Sober Sex With Colin Farrell

Hellin Kay

By his own admission, getting Colin Farrell on the phone to talk about women is "a recipe for disaster and self-shaming," he says with a laugh. We know what he means. When the Irish actor, 37, first arrived in America 14 years ago, he earned the respect of such A-list directors as Steven Spielberg and Terrence Malick—as well as a distinction for drunken carousing, best summed up by his tabloid nickname, the Lusty Leprechaun. (A sex tape with a Playboy model didn't help. Nor did telling an interviewer, "I come into [L.A.] and bang whoever I can.") Since getting sober eight years ago, this father of two has gained perspective on his libidinous past and emerged as one of the finest actors working today. He was heartbreaking as P. L. Travers' alcoholic father in Saving Mr. Banks, and in Winter's Tale (out now), a sweeping love story about a pull so strong it leads a man to time-travel a hundred years into the future to fulfill his destiny, the very definition of a romantic hero. Though he's cleaned up his act, when it comes to inspiring ardor in his fans, he's still got it.

Would you tell me about an early crush?

I fell deeply in love with Marilyn Monroe—as deep a love as a nine-year-old, delicate heart is capable of.

How were you introduced to her?

It was Some Like It Hot. She was breaking ice with an ice pick and talking about the tenor sax and how she gets goose bumps. There's just this fragility and a need of comfort. It was so apparent in Marilyn that even as a boy I was feeling that hero complex.

Did you ever dig up her nudes?

You know, man, I did. And I felt instantly ashamed. I moved on swiftly to some unnamed, unrecognizable nude.

If I asked all the women you've ever dated to agree on something about you, what would they say?

That the exit is a lot more turbulent than the arrival, unfortunately. Building is always a gentler process than tearing down, it seems.

'Winter's Tale' is a romantic epic. What movie do you find romantic?

The Bridges of Madison County is a fairly moving film: the idea of choosing history over fate, the life that could be lived. Part of her wants to go. And yet you understand she's married to a good man and she has a family that she adores. There's no right answer.

What's the most over-the-top thing you've ever done for a woman?

This isn't a hard-and-fast rule, but sometimes the more money spent, the more it diminishes the true essence of romance.

Okay, then. What's the smallest, most intimate gesture?

I'm just trying to weed out the gold-diggers. [Laughs] I once spent a night with somebody in a ruin of a building in a very faraway land. There was no heat. It was dilapidated—about as unromantic as you could imagine. But we lit a fire and had sleeping bags and wine and a shitty old portable DVD player. The battery died halfway through It's a Wonderful Life. That didn't really matter. It wasn't about getting to the end.

Did you have any memorable nights at the Playboy mansion when you first came to L.A.?

I think I was there twice in my life. For a 23-year-old from Ireland it was a rite of passage. I got to tell the lads and had moments of great boasting. But it kind of came back to haunt me.

Yes, the sex tape. You were offered $5 million for it.

It certainly wasn't a validation of my prowess.

The offer suggests otherwise.

The whole thing was horrifying. You know, Press Record. Taboo. Isn't this interesting. You should have taken the tape with you. I was deposed for four hours explaining why I didn't want it to be released. God forbid it's an On Demand movie in a hotel room and my mother says, "Oh, I haven't seen this work of my son's," and hits purchase.

Once you got sober, were you worried you wouldn't be able to talk
to women?

I worried I wouldn't be able to talk, full stop. I hadn't uttered a word sober in about 15 years.

Did you find it difficult to sleep with a woman sober?

I made love to a woman about two and a half years after I got clean, and it was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. It was in the afternoon. The windows and the curtains were open. It was lovely, and, to be crass, it wasn't fucking. She was very gentle. But it was terrifying. Because I was just used to drunkenness and dark rooms and clubs and toilets and wherever.

Do you believe in monogamy?

I do. Very much. And I've had arguments with friends about this. For me, I don't know if it's possible. I'm not saying it's not possible. I have been
monogamous in relationships. But I'm not in a relationship now. So they haven't worked. So it wouldn't stand up in court.

But you believe in the value of it.

We've all seen people who are 70, 80, 90, who have held each other's hands throughout their lives. But is there a part of man that does want to sow his seed? Absolutely. Does that mean it has to be followed through on? Or does it allow us to ask why and dig a little deeper? I don't know. But I certainly do believe in monogamy. I don't believe that it's for everyone. I don't believe that marriage is for everyone. So much of life is begging to be chosen how it wants to be lived. Much more than most of us realize.