И какая это была бы гармоничная пара...
увы))) не сложилось.
а потому радуемся обещанному семейному фотосету для журнала Town & Country.
Mr. Nice Guy
From a mutant hermit to a song-and-dance man, Hugh Jackman can nail any role. As a husband, father, and philanthropist, he takes being a box-office superhero to another level.
By Kevin Conley October 2013
Hugh Jackman and Deborra-Lee Furness met for the first time, in 1995 in Melbourne, on the set of the TV drama Correlli, she was the star playing the title character and Jackman was the novice, hired to play her love interest less than an hour after graduating from the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts, in Perth. Right from the start the producers liked what they saw. At 26, tall and slim, with a rangy prettiness, Jackman played a feral sort, a convict beaten senseless in police custody, and Furness, then 39, played the prison psychologist battling her own attraction as she nursed him back to health.
You can see their first kiss online: The six-foot-two Jackman corners Furness in a prison hallway, blocking her exit and taking her breath away with a kiss that combines menace and unhurried sexual electricity. The difference in age didn't seem to get in their way. The producers told her, “We’re really happy with your chemistry.” She told them she'd keep working on that.
The couple have clearly told their story before. Over a leisurely lunch three days before the premiere of Jackman's sixth outing as Wolverine— the immortal X-Men mutant with the adamantium claws—in a restaurant nine stories below their Manhattan river-view apartment, Hugh and Deb happily recall the cat-and-mouse game of their mutual seduction: how Jackman suddenly stopped talking to her on set; how Furness, who is blonde, bluff, and quick to laugh, called him on his crazy behavior; how, by way of explanation, he waved her off, embarrassed about falling for the leading lady on his first professional job, confessing his attraction to her at the same instant he was saying he'd get over it; how she responded to the confession by saying, Yeah, she was falling for him too.
All happily married couples have a story like this, one they tell over and over, in fast and slow versions, surprising each other with a favorite detail, reviving a stretch of familiar patter with a vivid turn just rediscovered this time through. “So, I decided, I won't ask her to marry me for six months,” Jackman said, recounting how he fought his natural decisiveness to avoid coming on too strong and making a fool of himself. “Then after four months I thought, That's the most ridiculous rule!” This time he skips the part where he buys the rose gold wedding ring, invites her on a walk in the park, and proposes in front of the schoolgirls who happen to be standing near the table he has set up with flowers, everything all ready in advance, and the schoolgirls can't resist asking her too: So, what is your answer?
Instead, Jackman stops, allowing himself a mischievous gleam that doesn't go with the grave Martin Van Buren–style muttonchops he grows every time he plays Wolverine. “And it gets better every year,” Furness says, with a fond look of her own. “And here we are, 18 years. Is it 18?”
It certainly got better last year. Jackman made $55 million over the past 12 months, more than any other actor on the planet during that span except Robert Downey Jr. and Channing Tatum. He was nominated for an Oscar for best actor for his performance in Les Misérables. (He lost to Daniel Day-Lewis but won a Golden Globe.) He signed on for a seventh go at Wolverine, a record for an actor as a franchise superhero and a testament to his box office muscle. He played another character with Oscar potential, the dark antihero in Prisoners, which opens September 20.
But not every year has been such an epic win. In 1999, when Jackman and Furness moved to Los Angeles, they said encouraging things on Aussie TV about Jackman’s Hollywood prospects. He had just signed with Creative Artists, and he wanted to try his luck in the capital city of film. The interviews were accurate. But their real motivation was more urgent and intimate: The couple, who’d always wanted to have kids of their own and adopt too, had suffered setbacks conceiving. They didn’t want to add to their stress by having to endure a protracted Australian adoption. As Furness says, the adoption process in Australia can take from five to 10 years and is in deep need of reform.
It all proved much easier in the U.S. And on May 15, 2000, they got the break they had come here for: Both Hugh and Deb were standing by in the delivery room at the birth of their son. Exactly two months after that, as they were adjusting to the sleep-deprived joys of life with a newborn, the one big acting job Jackman had landed in Hollywood, playing the reluctant superhero Wolverine, hit the screen and cleared $54 million in its opening weekend, changing forever his ability to duck into a deli for a bagel.
The list of Aussies who had made it big in the states was short—Olivia Newton-John, the Bee Gees, Nicole Kidman, that guy who played Agent Smith in The Matrix, Russell Crowe, Cate Blanchett, the Wiggles—and Jackman’s inexorable ascent to the Hollywood A-list was big news back home. But Jackman and Furness’s consistent activism on behalf of adoption (they added another child, daughter Ava, in 2005) has probably had a bigger impact on couples in their country.
Adoption is a fraught topic for Australians. In 1901 the government passed a number of Jim Crow–style measures now referred to as the “White Australia policy.” One involved dispossessing native Australian families of their children, under the Orwellian-sounding Aborigines Protection Amending Act, which resulted in a “stolen generation” of children ripped from their families and raised in missions or as wards of the state. The practice persisted until around 1970—and the country’s prime minister didn’t apologize for the program until 2008—so taboos and recriminations have lingered, leading to a regulatory mess that has led countless couples deep into heartache.
As a child growing up in Melbourne, Furness dreamed of becoming a lawyer to fight injustice. Since she became a parent, adoption, along with related issues such as orphaned or abandoned children, has become the outlet for all her “passion and impetus.” She created National Adoption Awareness Week (and as its founder has addressed Parliament) and sits on the board of Worldwide Orphans in Australia. "I'm working with Americans to create an international campaign to shine a light on the fact that there are 153 million orphans in the world,” she says. “If that were a country, it would be the ninth-largest in the world, just ahead of Russia.”
For the next few weeks, in a switch from their usual division of labor, Jackman is taking care of the kids on set, and she’s heading off with Bill Clinton’s Global Initiative to investigate adoption policies and the condition of orphan refugees in six African countries.
During a break in our conversation, as the waiter explains the niceties of one of the day’s specials to Furness, Jackman quietly hums a snatch of song in his baritone purr. Since he burst onto the scene in 2000, he has split his time between Hollywood and Broadway. Onstage he has hosted the Tonys and won one, too. On film he has spent more time topless than Kate Winslet. It’s clear he owes nothing to trick photography; even at lunch Hugh is unmistakably jacked. He has rolled up the sleeves of his olive Henley, and the veins on his forearms bulge, the effects of a morning workout on his studiously low body fat. When it comes to ordering, People's former Sexiest Man Alive (2008) follows his wife’s example and goes for the slow-cooked arctic char.
He sheds all this muscle seemingly on cue—going from ripped comic book hero to lithe song-and-dance man like some cross-fit Stanislavski. Somehow, the humming fits his disciplined regimen—a few sotto voce moments of vocal technique, a few more seconds logged by a hardworking actor on his way to 10,000 hours. Such steady practice turned his natural rugby growl into the rafter-shaking range he displayed as Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. (At his first professional audition for a musical, for Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, he sang “Stars” from Les Miz, and the director told him, “Well, you can throw that one away. You’ll never be in that musical.” Then he gave him the lead anyway.) But the hummed riff also fits with what Jim Mangold, the director of The Wolverine (which was rounding $350 million worldwide as we went to press), considers his essential quality. “There’s a joy to being with him,” Mangold says. “With many actors of his magnitude of stardom, there can be an aspect of their existence that’s royal and apart. But that's not the way with Hugh. He’s got an exuberance and unguardedness, and he talks to everybody on set. He loves life and is really grateful for the one that’s been granted to him.”
It’s easy to be cynical about nice celebrities, but let’s roll the tape here, this one from Oscar night: Jennifer Lawrence, rushing up to accept her award for best actress, trips over the flouncy corolla of her Dior dress and falls on her face. The entire audience at the Dolby Theatre freezes—except for Hugh Jack- man, who leaps up and offers Lawrence a hand. (Bradley Cooper follows suit, but Lawrence is on her feet by now.)
Perhaps it was such instinctive niceness, combined with Jackman's Broadway chops and, weirdly enough, the total lack of actual evidence, that fueled rumors that the happily married actor and devoted father was gay. His Tony-winning turn as the loose-limbed sexual metamorph and piano man Peter Allen in The Boy from Oz added an element of wish fulfillment. “People who knew Peter would come up to us on the street and get emotional,” Furness says, “because they felt as if they had him back for a minute. And it seemed as though the entire world knew him. Everyone was like, “Oh, me and Peter—”
To this day, they’re all like, ‘I slept with him!’” Jackman joins in. “And all I want to say is, ‘You’re not the only one, pal!’ Girls, guys, everyone! I’d say that’s happened at least 100 times.”
Allen died in 1992, at the age of 48, of AIDS, and during his stint playing the crooner Jackman raised phenomenal amounts of cash through impromptu auctions for the Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS charity, selling his sweaty undershirts and gold lamé belts at the end of shows for anywhere from $5,000 to $25,000 each.
“It’s because you get them so excited,” Furness says.
“I'd sell my soul for a good cause.”
“He’d be a great auctioneer, if the acting doesn’t pan out.”
Jackman and Furness have more than just actorly patter in common: Both were raised by single accountants. Hugh’s dad was a partner in Price Waterhouse Australia. As the only child of a powerful woman, Furness grew up thinking women were the world’s dominant force, and it shows. As one of five kids, Jackman’s life ran by a strict chore rotation schedule. He too is still reaping the benefits. The differing family setups—Deb’s mom couldn’t say no to her precious singleton; Hugh’s dad was tight-fisted with his unruly brood about everything except education—left them with opposite and complementary traits: She’s quick to celebrate; he keeps her grounded. But they also share a tendency to think long-term, with a faith that small, steady improvements can lead to global change.
“My dad’s main client was the World Bank,” Jackman says, “and he spent most of his time traveling to Third World countries. His particular interest lay in the eradication of poverty through development and business.” Furness says he’s his father’s son in that regard—a “secret economist,” according to her—and he always has some treatise by Jeffrey Sachs or Mohammed Yunus on his nightstand. It was Yunus, the Bangladeshi banker who won the Nobel Prize for his pioneering work in microcredit, who suggested that Jackman capitalize on his high profile by founding a social business, Paul Newman–style. This led to Laughing Man coffee (motto: “All Be Happy”), which does business in fair trade coffee, tea, and chocolate, with all profits going to charity. Jackman helps guide the money to such funds as World Vision and Global Poverty Project, which is led by a young Aussie, Hugh Evans.
When I express skepticism at the idea of chocolate eradicating poverty, Jackman gets excited, even a little intense. I can practically hear the snikt of the Wolverine’s claws. “In our generation people said the same thing. But this is our version of slavery. And since the United Nations’ Millennium Development Goals were set, in the last 13 years extreme poverty is close to half what it used to be.” Jackman sounds very reasonable on the subject, so much so that he soon has me convinced that ending world poverty is an attainable goal.
In his next movie, the harrowing Prisoners, Jackman plays a father who takes matters into his own hands when his daughter is kidnapped. The movie has an all-star cast: Viola Davis, Paul Dano, Jake Gyllenhaal, Terrence Howard, Maria Bello. And it quickly subverts its Liam Neeson–y plot. Jackman, as a woodsy contractor scraping by in hard-times America, gives vent to shattering spasms of underclass rage. Gyllenhaal, as the wary detective on the case, is the object of many of these rages. Even with that adversarial setup—he called their scenes “cage matches”—Gyllenhaal walked away from the experience calling Jackman “approachable and kind and loving. I admire him and consider him a mentor and big brother of sorts.”
There are mature and powerful performances from both actors, and Jackman especially seems like an early favorite for a best actor nomination—if the nominating committee can get over the movie’s grimness and moral ambivalence. In the meantime he’s back at his day job—the next X-Men film, now in production—traveling to and from Montreal, skipping desserts, and sporting the beard (in the film Wolverine is sent back to the past, to play opposite Jennifer Lawrence as the young Raven). I ask Furness if she actually likes him that way.
"I do,” she says. “But I like him clean-shaven.” He’s been clean-shaven for all his Broadway stints—and, as a bonus, he can drive home at night. “But I like him all ways: chubby, muscley, skinny. I’m always having affairs.” She laughs and gasps at the same time. “Don’t make that headline."
Read more: http://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisur … z2e2ygq6AB
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