Ten Questions for Hugh Jackman

The upcoming Prisoners is darker than your usual films. Are you risking your Mr. Nice Guy reputation?
The risk for me is constantly being considered Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Wholesome. Labels are the enemy. I’m particularly drawn to this character, maybe as a parent. I love looking at how people react under almost melodramatically extreme situations. As an actor, that’s the ultimate stretch.

Your character tortures a guy to try to find his kidnapped daughter. Does a similar instinct kick in, say, when photographers follow your family?
With paparazzi, I’m constantly trying to see my kids’ view of the situation — that if I start flipping the bird or throwing punches, how frightening it would be for them. So I’m constantly sitting on it. But am I angry? Yeah. Would I like to handle it differently? Yes.

(VIDEO: Hugh Jackman: My Son Says I’m Not Cool)

You play a survivalist. Do you have that mind-set at all? Stockpile anything?
I’m the opposite. I don’t know if it’s being the youngest of five kids, but I’m famously trusting. And I’m a typical actor: someone picks me up in the morning, they give me something to wear, tell me what to say, feed me and send me home.

No jars of Vegemite?
I do have some Vegemite, and some Tim Tams. But does that classify me as a survivalist or just an aesthete?

As this decent, religious guy who tries to do the right thing but when pushed to the edge does the unthinkable, is your character like the U.S.?
I’m not sure if that ever crossed my mind. But when something traumatic happens, that thing which holds you prisoner, that inner fear, comes out. And that fear dictates your behavior. I suppose what exists in the psyche of the human probably exists in the psyche of communities and nations.

What were you afraid of as a kid?
I was afraid of heights. I was afraid of the dark. If I was the first one home, I would not go into the house till someone else was home. I remember we were in New Zealand and I must have been 10, but I was nervous to go down this slide. That’s when I started to realize that fear holds you back. So I went to the school diving board every lunchtime and jumped off the 1-m [3 ft.] board, the 3-m [10 ft.] board and the 5-m [16 ft.] board to get over it. Now I have no fear, which is probably a bad thing.

Recently you tweeted a picture of yourself lifting what looked like 405 lb. Were you showing off?
It was probably a moment of hubris. It just made me laugh when I saw it — I’m going red as we speak. It’s a dead lift — and for my ego, a little heavier than 405.

The school you went to in Sydney was famous for its bagpipes and kilts. Were you a bagpipes-and-kilts guy?
I wasn’t a bagpipe guy, but I was a kilt guy — and had to endure endless ribbing on the train. Every Friday, if you were in the cadets — the school army — you had to wear the kilt. It wasn’t traditional kilt wearing; there was underwear involved. Just to clear that up for everybody.

What made you think you could be both a badass superhero type and a theater darling?
There’s no luxury of genre in Australia — you have to be versatile, or you don’t pay your rent. But I just overheard Oscar, my son who’s 13, telling a friend, “Enough about my dad, all right? The truth is he’s nothing like Wolverine. He’s not cool, he’s not tough, he’s nothing like that.”

You have a coffee company, Laughing Man. Do you ever go to the café and steam milk?
No, I’m bad at it. I’m allowed to take photos with people. I’m allowed to stand behind [the baristas]. But I’m not allowed to touch the machine.