Just on a physical level, that’s impressive. Because, have you seen him? He was always a wrestling, football-playing, towering mass of manliness, but have you seen him lately, after bulking up even more to play the moral centre of Michael Bay’s dark bodybuilding heist movie, Pain & Gain? The dude is huge. It’s not easy to consider guys of his stature—ones so big they are forever shackled to nicknames like Rock, Moose and Tank—“eminently human.” But, somehow Johnson pulls it off.

Ironically, he seems so relatable because, along with inhuman biceps, The Rock has inhuman levels of charisma.

Certainly his facility with humour, classical handsomeness and surprising eloquence don’t hurt. But it’s more than that. He’s a hero who doesn’t pretend. Consider the recent and oft-retweeted picture of Johnson in the hospital, mugging for the camera in a post-surgery gown. Any man who can take three hernial tears with grace and humour is a man you can respect. You want that guy to succeed. And he has.

His success isn’t what’s surprising though. If you followed the guy as a wrestler back in the 90s and early aughts, you knew that he had something. Wrestlers have been called the best one-take actors there are, and yet, very few of them have been able to translate that skill into a film career, despite some horrible tries. The Rock though, he did it. Maybe it’s because his character was less a character, and more a ball of masculine charisma. He was a presence. And somehow that presence translated to the big screen. For The Scorpion King, he earned the highest-ever paycheque for an actor in his first starring role.

Was that a good movie? It was not.  In fact, many of his movies since then have been pretty bad. But that proves our point. The Rock might never become a great actor—though he is definitely improving—and his movies, some of them big and dumb, some of them intentionally so, may never win critical plaudits, but that doesn’t really matter. No other actor could have the career that Johnson has had. No one could manage to surprise us so regularly. No one could do a forgettable G.I. Joe sequel, then earn the brightest praise in an otherwise panned Pain & Gain. No one could move from kid movies, to action, to comedies like he does. No one could survive the professional whiplash and remain so damn likeable.

Only The Rock. His greatest strength is his charm. His big, massive charm. It’ll crush you.

The post Dwayne & Gain appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

He spoke to us because this month his latest book, Flight of the Eagle: A Strategic History of the United States, is being published by Random House. As its title suggests, it’s a review of American History, highlighting how that country became what it is. It’s understandably an epic. And who better to undertake such an unapologetic undertaking than someone like Black who, despite being British and Canadian, somehow represents so much of what makes America what it is: all power, mistakes, intelligence and pride.

The post Conrad Black Is An American Hero appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

Go back in time for a moment to the summer of 2007. As fun as it is to think about it with the irony afforded by hindsight, Iron Man was a gamble. And not just because he was a semi-unknown superhero in a market bogged down with superhero films, but because its star had never carried a blockbuster before. Not really. Robert Downey Jr. had been an actor—an energetic, anarchic, incredibly talented actor—for more than 20 years, but he’d never carried a movie that got made into Big Gulp merchandise. It wasn’t clear if he could do it.

There was no doubt about his talent. The gamble was whether he would do it or whether his old demons would take hold of him at the height of his success and sabotage him (as they did once before), and take Tony Stark down with him.

It all seems a little laughable now. Like it’s silly to talk about Robert Downey Jr.’s bad old days. He’s so completely reborn. He has all the talent everyone always knew he had, without the terror. He’s just pure, unfiltered cinematic energy.

And, sure, we could talk about how he still has some hurdles to clear: the second Iron Man wasn’t as good as the first, and so who knows if the third installment will continue that trend, especially since it’s helmed by a new director. And, sure, success can breed pride, and pride isn’t typically conducive to excellence. But, all those things seem irrelevant when it comes to Robert Downey Jr. The man forged Iron Man out of sheer will and charisma, and appears poised to pick up where he left off.

The post The Invincible Robert Downey Jr. appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

The post A Welcome Introduction: Katie Cassidy appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

As the host of the popular Nerdist podcast, Hardwick has helped push that artform—
the podcast—into a cultural powerhouse. The podcast led to other podcasts that he
produced and a YouTube channel, and coming full circle, television hosting gigs—
this time without any former Playboy bunnies.

But above and before all that, Hardwick was a stand up comedian; a born and bred
comedy nerd. A pretty damn good one, too, as demonstrated by his new special,
Mandroid, which seems him talking about pop culture, his past, and of course, shark
vaginas.

We caught up with him before the release of the special on an awkward conference
call. Awkward both because we could hear the tail end of the interviewer before us,
and because he was about to go the washroom. But, through it all, Hardwick was as
professional as you’d expect.

SHARP: I’ve actually just been listening in on the last interview, too, so you won’t
even get any time to rest at all.

Chris Hardwick: [Laughing] I sleep on planes.

SHARP: You can sleep when you’re dead, man.

CH: Yeah, I can sleep when I’m dead, next week when I’m exhausted.

SHARP: I’m from Toronto, that’s where my magazine is from.

CH: Good town, good town; The Comedy Bar.

SHARP: Yeah, I saw you at The Comedy Bar when you came last year. I’m sure you
remember me. I was the white male that was there.

CH: Oh, you were that guy!

SHARP: While you were working up to Mandroid’s taping you were working on the
road quite a bit. Was there anything that surprised you about
your material and how it works differently in different places? Did any of that affect your end result?

CH: From the time that I started working on all that material to the time I was done,
the main difference was that in the middle of that people started coming to
see me on purpose. I feel like Mandroid sort of rides this line, in my head at least,
between older material that was a little broader for, basically, rednecks that I was
performing for in the middle of the country, versus, ‘oh, people are actually
getting these references now, I’m safe to kind of explore this stuff that I really
want to talk about more.’ So, I think that was kind of the big thing. And now that
I’m getting to start from scratch it’s sort of fun to really ask, ‘what do I want to say?’
And really plan an hour special, as opposed to before, where basically I was taking
a bunch of sets that I had been doing on the road and figuring out how they
were related and then stringing them together.

SHARP: Cool, one of the things that I’ve noticed about The Nerdist podcast and
about show business these days is this new model, and you guys are a great example
of it. You’ve built up Nerdist industries based on the podcast and website, and things
like that. But one of the things I’ve noticed is that the end result is still kind of an
old media thing; a TV show. Take Marc Maron, he does this podcast, and now he’s
getting a show. I wondered if it’s all coming back to the same thing, or if there
really has been sort of this new revolution in pop culture.

CH: No, there has been, but television is still a very important platform, and I
don’t think it’s going to be one or the other, I think they’re going to merge. A
television audience is still fairly substantial. I sort of have an eye on trying to create
programming that would work on digital and on television for the inevitable merge.

SHARP: The singularity.

CH: Yeah, exactly, the media singularity. And I’m certainly not the only one. But
I still think it’s important to be thinking five years down the road with your
programming, and where you’re going, and how it’s all tying together, because you
know eventually everything will merge.

SHARP: How did you develop that brain where you’re obviously very business savvy, and
you seem to really enjoy that part, and then also maintaining this, looking at life
through a comedian’s lens?

CH: I think stand-ups actually are pretty well-equipped for the transition because,
when you think about the way that digital content works, it’s about building
a community and listening to your audience and forming a relationship with
them. That’s what you do as a comic. It’s not that different, it’s just a different
expression of content than telling jokes. As far as the business stuff, I just look at
it all as kind of a resource building game. I always compare it to Sim City or
Warcraft: you build up a little area and then that sort of starts running itself, and you
build up another area, and then that starts running itself, and then you can connect
those things. I mean, honestly, the whole thing feels like a giant expression of a
video game to me, and I think that’s what I love about it.

SHARP: One of the things that you are sort of known for is being a nice person.

CH: Fuck you.

SHARP: Yeah, that’s what I was hoping to get. Now, I’m blowing this story wide open.

CH: [Laughing] Fuck you says Chris Hardwick. I just said that to a kid in the audience
last night at one of the shows, because he was just 19 and I was like, ‘fuck you.’ He
was like, ‘why would you say ‘fuck you?’ I was like, ‘oh I’m just jealous that you’re
19.’

SHARP: I like how he asks, ‘why, did I do…did I do something wrong?’

CH: Yeah you did something wrong! You were born nineteen years ago and not 35
years ago!

SHARP: But does your kindness set you apart in the many different businesses that you
run in? Or, is it all just an act?

CH: I don’t think so. Having worked in the business for as long as I have, I just see
people get treated like shit, or made to feel like what they like isn’t okay. I, as a
person whose done a lot of radio interviews, I felt like, ‘wow, I didn’t really matter to them at all. I was just killing time for
them and they didn’t listen, and they were kind of rude. I think I just feel like people
should be treated like humans, you know?

SHARP: Weird.

CH: And I also feel like there’s a certain level of compassion that we as a culture have
kind of let go because, again, we are so used to interfacing with machines that we
forget that there are human beings on the other side of those machines, so people
are shittier than they would be if they were face to face with someone. And so, I
just, I don’t know, I guess I just feel like there’s enough cynicism and shitiness in the
world, so why not be nice to people?

The post Sharp Takes On Chris Hardwick appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

The post A Welcome Introduction: Kristen Hager appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

Now, the esteemed interviewer is letting people learn a little bit more about who that is. 1982, his first foray into creative non-fiction, is about Ghomeshi at 14, before he was so smooth, back when he was just a kid trying to win over an older girl, who reminded him of David Bowie. “I think with this book it’s so painfully confessional,” he says. “I put on purple eyeliner, I go to school, I get made fun of, I take off the purple eyeliner, I struggle with trying to be new wave. I don’t think I will be able to hide.” And so, the interviewer becomes the interviewee.

I haven’t read the book, obviously.

It’s shitty. A kid wants to be Bowie, fails.

I usually assume going into any interview that whatever they’re promoting is shitty.

“Lower your expectations, even lower than they are.”

So why did you decide to write this kind of memoir?

I had been approached about writing a book by different publishers and I had a real resistance to writing one of those ‘womb to tomb,’ books: ‘I was born and then I did this and that’s how I got to CBC,’ and a picture of me in a suit on the cover, smiling.

Standing in the Q, or something like that?

Exactly, exactly, like From A to Q.

That’s even better.

But the ‘A’ is ‘eh’.

When I was 14, I had a very specific set of people that I gravitated to; it was usually rock stars with huge egos. What was it about new wave that little Jian was like, ‘that’s what I want to be?’

What new wave represented at the time was the counter culture, counter sexual ideas, androgyny, the outsider, and at the pinnacle of that was Bowie. I mean, Bowie would go on to be quite mainstream. But for most of the 70s and into the 80s, despite his fame, he represented all the outsiders. He was the messiah to the little monsters a couple generations before the current one, who sort of owes all of that to him, as far as I’m concerned. So, as somebody who felt—I mean didn’t have this all figured out at the time—but as somebody who felt like I didn’t fit in, and desperately wanted to, Bowie represented a symbol of success without having to conform. The problem was I was born in Ontario, and I was a Middle Eastern kid with a big nose, so trying to be a skinny, white rock n’ roll hero who was a heroine addict was not as easy as it would have been to be aspiring to be a 15-year-old suburban kid with a big nose.

In adolescence, one of the major things people latch onto to define themselves is music. Why do you think that is?

I wouldn’t do all the things I do, both musically and as a supporter of music, if I didn’t believe that it had some magical qualities. Some say that no matter what music you discover through your whole life, you will always think the best music is the music from when you were in your late teens. So that’s why Boomers are like, ‘no, it’s the Beach Boys, it’s the Stones,’ and Gen Xers like me might point to someone like Bowie. And your generation might be like, ‘One Direction forever!’

Thank you for lumping me in with that,

I think there is something that happens on a creative level that can come from music, but I also think that music has become so intertwined at the top levels of our cultural identification. I mean, there’s TV, there’s video games, with what do we self define? Our musical heroes have become that. It was always thus, but more so with the advent of rock n’ roll as a popular music. Pop music in its own nature is considered a youthful genre, so it becomes intertwined with the teenage experience.”

Is it still possible to be a fan of artists now that you meet them so often?

I think on the one hand I’m much more aware that these people who may have been superheroes in my eyes are just normal people. They talk, and they eat cheese, and they have frustrations, and they shit. In the book, there is this whole thing about how I camped out with my friend Toke when Rush were rehearsing for a tour, and we sat there for weeks waiting to meet them, and two days ago I had them in my studio for an hour. In a sense, these guys are just human beings. Some of the stars in one’s eyes begin to ebb. But on the other hand, my fanboy side has almost been amplified by what I do. I’ll love people for what they do creatively, and then they’ll turn out to be incredible humans who have amazing things to say. Guillermo Del Toro was in the studio a couple weeks ago. He makes great films, but I realized just how awesome, accessible, and interesting a guy he is: this creative mind you just want to ask about anything—that made me more of a fan. I like the idea of fandom. I like the idea of getting excited about and celebrating role models.”

So, you still have that capacity to be surprised?

Yes. When I do the interviews, I’m genuinely interested and I think that helps. If you were more interested in me, this would be a better interview. Instead of faking it.

That actually brings up a point. I feel like the role of memoirist and the role of interviewer are connected: in both you have to be able to hone in on what’s interesting about the subject. Are you able to have that same critical eye, when you’re turning it on yourself?

No, absolutely not. I have to rely on other people. When I’m doing interviews—not that I don’t have an incredible team around me at Q—I have an intuitive sense. An interview will end and I’ll go, ‘that went really well’. Whereas with my own work there wasn’t a day where I wouldn’t finish a few words, or a chapter and wonder, ‘is this just shit? Is anybody going to care?’ I would have been worried about that, if I hadn’t spoken to hundreds of writers on my show that said the same thing. Great writers who kind of go, ‘I never know if the next thing is any good.’ Except for maybe Stephen King; he’s the one who said, ‘I now know when I’m writing something good.

The other day I was talking to this actress, and I could tell as I was asking her questions, she was trying to figure out my angle. How do you get past that in interviews? Or how do you get past the self-consciousness yourself when you’re writing?

“The great thing about writing a book is you can create whatever you want; it’s not an interview. I sort of found the voice and identity of me in the book. I have a vision and version of who I was at 14 that would be very different from my own self-identity at 14. And it may be different 15 years from now again. But in interviews, I find that I will generally be on a ‘message’ track. If you were to ask me five questions that were written on that page: what’s the book about; what were you like when you were 14 blah blah blah, I would probably be telling you the same things I’m going to be telling everybody on this book tour. It’s incumbent upon the interviewer to inspire the interviewee to take them places where they’ll have the energy to give you something new.”

Nowadays, interview podcasts are getting more and more popular. Some are worthwhile, others…

It’s like blogs. It’s like digital photos. Everybody thinks they can be a journalist, and in a lot of cases they can, but content and quality is king. It’s very interesting for me to be on this side of the interview at this point. I was the interviewee for 10 years when I was in [Moxy Früvous], but I haven’t really been for the last little while. The quality of the interviews varies massively: between someone who blows me away, getting me to think about things about myself that I never thought of, to somebody who clearly hasn’t done any homework. That to me is the bottom line. There is no free pass to doing a great interview. But, there is a tremendous power in being the interviewee; I only wish I was exercising it right now.”

The post A Man Worth Listening To appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

That sounds disparaging. Maybe a better word is committed. Or energetic. Or, actually, what’s wrong with being zany? It doesn’t have to mean cheap, or childish, or hacky. Because Martin Short is none of those things. He’s a legend, not just in this country—where he is now a judge on Canada’s Got Talent—but everywhere.

He’s a character actor who has earned praise for his comedy. He’s earned high praise for his drama, too, but he’s not begging people to take him seriously. “Quite honestly I’ve got a lot of respect from doing what I’ve done,” he says. And, it’s true. We’ve respected him since his Ed Grimley days.

Congratulations on being a man worth listening to.

Thank you so much. It’s high time.

What was it about Canada’s Got Talent that made you want to be a part of it?

I knew it wasn’t going to be a kind of mean-spirited, humiliation: a let’s-humiliate-the-poor-kids-who-are-auditioning-type-show. When I was a kid I grew up with Ed Sullivan, and variety shows where you would see a series of different acts. It always interested me. I get tired with a show that has twelve singers, but I never get tired if there is a singer followed by a guy twirling buzzsaws.

I never think of it as a descendant of the variety show; I always think of it first as a competition.

I don’t really. It’s a showcase for talent that doesn’t get a showcase. There was an era, for example, in the early seventies, just pre-Saturday Night Live, when if Johnny Carson didn’t book you, you weren’t on television. Joni Mitchell didn’t go to Woodstock because she got a chance to be on the Dick Cavett show. When you think of some of the acts on Canada’s Got Talent, where would you see them on television? To me, the contest is just the fun part.

Has the way to “make it” fundamentally changed?

It’s hard to know, because you only know your career. I started in Toronto. It wasn’t like I was going to New York City and saying, ‘Here I am!’ It seemed like the pond was smaller. You knew everyone, and you’d go to auditions and see people you recognized, the same actors. It seemed gentler, but maybe that’s me remembering something the way it wasn’t.

I think there is this sense that there used to be a more authentic route to getting known.

Certainly one thing that has changed from when I was 24 years old, as a Toronto actor, is everyone who was working and got work was hugely talented. Big talents. Some people who were certainly more talented than I didn’t have the luck of a show that showed them off. We’re now in an era where you can be hugely successful simply based on being a housewife or a party girl or party boy. That didn’t exist.

You’re a character actor. Are you playing a character while you are a judge?

I think it’s pretty close to me. It’s an entertainment show, though. If you go on Letterman, you don’t do the same interview you’d do with Charlie Rose. You try to be an upbeat version of yourself. I try to be as understanding as I can be. I don’t think we’re solving the problem of Afghanistan or climate change; I think it’s an entertainment show, it’s light and it shouldn’t make anyone feel like, ‘I want to jump off a bridge because I didn’t succeed in it.’

That would be a good talent, though, fixing Afghanistan.

I would vote for that.

You’re a parent; do you see a lot of stage parenting in Canada’s Got Talent?

You see the occasional one, especially when a 10-year-old comes out and sings Like a Virgin or something. But you’d have to be backstage to really see which ones are the classic pushy ones, and which ones are the supportive ones.

Did you push your children in any specific direction?

I think if you spent your life acting, you aren’t hoping to hear your kid say, ‘I want to be an actor!’ Forgetting talent, you know the thick skin you have to have, and the endurance. It’s a miracle you can pay the rent for a year, let alone many years. Frank Sinatra said that his dad was always there to piss on his dreams, so you can’t be that guy, either. You just have to be encouraging and happy when they say they want to go into social work.

Do you feel the same way about the thick skin of the contestants?

No. I don’t know the contestants. I have enough to worry about. It’s up to them to figure this out. If they can’t handle the rejection, they should not be pursuing it. I’ve been in this a long time, and the only thing you learn is that you have to treat it like a business.

The post A Man Worth Listening To: Martin Short appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

Who’s Fighting?

Yes, every sport is made up of individuals with their own narratives—it’s why you hate Tim Tebow—but with a combat sport like MMA, knowing each fighter’s background will help you know what’s going on. In the early days, the UFC used to pit wildly mismatched fighters (boxers vs. ninjas!) against each other, and even five years ago, fighters would have predominant styles. Now, styles have evened out, says Hominick. Still, a kid with a wrestling background is going to fight differently than someone coming from kickboxing. Plus, the more familiar you are with fighters, the more you care who gets bloodied. Want proof? Look no further than last year’s tragically underrated MMA flick Warrior.

What ’s Happening when the fighters are on their feet (even if they aren’t punching?)

“There is a lot more at play,” says Hominick. “If you think you’re going to see a boxing fight or a kickboxing bout, there are a lot more threats.” Yes, a good striker will be looking to throw a knockout punch, but it’s just as likely a fighter is looking for an opening to take his opponent to the ground. And when they do clinch up, the action hasn’t stopped. “In other sports like boxing, they’ll go up in the clinch and take a break,” he says. “But in a clinch, there’s a lot of work to be done. There are opportunities in every area of the bout.”

What is happening on the ground?

At about the time when the fight goes to ground is when a lot of MMA newbies lose interest. It’s all so much messy roughhousing until one brute gets on top of the other and pummels him into submission (this, incidentally, is referred to as the “Ground and Pound”). But it’s more nuanced than that. “Even the guy on the bottom has opportunities. There are submissions that both guys can be going for. They are both being offensive and defensive at the same time,” says Hominick. Look for fighters reaching for arms, legs, and of, course, necks. And if the bottom’s legs are around the top’s torso, he’s got more control than you’d think.

From a poetic stand point

Even if, after understanding what’s happening, you don’t care for the violence, it’s still worth appreciating MMA for the sheer poetic physicality of the sport. Athletes from hockey to football line up to train with MMA fighters, because they are the toughest SOBs around. You can’t help but appreciate people who, better than most of us, have pushed their bodies to perfection. It’s a window into why humanity climbed to the top of the food chain.

The post How to Appreciate Mixed Martial Arts appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.

Justin Timberlake is No Ordinary Man

Justin Timberlake is no ordinary human. I know, for I have met him. And yet, having done so, I can also say that Justin Timberlake is entirely ordinary. He is a man, and nothing more.

It’s a paradox of almost religious proportions. And it’s the mystery behind one of the biggest pop-cultural miracles of our time: Justin Timberlake has stayed relevant years longer than he had any right to, because he has changed the genetic makeup of his fans. Girls into men, water into wine. Like the loaves and fishes. Worlds without end. But how was it done?

When the Gospel writers tackled the life of Jesus, they dropped the narrative thread after little Jesus chatted up some rabbis when he was 12 years old. They picked it up again when JC was in his 30s. That didn’t happen for Justin Timberlake, we saw every step he took, from boy to man.

And yet, Timberlake has moved so far beyond any other personality he came up with—his *NSYNC band mates, other boy bands, even Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera—that it feels sacrilegious to discuss him in that context. He’s made real music. He’s done real acting, real comedy, and, it would seem by his brand extensions, he’s become the kind of man other men want to be associated with.

But the point is, like everyone else in my generation, I witnessed each step of his transformation. And yet, it’s been so complete, so authentic, so subtle, that it’s hard to square the Justin of today whom I admire for his talent, success, charisma and impending marriage to Jessica Biel, with the curlicued pop dreamboat of old. So, when the opportunity came to meet him, I vowed to investigate this miracle.

The Hour I First Believed

Some background: As a man coming of age during the late nineties—the boom time for boy bands—it was impossible for me to have anything but disdain for Timberlake and the men with whom he was perpetually in sync. It wasn’t until later that I became a believer.

In 2002, he wrote and sang lead on “Gone,” a soul-aching ballad that made the other dudes in the band seem like little more than session singers, while JT sounded like the heir to Michael Jackson. While Timberlake was always the standout in the group, after “Gone” it was clear that he would one day eclipse them all.

A year after that, while under a religiously imposed two-year sabbatical from secular music, I heard he was making a solo record. My brother-in-law happened to be a VP of marketing at Sony at the time. He told me the record was the most exciting thing he’d ever worked on. (He didn’t say the same thing about the offering from Justin’s Backstreet counterpart, Nick Carter).

After two years of nothing but hymns and sermons, Justified was the first bit of music I bought. It changed my life. I was converted, whole-heartedly.

The Pilgrimage

“Behold, should you not praise them who did carry you unto Justin? For did you not fly on the wings of their generosity and marketing savvy, unto New York? Yea, and did they not give you all manner of things, yea, did they not feed you, even wine and meats, and give you shelter in SoHo. Did they not give you scented waters, infused with Amyris wood and citrus, yea even Givenchy Play Sport? And what is more, was not Justin seated before you? And did you not speak unto him?” The Book of Timberlake 3:12

I get talk to Justin Timberlake because he is the face of Givenchy’s new fragrance Play Sport, and Givenchy (understandably) wants people to know this.  I consider all this serendipity—a capitalistic miracle that will allow me, a Timberlake proselyte, to finally understand the Mystery of Justin.

Once, as it happens, I sat in the same chair that Justin sat in the week before. Stupid as it was, I felt the frisson of theoretical proximity. That was more than four years ago, when Timberlake was mostly just a pop star. The depth of the Timberlake’s transformation has only deepened since then. He’s not only a dude who’s album I had made out to (tell me you haven’t), he’s become one of those charming, omni-present personalities you’d hate out of jealousy, if you didn’t respect him so much. You can imagine the nervousness I felt knowing I was about to shake his hand.

He looks like he could be a young rabbi. His usually manicured facial scruff has grown into a full beard, and he’s wearing a black fedora and dark-framed eyeglasses. I’m completely underdressed in my blazer, tie and jeans. He’s wearing a three-piece suit. His tie is blue. I sit down across from him. He’s leafing through a coffee table book someone has given him about the best golf courses in the world—it’s a passion of his (golf, not the coffee table book). He runs a celebrity golf tournament, owns a course. Nearby, a publicist starts a stopwatch. It’s a blessing to talk with him one on one, but that blessing has a time limit.
I ask about the book. “I probably golf more than I should,” he says, then clarifies, seeing an opportunity for charm, “I should be better than I am, for as much as I golf. And in that respect, I golf more than I should.”

A confession: unfairly hoping for special treatment—more time with Timberlake, or more honesty—the first few minutes with Timberlake are wasted trying to create a personal six degrees of separation with him, via my brother-in-law at Sony. It doesn’t work. A diligent seeker would have dove right into the Mystery of Justin, but I had personal questions that only he could settle.

Then: I ask him the secret, the Mystery—How has he stayed relevant? He answers: “Sexual favours, probably.”

We both acknowledge the joke in that way men do. Then he continues, “I would say, honestly man, when I was young, I don’t think I ever really wanted to be one thing. I find that with a lot of people from our generation; I think it’s even more so with the generation behind us, and the one behind that.”

He says, for instance, that when he was young he was sure he was going to be a sitcom actor, or a cast member on SNL. “The irony is I had to become a musician to become funny in people’s eyes. You never know where things are going to go. I think the fact that I’ve never wanted to be one thing, that I always went in thinking I’m going to evolve and change has helped.”

“And to be honest with you,” he continues, “I’ve been pretty lucky. I would attribute a lot of luck to it. Probably sheer ignorance as well.”

Ah, I think. Mystery solved.

He Who Has Ears, Let Him Hear.

“And whatsoever ye shall ask, if it be relevant, and if it be according to the pre-arranged details which thou has discussed with my publicist, behold, I shall answer thee. And behold, there is not a question that I have not received, nor are there answers to all questions. Nevertheless, thou shalt ponder the answers I shall give thee.” The Book of Timberlake 4:23

Only, the mystery isn’t solved, is it? He sounds down to earth, humbled by his opportunity and good fortune. He’s normal, except he’s not.

Ponder: Like a regular person, he has more than one talent and interest. And the degree with which his talent affects his profession changes with his focus and opportunity. But unlike a regular person, Timberlake has an incredible amount of luck—audiences willing to embrace nearly every thing he does (a few straight to DVD releases notwithstanding).

On the other hand, a regular person might have many interests, but only excel at one—and even then, it’s qualified. No so for Timberlake. He seems to have copious talent in every field he’s interested in (music especially, but he was damn good in The Social Network, and charming as hell in Friends With Benefits, wasn’t he?) So much so, that it calls into question the role of luck.

So, what does that mean for those who want to understand Justin Timberlake, or who want to walk in his footsteps? Do they work to increase their talent, or their luck? We return to the paradox. He’s a regular man, and he’s more.

“It really is crazy and weird, and like I said, my ignorance has a lot to do with it, because honestly, I’m not the most confident person in the world. If I had to look back on the things that I tried, I probably wouldn’t have the balls to try them now.”

“Like what?” I ask him.

“Look, I’m glad I did it, but the first two times I hosted SNL, I was the host and the musical guest, because I was like, why not? There are things that you try on the show that you just don’t know any better. You have to have the level of comfort where you are willing to try things in front of people. I’m a firm believer that moments happen because there was a clash of extenuating circumstances.”

“But, to answer your question, I have no idea.”

That brings up something, doesn’t it? If he’s being honest—and I think he is, to the extent any person can be honest with the fifth or sixth stranger they have been forced to talk to in the last two hours—he doesn’t quite know how he’s maintained his success. Ignorance like that could either fuel the kind of career-killing over-confidence seen by any number of personalities looking to add a ‘slash’ to their job title, or it could cause some serious anxiety when undertaking a new project.

“I wouldn’t call it fear, but there is always a level of excitement and nervousness because you are trying something new,” he says. He’s feeling it right now. He’s making a film with the Coen Brothers, playing a folk singer in the 1960s. “It’s the first time that I’m doing real, not joking, music in a movie.” A blending of his talents, sure, but it doesn’t guarantee success. Just as his first solo album wasn’t necessarily going to be a sure thing (remember that Nick Carter album?), and just like his first forays into movies weren’t universally praised (remember 2005’s Edison Force?).

Knowing your luck and knowing your skill doesn’t grant you special knowledge of your future.

In The Name of Justin Timberlake…

“For, lo, I am Timberlake, and there is nothing that I cannot do.” Book of Timberlake 5:4

I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. Asking to know how someone has stayed relevant is like asking an artist where they get their ideas—it’s impossible to answer accurately. “I more closely fit society’s definition of attractiveness,” he could have said. Or, “I have artistic sensibilities that preternaturally conform with the tastes of a greater number of people,” and, “Also, I’m just more likeable than most of my contemporaries.” But even those wouldn’t have answered the question.

But still, after the interview, I traveled back down to my hotel room disappointed. I wanted more, even if I didn’t know what exactly it was.

Which, if you want to know, is where this whole religious element comes in. There’s an entitlement to journalists—and their readers—that mirrors the entitlement of the religious seeker. “Ask, and it shall be given,” God apparently said. And so, the believer asks and asks and asks, waiting for wisdom and blessings and who knows what else. But it turns out there’s a difference between a star and a deity. In so many ways, we worship Justin Timberlake, singer, actor, men’s fragrance pitchperson, but he doesn’t have to answer just because I knocked, especially since Justin Timberlake, regular person, might not know the answer. It turns out the Mystery of Justin is a mystery even to Justin.

The post The Book of Timberlake appeared first on Sharp - Canada's Magazine for Men.