Of course it is the eyes that you first notice. But the second thing – in the room, in the flesh, in Berluti, even – is just how unassuming Cillian Murphy is. Yes, in interview, it is customary for film glitterati to impress upon us just how un-showbiz they are, but this is unmistakably genuine. Here, after all, we have a man who, despite being one of only five people to have appeared in every instalment of the defining cinematic trilogy of our time continues to shun Los Angeles in favour of Kilburn (well, not shun; the reasons are “purely pragmatic”).
There is no entourage whatsoever, only reasonable demands (vegetarian sandwiches). There is a man whose posture – slightly hunched, almost shifty – is that of someone actively trying to avoid standing out, and whose clothes – the ones he arrives and departs in, at least – are, in his own words “not flamboyant, just well-made, well-cut stuff. I like the classic elements: leather jacket, denim jacket, desert boots, good jeans, good T-shirt. Good belt. But I don’t really go beyond that.” (X)