e’d prefer if your mind wandered elsewhere – to
things sublime, mundane, ridiculous, whatever.
Consider the new, bezel-less iPhone; ponder your
own mortality; think about a new gym regime
that might add some lean muscle to your frame.
It doesn’t particularly matter – just kindly move
your thoughts elsewhere. Grazie.
It doesn’t take particularly long to realise it, but not being noticed is
one of the driving forces in Travis Fimmel’s life. Sometimes, it seems
like his reason for being. It’s why he bought, moved into and started
renovating a ranch outside of Los Angeles. (He tried the Hills,
WeHo, Malibu and Santa
Monica.) It’s why he stopped
going to parties in West
Hollywood and started going
down the road to an RSL-like
venue frequented by Vietnam
vets. It’s why he drives a Chevy
pick-up, not a Maserati (or a
Tesla, if you’re that way inclined).
But here’s the upsetting thing.
Fimmel’s chosen vocation is
wholly built on being noticed;
on being sampled, considered
and propagated to audiences,
then bought, distributed and
translated into audiences even
larger still. Being noticed is
in all of Fimmel’s contracts.
Most upsetting for Fimmel
is that, against all odds, this
farm-raised Victorian is
particularly noticeable. He’s
good looking, he’s fit, and,
above all else, he has that
ethereal quality that feels more
and more difficult for actors-
on-the-make to grasp these
days: presence. It’s why, in the
early aughts, Calvin Klein
decided to do what they’ve
never done before: reportedly
offer an unproven male model
a one year, six-figure, worldwide
deal to model exclusively for
CK. (Klein himself has
described meeting Fimmel for
the first time: “So he walks into
my studio, into my office, and
it was like drop-dead... His
presence was jaw-dropping.
I called Steven Klein right away
and said, ‘Don’t do anything.
Just put him in the underwear
and put him up against the
window’.”) The resultant
underwear billboards gave
Fimmel a decades-longreminder that, in life, some things will follow you forever. That
presence is also why, against every convention of logic and industry,
Fimmel secured a flight to Ireland – and the biggest role of his career,
as stoic Scandi-warrior Ragnar Lothbrok in Vikings – by having
a friend film an audition tape in a farm kitchen.
Here’s the rub – you could spend a thousand pilot seasons with a
thousand actors descending on LA; smoke a thousand confessional
Malboros at Golden Globes after-parties, push veterans and rookies
to reveal their darkest truths, and you’d never find an actor more
reluctant than Travis Fimmel.
We don’t mean reluctant in an, ‘aw, shucks’ kind of way. We don’t
mean faux humility, or even
overachieving insecurity.
This isn’t schtick. This is
entirely serious.
“I just fucking came out
here and tried to do it,” says
the 38-year-old, when asked to
describe the moment he realised
he could be an actor. “I did
a class. I never wanted to be
an actor, ever. I still don’t.”
Happily, things just seem to
be going that way for Fimmel.
Vikings, treasured by critics for
arresting cinematography, purist
character arcs and a refreshing
absence of gratuitous T&A, is
coming into its fifth season. His
upcoming slate of feature films
is stuffed with an abundance of
brilliant co-stars: from Sevigny
to Whitaker to Buscemi.
Fimmel says that none of the
things he dreads most – from
auditions to publicity, much like
this – have begun to feel easier.
“I hate it. Absolutely hate it.
It’s very unrealistic. There’s
people that like to get up and
talk in front of people. I wasn’t
the kid that enjoyed reading
out loud in class,” he says
of casting meetings. “I’ve
walked out halfway through,
embarrassed, plenty of times.
I put myself on video tape.
I can’t remember the last job
I got from actually auditioning.
It’s horrible. Nervous, sweaty,
embarrassed. I feel like a little
monkey. I just panic. I get
out of there.”
His agents, he says, are
understanding about it. They
know him pretty well by now- and they realise, wisely, that
it’s not going to change.
H
“I just fucking came
out here and tried to
do it... I never wanted
to be an actor, ever.
I still don’t.”
164 GQ.COM.AU MEN OF THE YEAR 2017