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Playboy Interview: Colin Farrell
  • April 05, 2009 : 00:04
  • comments

Playboy: Was that the first time that you thought you might have a way with the ladies?

Farrell: I still haven't figured that out. I know I'm a fairly fucking affable bloke and all, but that doesn't always equal charm or a ticket into a woman's pants. Sometimes you just end up being "the nice guy" or "cute." I remember being 14 in summer school and fancying the fuck out of this beautiful blonde bird named Lisa. I looked like I was 12 years old with a baby face. I remember asking one of her mates to put in a good word for me and she came back with, "She thinks you're really cute, but you're just not her type." Fucking bastards. I have never from that day forth felt I had any great understanding of how to charm women or anything like that. But I've done OK.

Playboy: Would you say that you were precocious?

Farrell: I didn't start too early, though I caught up pretty quick. I see no fucking harm at all in people enjoying each other's bodies in a two or three-hour or 20- minute period. Two people in a bathroom in a nightclub when they both know what they're doing and are both fucking enjoying it -- if it's on those terms, even the sleaziness of doing it in a bathroom or someone's hotel room can be one of the funniest things. I've always been a firm believer that casual sex is a fucking good thing. There is far too much fun to be derived from it for it to be anything but good. Just put a fucking hat on.

Playboy: Which you've done ever since the Australian woman who had the 400 condoms?

Farrell: One gets drunk and one is a fucking dickhead from time to time. We all forget. But I try, all the time.

Playboy: If you were to start your own line of condoms, what would you name it?

Farrell: Don't Forget.

Playboy: Is your success rate with women better since you've become well known?

Farrell: It's easier for me to get laid in Los Angeles, for sure. When I first came here three years ago, I put myself up at the Holiday Inn in Santa Monica and used to go on my own each night to the Third Street Promenade. Some nights I'd come home on my own, some nights I would come home with a girl, some nights with a room full of fucking strangers and we'd get pissed and stoned and have a laugh. Those were great times, particularly because anyone who was nice to me or gave me the time of day was doing it because they wanted to. They were either bored or lonely like I was. They laughed at my jokes because they thought I was actually funny. Now the lines are crossed. Are people treating you the way they are because of your name or position, whatever that may be? I'm a good judge of character. I can look into someone's eyes -- I hope I'm not being too naive -- and know if they're a good or bad fucking egg.

Playboy: Have your pickup lines changed much since those Holiday Inn days?

Farrell: I wish I had something like, "Shall I phone you or just nudge you for breakfast in the morning?" That kind of shit. I'm not very good at chatting up or making my way over to someone and going, "Hey." If I'm introduced to someone and the conversation progresses, fine. Next thing, an hour later, I could be saying, "Do you want to go have fucking dinner or drinks or whatever?" I'm a fucking nerd when it comes to that shit, man, like fucking approaching women and stuff. I leave that to my mates.

Playboy: What makes you most aware of the differences between Irish girls and American girls?

Farrell: Fucking Brazilian bikini wax, for a start. I ate a lot of pussy at home, but I never saw a vagina until I came here; they were well covered at home. Girls are not as hugely into grooming at home as they are here, which is not a fucking problem at all -- just different flavors of the same lollipop. In Ireland, there's not so much importance placed on the physical appearance referencing what someone is like as a human being. In Ireland, the birds are all clean -- it's just that a lot of them have big, hairy pussies. In Ireland, we think that to have the prettiest toes in the world and the most beautifully groomed pussy does not an interesting, generous, intelligent person make.

Playboy: Any other major differences?

Farrell: Irish women are very strong compared with American women. A lot of them have tongues like serpents. Irish girls are great fun. They drink all night and fucking get pissed out of their minds. And if they want to have a row with you, they do. There is a good bit of casual sex and the girls are seldom the ones being abused or misused. They're just getting off you what you want to get off them. So I love the fucking society there. A one-night stand did never a bad person make.

Playboy: Do you find American women fascinated by an uncircumcised penis?

Farrell: They are kind of fucking fascinated with a foreskin, aren't they? In Ireland, at birth we don't get the top of our fucking knobs chopped off. I fucking completely disagree with that. People say, "It's much cleaner to have no foreskin." What, have you never heard of a fucking shower? Of Q-Tips? Whatever way you want to do it, just clean the fucking thing. I was at a party with about 20 people, one of them an agent from CAA, when somehow the subject of foreskins came up. She said, "I just don't understand a foreskin. I've never seen one." So I whipped out my dick and said, "Here, that's all it is. A bit of skin." I did a little Puppetry of the Penis thing and showed her what it was about. You would have thought she was at a circus the way she was looking at me.

Playboy: Why do actors and prostitutes seem to make good bedfellows?

Farrell: It's really as fucking simple as sometimes I don't want to go to a bar and get to know someone because I know all I'm looking for is the simple act of sexual intimacy. It's like ordering a fucking pizza. Someone comes around, you spend an hour, you have a smoke with them afterward. It's a harmless interaction. I have never been with a prostitute that I haven't been completely polite to and just treated like a fucking human being. I'm not a great man for degradation.

Playboy: No leather, whips, clamps, chains and dungeons?

Farrell: Not yet, but I'm young. I've got time. I've just got to get that particular phone number.

Playboy: You're not wary of a hooker going straight to the tabloids about you?

Farrell: There is safety in the idea of getting a high-class hooker who's going to keep her fucking mouth shut. You do whatever you want to do behind closed doors, and they don't become involved or embroiled in your personal life. I'm very fucking flippant with all that shit. I could really give a fuck what people say about me. If there were an article about me in the newspaper saying "Irish actor found with prostitute in LA hotel," my mother wouldn't say, "I can't believe you did that." She would say, "Did you pay by check or fucking cash? Is there a paper record?" She knows I'm not a bad fucking guy.

Playboy: In 2001 you and actress Amelia Warner were married for approximately four months. How did that affect you?

Farrell: It was tough. Being in love and then finding yourself not in love as you once were, for me, was a fucking jagged little pill. I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand how I felt different. I'm not going to talk about her, though. Just respect that. Being in love is tough and it's gorgeous and I'd do it all over again.

Playboy: How did Hollywood impress you when you were growing up?

Farrell: I was always influenced by it -- Steve McQueen, Brando, Clift. Ernest Borgnine I've seen in I don't know how many fucking movies. I think I was eight or nine when I had a fucking mad thing for Marilyn Monroe. When I saw her movies, I'd just never seen anything like her. I fell madly in love with her and she was actually the first woman I ever fell in love with. I used to leave Smarties, the Irish equivalent of M&M's, under my pillow with a little note saying, "I know you're dead, but these are very fucking tasty and you should come and have a few. I won't tell anyone." I'd get pissed off every night when I'd go up to bed and the fucking Smarties would still be there. I couldn't figure out why Marilyn didn't just want to take one of my fucking Smarties.

Playboy: Why Marilyn in particular?

Farrell: Even as a kid, you could look at her on-screen, look into her eyes, her face and see how sweet, insecure, gentle, weak and maybe afraid she was of the whole thing while embracing it with big open arms. Mix that up with the boldness, the dirtiness of her character, the hips, the walk on her, that she was the dirtiest fucking ride and had the fragility of a bird with a fucking clipped wing -- I mean, that would break a man's heart every time.

Playboy: Was she a sexual fantasy for you?

Farrell: Did I ever wank to her? Yeah, I would have, but I would usually just fucking whack off to calendar and interviews girls. Marilyn was more a kind of a dream, an idea I would have while lying on my back thinking fucking romantic thoughts. But for wanking material, you'd always go to trashy mags. I used to whack off to Naomi Campbell. I went though a year of where I couldn't get her out of my mind. I'd think of her and just be touching myself.

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