Adam Driver, the most debatably hot leading man in Hollywood right now, is the source material for a profile in The New Yorker. Given his status as a star of blockbusters (Kylo Ren in the Star Wars franchise) and weird, unexpected indie flicks, Broadway plays, and dark family comedies, he’s clearly a figure worthy of such an article. I, however, did not expect it to make me feel so insane.
Sure, I knew Driver to be a reserved, skyscraper of a man before reading this. He was a Marine. (To the Marines reading this, I know you’re once a Marine, always a Marine.) Many people think he is hot. Many also think he looks like Dumbo. We all must agree, however, that he is a wild man. Here a few nutty moments:
- When Driver reveals that there wasn’t much to do in his childhood home of Mishawaka, Indiana, so he and his friends would just start fires. (“’Leaves. Clothes. Tires. Things like that, that you have to really douse,’ he said.)
- When Driver reveals his preparation process before a play, which involves sticking his full head under a running faucet
- When Driver asks the reporter to explain “toxic masculinity”
- When Driver reveals his life at Julliard (“Driver would run five miles to school every day,” the writer Michael Schulman notes. “He did pushups by the hundreds in the hallways and ate six eggs for breakfast (minus four of the yolks) and an entire chicken, from Balducci’s, for lunch.”)
- When Driver returned to his barracks at Marine Corps basic training after a disastrous exercise involving white phosphorus, he decided he wanted to dedicate his life to two things: becoming an actor and smoking cigarettes
- When he admits a love of Danish-modern chairs
- When he imagined the audience in a play to be his character’s dead brother in order to get into his role
There’s more. Read the full profile here.