THE SUPERSTAR Jackie Chan ---------------------------------------------------------------------- LIGHTS! CAMERA! OUCH! Jackie Chan has suffered cuts, bruises, fractures and multiple concussions to stay at the top of Asia's cinematic firmament. Several times he has nearly died. "I've broken bones from my skull to my toes," says the 41-year-old action star with a shrug and a slight twitch of that unmistakable pug nose. "But broken legs and fingers don't matter. I hurt for a few weeks or months, but my films give people memories that can keep for a hundred years." Indeed they do, and in the process Chan has created a new movie form. His films are not merely kung-fu kick-em-ups. He has added a unique blend of humor and humanity that makes him the appealing Asian everyman. Through his clean-living characters, he offers a role model to the region's kids wholly in keeping with Asian values. Not long ago he turned down a major part in Black Rain, a Hollywood picture starring Michael Douglas, because he would have had to be the villain. As all his fans know, Jackie never plays the bad guy. Off-screen, too, he cultivates his modest, guy-next-door image, and it seems more than skin deep. He readily admits past failures, such as his unsuccessful run at Hollywood. And while his Chinese stage name "Seng Loong" means "to become a dragon," he's happy to tell you that his favorite film is the decidedly un-macho Sound of Music. Seng Loong began life as Chan Kwong Sang, who at six was enrolled in a Beijing Opera school in Hong Kong. His parents worked as cook and maid in the American Embassy in Canberra, Australia, and couldn't keep young Jackie with them. The dilapidated boarding school in the Tsimshatsui tourist belt became home for Chan for ten years. He learned the basics: tumbling, falling, acrobatic fighting. "They taught everything," he recalls. "But the training was hard, from five o'clock in the morning to midnight sometimes." A movie director who came to the school looking for a child actor saved Chan from all that. Then eight, the boy took to the actor's life immediately. It meant he could sleep in and go to bed early. "I always liked the movies," Chan says. His teachers encouraged his career, with the result that he never got much formal education. As a young man, Chan thought of working as a stuntman and, if he could make it, a kung-fu movie director. Instead he developed into the most famous martial-arts star since Bruce Lee and, arguably, Asia's biggest-ever film phenomenon. FOLLOWING IN LEE'S FOOTSTEPS WASN'T EASY, says Chan. The Dragon's reputation soared partly because of his early death. Chan had to make his own mark. "If I did things Bruce Lee-style -- punching and kicking -- there would have been no way for me to succeed. Instead, I mixed action with comedy. I looked at Lee's films. When he kicks high, I kick low. I put more expression in my face. And I added humor." It was a shrewd move. Where Lee was intense, with his piercing, demonic eyes and quick, deliberate moves, Chan became an average guy with soft, rounded features, a mop hairstyle and a somewhat goofy expression. His stunts were plausible, not staged. "What I do is real action that a human being can do," says Chan. He does it all himself, no matter the danger. Half mockingly, he says that compared to the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone, who both use stand-ins, he's the real tough guy. "They can't even do my simplest stunt." Chan had his own brush with Hollywood more than a dozen years ago, playing a Japanese racing car driver in the unremarkable Cannonball Run series with Roger Moore and Burt Reynolds. Never able to go beyond B-movie blandness, Chan decided to come back to Asia. Unlike his Hollywood counterparts, he has been recognized for his acting by his industry peers, twice winning Taiwan's prestigious Golden Horse Best Actor award for his roles in Supercop and Crime Story. Chan guards his privacy, refusing to discuss his home life, his never-documented marriage to Taiwan actress Lin Fung-chiao, his reputed relationships with other female stars, or even how many children he has. By way of explanation, he says that once, after he confirmed he was dating someone, two ardent followers tried to kill themselves. "I would rather keep my fans happy." For the same reason, he keeps his films wholesome. He doesn't do love scenes. And even when he gets the girl, nobody is quite sure what happens. Success has, of course, made Chan a wealthy man. But thanks to sponsors for everything from what he wears to what he eats, "I really don't have to buy anything." Instead, mindful of his own past, he plows money into a foundation that sends needy kids to school. He is still a hot box-office draw -- last year's Rumble in the Bronx did well in cinemas worldwide, including the U.S. and, in a first for Chan's films, 50 cities across China. But he is well aware that every time he breaks a bone it takes a little longer to mend. "I'm not young anymore," he says. Within four years, he expects to take the final leap behind the cameras. He will work mainly as a director, but his key function is sure to be dreaming up and coordinating those amazing stunts that, hey, anyone can do.