiere), the Queens native still projects an unreconstructed Lawn Guyland masculinity: He's the type you can imagine calling a Duane Reade cashier "honey" and getting away with it. "Eddie Burns holds doors, pays for meals, makes you feel important," Selma Blair, who starred in Purple Violets, said recently of his throwback chivalry. His wife concurred. "He's very gregarious, very personable," Turlington said. "He likes to call himself Easy Eddie or Steady Eddie, so that people get that impression from him."

He had just escorted his four-year-old daughter, Grace, (and her pink tricycle festooned with streamers) home, so Burns was now free to park himself at a two-top in a Japanese restaurant and put in an order for 12 pieces of salmon sashimi. He'll opt for model food, but eat a lot. He'll even do model exercise (Christy's yoga classes), but only a little. "Now, I need that beer," he said of the cold Sapporo in front of him. "I've been up since six A.M." Burns and Turlington (that's Turlington Burns, technically) are, for the rarefied circles they move in, surprisingly conservative: practicing Catholics, fire department boosters, regular hosts of a rotating pizza party. Burns recounted meeting his future wife for the first time when she appeared on Entertainment Tonight, where he worked as a production assistant, in the early nineties: "I was the long-haired dirtbag with the black teeth fetching coffee for the cameraman. Needless to say, she did not even give me a second glance."

The two reconnected years later at a party, when Burns, smitten, approached Turlington at the encouragement of a friend—"I probably said something goofy, not suave," he recalled. She confirmed that they were both skittish and awkward: "It was basically back to junior high school." After several weeks, Turlington finally handed over her phone number. "It took some work on my part," Burns said. "I checked my ego at the door." Turlington, wary about conducting a fledgling romance in the public eye, had him escort her to mass for several early dates. "I'm sure he was a little surprised," she said.