We
have a theory that Chris Hemsworth is Hollywood's leading man,
literally. Maybe it's his Australian-ness. Maybe it's his hobbies
(surfing, boxing). Maybe it's that he plays a Norse god, complete with
godlike biceps. So we put him through a barrage of questions and
challenges designed to ascertain exactly how manly Hemsworth really is.
And it turns out we were right—but not for all the reasons we thought
Hollywood
likes to build up its leading men as paragons of badass virility. But
let’s be honest: Playing manly and being manly are hardly the same
thing. We’ve seen Johnny Depp infiltrate the Mafia and handle a tommy
gun, but I wouldn’t trust the guy to jump my car. And then you have
Chris Hemsworth.
We all know the Flan-Haired One came to fame as a stoic alpha-god in Thor. Even in his artistic breakout—in Rush—he
was a hard-drinking, model-shagging Formula One racer. And with a
packed slate of starring roles in 2015, from playing the world’s
toughest hacker in this month’s Blackhat to reprising his role as the God of Hair and Hammer in Avengers: Age of Ultron this May, Hemsworth isn’t letting off the gas.
But
he might be more rugged in real life. He grew up scrapping with two
brothers (the actors Liam, younger, and Luke, elder) and guided by a
father who once raced motorbikes and wrangled buffalo. He surfs and bos
and knows Muay Thai. Plus he’s from Australia, birthplace of Paul Hogan
and a billion deadly animals and a version of football that makes ours
look like a cuddle puddle.
And so we wondered, is Hemsworth the rare Hollywood leading man who is actually more robust, more manly
in reality than the characters he plays? That’s why, when I meet him in
Los Angeles, I arrive armed with the JUST HOW MANLY ARE YOU, CHRIS
HEMSWORTH, QUIZ-CHALLENGE , a series of questions and physical trials
that Hemsworth has no clue he’s about to be put through. Let’s begin.
Hemsworth
is an outdoorsy guy. Normally he’d be out surfing—and I’d ask to tag
along for this piece—but since the Malibu coastline is glass-flat this
week, he has another suggestion: What if we go mountain biking instead?
This
is an excellent idea that frightens the hell out of me. I realize that
mountain biking with Thor is a good story, one that very possibly ends
with "...and that’s how Chris Hemsworth set my shattered fibula."
Nevertheless, I meet Hemsworth at 8:30 A.M. on a Saturday at his friend
Matt’s place so we can borrow some bikes.
It’s
nice—a large wood-and-stone house in Pacific Palisades. Hemsworth
greets me enthusiastically at the door like I’m a friend: casual, quick
to laugh, welcoming. Australian, basically. He fills the doorway. I had
hoped he’d be one of these made-by-Marvel guys who come out of a
six-month gym overhaul jacked for the camera, only to deflate to human
size afterward (until the sequel, anyway). But I can see why
six-foot-three Hemsworth, even in sneakers, shorts, and a loose white
V-neck, was tapped to play a Norse god.
I
follow Hemsworth inside, through the living room, into the kitchen, and
it’s only then that I realize I’m standing in Matt Damon’s house. The
giveaway is Matt Damon, perched on a countertop in his kitchen, sipping
coffee as his family buzzes around. Despite the thirteen-year age
difference, Hemsworth and Damon are tight—like,
annual-family-trip-to-Costa-Rica tight. "We became friends around the
time I started to work, and I’ve really benefited from watching how he
handles himself," says Hemsworth. "Matt’s just a normal guy who has the
movie-star thing figured out." And now Matt is our bike guy.
Damon
leads us out to the garage and starts gearing us up—checking brakes,
squeezing tires, inspecting helmets for structural integrity. When I
mention I forgot my shades, Damon bounds upstairs and comes back with
two pairs, just so I have options. When I voice my fears about keeping
up with Hemsworth, he tells me not to worry. "I’m not sending you guys
on anything too crazy," he says. "Obviously, be a little careful up
there. I broke my clavicle on the same trail a few months ago." Thanks
for the reassurance, Matt Damon.
He
ticks off a few from a life spent surfing, dirt biking, and
roughhousing with his brothers. "All pretty boring," says Hemsworth with
manly modesty. Then he remembers one that’s not so boring, flipping
over his left palm. "See this tiny little scar?" he asks, grinning. "I
got this when I was 6 or 7, living in the Northern Territory."
Hemsworth
spent most of his childhood in Melbourne, where his mom taught school
and his dad worked in child-protection services. But on a couple of
separate occasions, his father moved the whole family up to the Northern
Territory—the Outback—so he could work the cattle ranches, culling
buffalo from grazing land. "It was a way for the family to save money,"
says Hemsworth, who went to a largely Aboriginal school. "Remote as you
can get, the nearest town a five- or six-hour drive over dirt roads."
On
one such sojourn, young Hemsworth decided to buy a knife. A big knife.
An unnecessarily, absurdly large knife. "I remember the sales guy
asking, ’Well, what’re you gonna use that for?’ I said, ’Fishing?’ And
that was the security test. Later, I went snorkeling in this swimming
hole. Thought I stabbed a fish, but I stabbed myself in the hand
instead. I still have a vivid memory of what that felt like. It wasn’t
alarmingly bad, but it was like, ’Oh, wow. I’ve just done something
here.’ "
Having
a family, Hemsworth says. Though he doesn’t mean settling down. That
part, getting hitched four years ago to Spanish actress Elsa Pataky (of
the Fast Furious franchise), held no anxiety. He’d already
exorcised the playboy shenanigans from his system, he says. "The fame,
the parties, the women—I did that stuff back home, when I was on the
show," Hemsworth explains, referring to his three years on the Aussie
soap Home and Away. It’s huge there: been on for twenty-seven
years, launched the careers of Heath Ledger and Naomi Watts. "I got away
with a lot more over there," he says. "Then I came here"—to film 2010’s
Ca$h—"and sort of started over."
A
shared dialect coach introduced Hemsworth to Pataky; nine months later,
he popped the question, sort of. "We did it all backwards—agreed to get
married before I actually proposed." So even that part wasn’t scary.
Having kids, though—he has a 2 1/2-year-old daughter and 9-monthold
twins—that scared him. "Just not screwing it up," he says, revealing the
first sign of being a good father: worrying about whether you’re a good
father.
"I’m good, man. Depends on how messy it is. Sometimes you gotta give ’em a hose-down."
We’re
two minutes into the bike ride, with Damon in his Tesla sedan leading
us to the trailhead, driving silently alongside as we pedal. He leans
his head out the window. "You guys bring water? I totally forgot to get
you some water."
"I would have been okay if you hadn’t said water,"
replies Hemsworth. "Now I’m dying of thirst." We arrive at Will Rogers
State Historic Park, and Hemsworth thanks Damon for the navigation. "If
we’re not back at your place in two hours, call the paramedics," he
says.
We
start up the trail. Quickly I realize that I’d been so worried about
wiping out going downhill that I forgot to prepare for collapsing on an
uphill. We’re facing a big climb. I know I’m in trouble when I look to
my right and see Hemsworth is already sweating. Nothing "too crazy," my
ass.
Hemsworth
is keenly aware that his bio—the bush life, the surfing, the
buffalo-hunting dad—make his upbringing sound "like I tick every box on
the Crocodile Dundee form." He thinks it makes him seem more macho than
he really is. That said: "Kangaroo. Absolutely. It would kick you in the
face. A lot. They lean back on their tails and double-kick. That’s how
they fight each other in the wild."
He’s not a Method guy. His philosophy, cribbed from Anthony Hopkins on the set of Thor, is "Don’t bring it home. Don’t even bring it to the makeup trailer." That’s not to say he hasn’t endured some intense physical prep, most recently limiting himself to 500 calories a day on the set of Ron Howard’s upcoming whaling saga, In the Heart of the Sea,
to achieve that emaciated castaway look. But the craziest thing
Hemsworth’s done to get into character was sit in Michael Mann’s office
and learn to type. For ten weeks.
It was for this month’s Blackhat,
a cyber-crime thriller directed by Mann. Hemsworth plays the most
ripped, ass-kicking-est hacker since, well, ever, released from jail in
order to help the FBI track down a cyber-sociopath. Mann enlisted a
UCLA-based hacking expert to show Hemsworth how to code.
First, though,
the expert had to teach him to type, since Hemsworth was strictly a
hunt-and-peck guy. "It reminded me of being back in school," he says. He
hated school. "But it was Mann’s suggestion, so I wasn’t going to not do it."
"Two
or three weeks ago," says Hemsworth. "I repaired a little tree house."
This was for his daughter, on the grounds of their new home: a reported
$7 million eight-bedroom seaside estate overlooking the Brita-clear
waters of Byron Bay, on Australia’s east coast. That’s where Hemsworth
tightened gaps in a tree-house rope bridge so his daughter wouldn’t fall
through. DIY runs in his blood—his father built several of Hemsworth’s
childhood houses—but it’s diluted. "I’ll go, ’We don’t need to call
anyone; I’ll do it,’ " says Hemsworth. "And I’ll do a shit job—like, the
Homer Simpson version—and then I’ll call someone else to redo it. My
desire is more powerful than my talent."
The Shawshank Redemption, The Big Lebowski, Reservoir Dogs, Mad Max, the late films of Liam Neeson, The Notebook.
"Shawshank, Mad Max, Reservoir Dogs, Big Lebowski, The Notebook, then Liam," says Hemsworth. "Nothing against Liam. I love Liam—I just haven’t seen his late films." He didn’t hate The Notebook,
either. "It was solid. I need to do a romance, something where I’m not
swinging a weapon and beating someone up." Hemsworth did just finish his
first comedy, with a small part as a "Texas weatherman cheeseball" in
October’s Vacation sequel, which stars Ed Helms as a grown-up Rusty. It’s Hemsworth’s first shot at improv.
"I
haven’t been that nervous in a long time," he says. "But very quickly I
realized, this is fun. There was no ego. Every day we’d be on set,
laughing. I’m like, ’Are you kidding me? Why wouldn’t I do more of
this?’ "
The
question isn’t so much asked as acted out, back during our
mountain-bike excursion. We’re still chugging up that hill, probably
about ten minutes into the ride. It’s getting hotter. I look over at
Hemsworth, sweating hard, too, and I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking
the same thing: Matt Damon really fucked us on those waters.
Then I catch a lucky break: Hemsworth’s pedal snaps off.
We
decide we should at least try to fix the thing. We find a wrench in one
of those dangly under-seat stash packs, and Hemsworth gets to work,
kneeling in the dirt on the side of the trail, trying his damnedest to
re-attach the pedal.
Hikers
pass. Mountain bikers. A group of teens being led on a nature walk. No
one recognizes Hemsworth or stops to ask if we need help. Seems that in
the realm of the Pacific Palisades, mortals let the gods handle their
own misfortunes. After about ten minutes, Hemsworth declares the pedal’s
time of death. "You wanna get some breakfast?" he asks. "Maybe find a
diner?"
Hemsworth
does a lot of boxing and some Muay Thai, mostly for the cardio. (He
hates running.) "But I’ve been in situations where I’m fucking angry,
and drunk, and I think, ’This is the perfect time to punch the wall.’
But then there’s this practical side of me that’s like, ’Well, hang on
now, pick a soft spot. Don’t know if there’s a beam under here.’ So I
think the last thing I punched was probably the pads."
Hemsworth
and his two brothers are tight, their age differences serving as a
natural—if not gentle—Hollywood mentoring program. Luke is 34, Chris is
31, and Liam is 24. Luke is the most recent Hollywood transplant, having
moved his family from Melbourne last year. Liam has been in L.A.
nearly
as long as Chris—originally flown in by Marvel to screen-test for the
role of Thor. He didn’t get the gig, obviously, but has managed to
console himself with a starring role in the Hunger Games saga, a (now broken) engagement to Miley Cyrus, and legit teen-heartthrob status.
"I’ve
watched Liam do things I did at his age, like being in relationships he
shouldn’t be in, or being reckless just to prove a point. And I had no
empathy. My mom had to remind me I was the same way." In his defense
Hemsworth says he got plenty of shit from Luke when he was starting
out—and that it may have saved his career.
"Back
when I was still on the soap, I became incredibly insecure and full of
anxiety because I didn’t know if I was any good. Yet I wanted it so bad.
I spent years being angsty, constantly telling people I wasn’t just
part of a soap opera, that I was a real artist. And I remember Luke sort
of snapping, telling me to shut up, that he was sick of hearing it." He
credits Luke for pulling him out of his head and making him a less
self-conscious actor. That, and Dancing with the Stars.
Hemsworth competed on the Aussie version in 2006, finishing fifth.
"After that show, I could never pull the serious, self-important card
again."
Vodka-soda.
"I was out in Australia recently and someone was like, ’Please tell me
when you want a real drink.’ I was just like, ’Oh, shut up. Really?’ "
This one should be a cinch. The whole cast of In the Heart of the Sea underwent a month of nautical training. Everyone except Hemsworth, who was shooting Blackhat. Ironically, Hemsworth plays first mate Owen Chase, the most gifted, able-bodied sailor on the Essex (a.k.a. the real-life whaling vessel that inspired Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick).
"There are plenty of scenes with me just wrapping rope around my hand
to look like I’m busy," he says. "It’s smoke and mirrors."
After
one too many bush-league maritime gaffes on set, Hemsworth felt he had
something to prove. When time came to shoot one of the movie’s most
waterlogged scenes—in which Hemsworth’s whaleboat is flipped and
submerged—he declined his stunt captain’s advice to use nose plugs.
"This was in front of a few people. I was like, ’No, dude, I’ve surfed
my whole life. I can do this,’ " he says. "I get out there, and it
wasn’t fine. It was so much water up my nose that I was choking. But I
couldn’t say, ’Oh, you were right,’ because I’d already made a thing of
it. So I suffered through a number of takes, upside down, basically
being waterboarded."
"Depends
what you mean by a ’selfie,’" says Hemsworth. "Can a selfie contain
multiple selves?" He avoids the solo shot: "a little indulgent." But
being asked to pose for pictures by an onslaught of fans is a job hazard
that’s forced him to develop a technique.
"People
don’t know how to use their cameras, so I end up going, ’Here, mate,
let me do it.’ So, yeah, I know how to take a selfie for that reason.
Efficiency. Otherwise, I’d lose a few years of my life while people
figure it out." That patent-pending Hemsworth method: "On the iPhone,
use the volume button on the side, as opposed to awkwardly reaching
around to tap the front of the screen."
"I wear a wig," he says, conceding defeat.
A more apt question, in my opinion: Who’s more of a mensch? That’s a tough one to answer.
We
never get to that diner. Damon won’t hear of it, insisting we have
breakfast at his place instead. He brews some coffee (well, puts pods
into a machine, the Hollywood version of brewing coffee) while Hemsworth
makes pancakes. He plates two for me and two for himself. Damon
passes—he’s drinking a shake to drop weight for a Ridley Scott movie
that has him trapped on Mars.
"Pretty
good, right?" Hemsworth says, digging into the pancakes. "Not burnt,
not mushy in the center." Though I get the sense that if I said that I
liked mushy in the center, he’d make it happen, no problem.
"Today
started with me introducing you to my friend, then a bike ride, then
cooking you pancakes," Hemsworth says. "I think this is the most
romantic interview I’ve ever done." Man enough to admit it, gentleman
enough to pull it off.
