Playboy: Tom Cruise was your co-star in Minority Report. What was he like?
Farrell: Extreme positivity. Tom was fucking great on the set to all the actors, the crew. You know all that bullshit about extras not being allowed to look at him? That's a load of fucking wank. He was generous. Obviously ambitious and very strong and very, very competitive. But really, a very generous fellow.
Playboy: Did you two pal around?
Farrell: I wouldn't have seen that in a million years. I really had a good time with him, but I don't know him. I mean, he's Tom Cruise. He's got so much going on in his life. I never got to have a drink with him, but why the fuck would he?
Playboy: How many of your friends in Ireland asked you if he was gay?
Farrell: Quite a few of them. It was one of the first things that they asked.
Playboy: What'd you tell them?
Farrell: I said, "I don't think so," and I stand by that. Who knows what goes on behind fucking closed doors? But if I were to bet my life on whether he was gay or not, I wouldn't think twice. I would go, "I'll bet my life he's not," and I firmly believe he's not. Look, I've met fucking guys who are straighter than me and tougher than me who suck cock. There's a guy in Dublin who is so effeminate and extremely camp it's hilarious, yet he's a very happy, heterosexual married man with two kids. There's no rhyme or reason to it.
Playboy: You made Hart's War with Bruce Willis in Prague. Is it true Willis seldom knew his lines?
Farrell: He learns them -- he just fucks them up a lot. But that's funny, and you slag him about it. He's just like me. Prague is a mad, mad city. Man, there's fucking darkness to be found in that place. I couldn't wait to get out and I will never go back.
Playboy: You've worked and continue to work with some very big names. If you were having a really bad night, is there anyone you would call?
Farrell: Pacino. I wouldn't think twice about picking up the phone. I shot The Recruit with him in Toronto and sometimes he would have to stay over at the Four Seasons. We'd race out to the fucking bar and have dinner and talk about the scenes, or we'd just shoot the shit. He was fucking great with me -- completely generous, funny and quirky. He's just a fucking genuine dude, and I had all the time in the world for him. He used to call me "Kid," like, "Hey, how you doing, kid?" and I nearly got a fucking boner every time he said it, you know? Moments like sitting at the Four Seasons with Pacino improvising because the scene we're doing the next day isn't as fleshed out as it should be -- that's when I think, How the fuck did I ever get here? Didn't finish school. Was told I'd be fucking nothing. Told in drama school I mumble too much and wouldn't work, and here I'm sitting with Michael Corleone, Scarface. God, that's amazing. I am a lucky little cock.
Playboy: In another one of your new movies, Daredevil, you play the villain Bullseye, a man with deadly aim, to Ben Affleck's blind, acrobatic superhero. How did that go?
Farrell: That was just a case of "Check your subtlety at the door." It's very large, man. I might be ridiculously over-the-top in this one. How could I do character research to play Bullseye? Walk down Third Street in Santa Monica trying to kill people with fucking safety pins? You just have to go for it. Be large and bask in the fact that you're allowed to do it, for once.
Playboy: Any tales of superhero/supervillain bonding between you and Ben Affleck?
Farrell: I only saw him on the set and he's a really lovely fucking dude. I did not get to know him very well at all, but I thought he was dead-on. I did one big fight scene with him and that was good fun. He's a big fucker, as well -- six-foot four or something.
Playboy: Have you ever felt electricity with a female co-star?
Farrell: Bridget Moynahan is an amazing fucking woman. I had a great time working with her on The Recruit -- and I'm not even talking about chemistry, because nothing happened between us and she's been with a dude for four years, happily. She's beautiful, strong as an ox, knows who she is and she's bold as brass -- brazen, yet she's also as fucking soft and sweet as they come. Working with actresses doesn't get much better than the experience I had working with Bridget Moynahan.
Playboy: Which actresses are on your "must work with" list?
Farrell: I love Angelina Jolie's work. I think she has an amazing ability to get under the skin of characters and do her thing. I would love to work with her and, obviously, with Halle Berry, whom I've had a crush on since I was about 12. She seems lovely, a sweet girl.
Playboy: Does she know how you feel about her?
Farrell: I met Halle when I was up in Toronto on the set of X-Men, but I had four cold sores on my lip and felt like a two-year-old. I kept my hand over my mouth, saying, "It was really nice to meet you. Really nice to meet you." Oh, it was terrible. I'm not afraid of telling her. Maybe she reads Playboy. I'm sure her husband does.
Playboy: Clearly you enjoy a good drink. Can you work with a buzz on?
Farrell: I've never had a buzz on and worked. I've dealt with hangovers during work. Bad ones. And I've worked with them. It gives you a little something else to fight against, a little something to play off of. I did a community play once in a park in Sydney, Australia for kids, not a professional theater, and I was stoned out of my head from reefer. I'll never fucking do it again. I was just freaked. I could hear every word coming out of my mouth. I couldn't spit out the words fast enough.
Playboy: Does coke scare you?
Farrell: I wouldn't touch that fucking shit. Cocaine would be the road to ruin for me.
Playboy: Because you'd like it too much?
Farrell: Yeah, I'd get addicted. A great friend of mine in Dublin is a driver on films and all he said to me was, "When you get to Hollywood, if I ever hear you're on that white powder, I'll fucking rip your head off." He's dead right, because he knows I'm as bold as brass.
Playboy: And what about heroin?
Farrell: Heroin's fine in moderation.
Playboy: Is there anything else that scares you?
Farrell: Commercial fucking airplanes. I hate flying. I get sweaty palms, I hear every fucking noise. I usually get out of my head and just go unconscious or start tripping. My sister hates flying with me because I end up doing too much Dramamine or sleeping pills that I mix with booze so I don't know anything that's going on. It's a big fucking train flying through the air and I hate it. I find it the most unnatural fucking thing in the world. [helicopter flies overhead] There's a fucking disaster waiting to happen.
Playboy: What would you be doing right now if you were in Ireland?
Farrell: I'd be drinking pints of Carlsberg. I genuinely miss the normality of going up to the fucking pub at seven or eight every evening, having five or six pints and carrying on the same conversations for 15 fucking years with the same mates, laughing about stupid shit. A lot of people here work their asses off during the week and go fucking bananas on weekends. We work our asses off as well, but every weeknight, we go and have a few pints with a dinner of lasagna or some fucking chips, fucking chicken Kiev or a big steak with some fucking sautéed onions. I miss that, big time.
Playboy: You grew up far from the troubles that have plagued Northern Ireland for so long. Still, you must have taken a stand on the issue.
Farrell: In an ideal world, it would be nice for Ireland to be one country because it's such a pretty fucking island. But I don't live up there, so it's not about me. It was never on my porch, never on my front doorstep. But it would affect you, you know, an inordinate amount because at the end of the day, it's your Ireland, your country, your people, whether they pledge allegiance to the queen or not. They have Northern Irish accents, they're Irish people and they're fucking going bananas on each other.
Playboy: What are your feelings about the IRA?
Farrell: A bunch of fucking scumbags and terrorists -- that's all there is to it. You cannot fucking put a bomb on a crowded street and kill a lot of men, women and children and call your cause just. There is no fucking justification for that. A hit is a different thing. It's still wrong to take another life, but a hit is a decision made to take out one person for a particular reason. I'm not condoning it, but that's much easier to justify than what the IRA has gotten involved in.
Playboy: Would you go to war?
Farrell: If somebody ever harmed any of my family. I would always fight for what I believe in. If I were alive in 1910, I would have been in the bushes with a rifle trying to kick the English out of my country back in the day when we were being suppressed. But as for war, the repercussions are very real. The blood is red and real and doesn't dry as quickly as you might think.
Playboy: What's the best thing about having money?
Farrell: I really don't want that much. A few beers, a packet of smokes and I'm a happy fucking boy. To be able to do that and be able to send my mother this or that or, when she's here, to send her down to a spa for a fucking $400 six hour session of manicures, pedicures, every cure. Oh, fucking man, you cannot get her out of there. She loves it. What else do I need?
Playboy: And if all the jobs, the fame, the opportunities were to end?
Farrell: I love my job and I take it much more serious than I take myself. I think I'll probably want to do this for a long while. But if it were all to end tomorrow, I would go home. I'd write. I'd open a pub called Flagger's, from "Flagge," a nickname one of the lads gave me as a kid. That would be grand. But it's nice to know my level of grandness would be made easier by the amount of money I'd earned in the past few years. If I decide to pack this in, or the opportunity to do this was taken away from me, it's nice to know I have enough money to be sure my kids would have an education. And there would always be a house with food, clothes and central heating. And my beers and smokes. I'd have some great stories, too.