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This month he plays the cynical, debonair thief-turned-spy Napoleon Solo in ) as ascetic Soviet hardman Illya Kuryakin, Cavill’s Napoleon is a scoundrel with style.
Forget truth, justice, and the American way – Solo is out for himself.
But you’re always aware that you’ll have to eat less and start breathing more in order to show the muscles and the striations. That’s the less-fun part.” A lower caloric intake can also affect your moods.
Cavill has to be aware of his temper and tries not to snap at people on the set.
Give him a target date and a reasonable amount of time and he’ll get himself where he has to be. “But otherwise I’m going to enjoy my life.” Whether he’ll be allowed to is another matter. His dedication to these characters would warm the heart of any comics geek. All I can do is keep my fingers crossed that the big cheeses at the top care as much about the character as I do.” In the meantime, Cavill has his freedom, including the ability to work around in relative anonymity.
“They’re the mythological heroes of our day,” Cavill says, “and I want to help tell their stories for as long I can.” He seems almost territorial over the is a very good writer. “I can still go out and get shit-faced if I want to,” he says, clearly enjoying the thought.
“I wanted to do right by everyone and follow the rules. He was desperate to leave for boarding school like his brothers, but when he arrived at Stowe, he found that all the groups and cliques had already formed. Plus, the ripped action hero of the future had another problem: He was fat. If I’d gone to Hollywood without having been hurt on a daily basis at school, perhaps I would have been a little less ready for it.” There was one moment at Stowe that changed everything for Cavill, and it’s so unbelievable it would strain the credibility of even the sappiest of biopics.
More specifically, I’m having a proper British pint, a golden, glistening glass whose shimmering depths promise all the glory of that most fleeting of moments: the English summertime. We’re sitting in the sweltering beer garden of a pub in leafy Twickenham – near where England’s national team plays rugby union, the bone-crunching football-with-no-helmets battle royale often described as “a hooligan’s game played by gentlemen” — and 32-year-old Henry Cavill is drinking his second pint of pilsner top (a pilsner with a dash of lemonade) and radiating contentment. “If I suggested to an American journalist that we do an interview over a beer,” says Cavill, “they’d find it very weird.” (Full disclosure: I am also British.) Beer, wooden tables, small dogs.