Forget the 1992 Oscar nomination for Chaplin and the 2000 Golden Globe for his supporting part on Ally McBeal. Ignore, for just a moment, his first leading role in The Singing Detective. On this autumn morning, Robert Downey Jr. is savoring something completely unrelated to his turbulent career. The actor is simply thankful that he's "at the Regency Hotel, and not hung over and trying to hook up with the three most deviant of my peers." Downey, 38, has reason to be appreciative. "I'm doing great. I'm showing up for stuff," he says. "I don't have to prove myself to anyone or do anything, and it's not even like my attitude is that different. I'm unencumbered by the most glaring of my character defects."

His missteps have been exhaustively documented, starting with Downey's first marijuana puff as a kid. "In the counterculture of the jailhouse world, they'd say if someone's acting like they're doing one thing while they're doing another, (it's called) running drag, like a drag strip," Downey says as he lights the first of many cigarettes. "I was running drag for a long time."

Today, you see the other Downey, the animated, affectionate charmer who takes vitamins, drinks tea and laughs at himself. He goes to therapy religiously. He meditates. He has a photo of his girlfriend, film producer Susan Levin, taped to the back of his cell phone. He's thrilled about flying home to Los Angeles and going on a weekend school camping trip with his son, Indio, 10. "When I'm taking care of myself I'm a great dad," says Downey, who's separated from Indio's mother, Deborah Falconer. "And I'm not a great dad because I'm looking for brownie points. I enjoy it. It's good for me. And I experience huge (amounts) of healing. He and I, we have a thing going on." These days, so does Downey.

Spend just five minutes with Robert Downey Jr. and you'll understand why the actor has so many pals rooting for him. When the guy's on, he's on fire. Downey, 38, pulsates with more energy than a Britney Spears video. He rubs his palms together. He rolls the oversized cuffs of his striped Paul Smith shirt up, then back down, then up again. He runs his hands through his unstyled, nearly black hair. He unpacks his little grooming kit, filled with Chinese herbs, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and explains just how his priorities have shifted. "Right now, I'm primarily concerned with my true self. And my gal. And my kid. And his mom. And my family. What I'm doing careerwise is becoming more and more and more important, but it's still not in the ballpark."

Still, Downey is back in the game. The Singing Detective, which he shot in 35 days last spring, has him singing and dancing when he's not dealing with a chronic skin disease. His pal and Singing Detective producer Mel Gibson brought the project to him, persuaded him to do it and served as his personal cheerleader. "Gibson was always like, 'I believe in you, man, you're gonna get through this,'" Downey says. "And I was like, 'Yeah!'" The cynical among us could shrug and say we've heard it all a million times. But this time, Downey means business. "All that stuff before, where part of the game was the 'I promise,' it was all kids' stuff," he acknowledges. "All 'cry wolf' stuff. It wasn't important to me to change. But I'm into this."

This includes workshops on Chinese herbs and meridian therapy, or acupressure. The high school dropout reads books on Eastern philosophy. "I'm interested in medicine," he says. "Not my old medicine but actual medicine." Downey, those around him say, has grown up. Katie Holmes, who worked with him on 2000's Wonder Boys and Singing Detective, says he's "lovable and funny, but wiser." Absolutely, Detective director Keith Gordon agrees. He first met Downey while co-starring in the 1986 comedy Back to School, and recalls that Downey was "like an energetic puppy. He was a wacky kid." He's still fun, "but he's very self-reflective now. He's one of the most lovable people you'll ever meet. You want to mother and father him. He broadcasts a certain amount of innate goodness, and he's sweet and vulnerable."

Downey is pleased with his new movie, sores and all, but puffs up with paternal pride when bragging about the athletic achievements of his son, Indio, 10. Downey married Indio's mother, Deborah Falconer, in May 1992, and the two split up in April 1996. Now, Downey takes his son to school, goes on camping trips and screams at soccer matches. "He's the star of his team. If you think it's a big deal to him, you should see when I need to practically be escorted off the field by law enforcement."

Downey's drug busts have been so unremittingly publicized that hiding his past from his son is hardly a viable option. Downey says Indio "understands it well enough to be unencumbered by it. I grew up really quick, and I wouldn't condemn it, nor recommend it, but my childhood is not Indio's childhood, and that comforts the hell out of me." His girlfriend, Susan Levin, a producer who met Downey while he was shooting Gothika, makes sure he goes to therapy and calls him when he's done. "She has a real life, and she's really organized," he says. "It's really cool."