Robert Downey Jr. keeps a couple of offices out in Venice Beach, near the water, in which he and his wife, Susan, and a handful of other people manage his affairs. There are development projects from their film-and-television production company, Team Downey: a new Perry Mason; long-gestating Downey vehicles like the third Sherlock Holmes and a live-action Pinocchio; and something new, based on an old sprawling treatment from actor Steve McQueen, called Yucatan, "kind of an action-adventure story," Downey says, "almost like an apotheosis of this guy as he goes into these cenotes and caves." Random Act Funding, their new charitable foundation, is based out of here, too. Mostly you get the sense that it's nice for Downey to have somewhere to go during the day—he's the kinetic-type guy who otherwise might just start drifting upward, toward space, without the gravity of routine and real estate to keep him anchored. The main building is all wood and glass and concrete, and Downey keeps it frigid. There's a Keith Haring on the first floor and three Iron Man helmets in a glass case. He likes to give tours, and those tours inevitably become tours of his internal monologue, too, which is entertaining and weird and cutting in just the way you might hope it would be. When we get to the roof, he looks across the way at his neighbor's property. His neighbor is Jon Favreau, director of Iron Man and Iron Man 2. Downey beholds Favreau's wan, disheveled collection of outdoor furniture with mock dismay: "Look at Favreau's fucking shitty... C'mon, dude, Jungle Book is gonna do a billion!"
The Art and Commerce of Robert Downey Jr. Style The Art and Commerce of Robert Downey Jr. rdj-gq-style-0616-02-16x9<em>GQ</em>Style.jpg Jacket, $21,600, by Hermès | Tank top $40, by Calvin Klein Underwear | Car (his own) 1970 Mercedes-Benz 280SL Pagoda Photo of Zach Baron BY ZACH BARON PHOTOGRAPHS BY PARI DUKOVIC May 10, 2016, 12:00 am ET He's always described as either the world's highest–paid actor or one of the greatest actors of his generation. So which one is it? Robert Downey Jr. keeps a couple of offices out in Venice Beach, near the water, in which he and his wife, Susan, and a handful of other people manage his affairs. There are development projects from their film-and-television production company, Team Downey: a new Perry Mason; long-gestating Downey vehicles like the third Sherlock Holmes and a live-action Pinocchio; and something new, based on an old sprawling treatment from actor Steve McQueen, called Yucatan, "kind of an action-adventure story," Downey says, "almost like an apotheosis of this guy as he goes into these cenotes and caves." Random Act Funding, their new charitable foundation, is based out of here, too. Mostly you get the sense that it's nice for Downey to have somewhere to go during the day—he's the kinetic-type guy who otherwise might just start drifting upward, toward space, without the gravity of routine and real estate to keep him anchored. The main building is all wood and glass and concrete, and Downey keeps it frigid. There's a Keith Haring on the first floor and three Iron Man helmets in a glass case. He likes to give tours, and those tours inevitably become tours of his internal monologue, too, which is entertaining and weird and cutting in just the way you might hope it would be. When we get to the roof, he looks across the way at his neighbor's property. His neighbor is Jon Favreau, director of Iron Man and Iron Man 2. Downey beholds Favreau's wan, disheveled collection of outdoor furniture with mock dismay: "Look at Favreau's fucking shitty... C'mon, dude, Jungle Book is gonna do a billion!" GQ-Style-cover-inset-9.jpg > Subscribe Here! Downey is in fact one of the few human beings on the planet Earth to know what it feels like to do a billion. Both Avengers movies made that worldwide. So did Iron Man 3. Think about that. What a strange and massive and surreal and bittersweet accomplishment that is. Name an actor over the past decade—actually, name an actor, period, short of maybe Leonardo DiCaprio—who has more seamlessly and improbably wed art and commerce. May marks the release of Captain America: Civil War, in which Downey's Iron Man once again plays a large role, and it's fascinating to look back on what he's done with this character. Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy often gets the credit for bringing a high-art seriousness to the superhero genre. But no one has made the genre more fun than Downey. His Tony Stark—mischievous, morally blurry, and more alive for it—embodies the feeling people are seeking when they go see these films, which are increasingly the only films that get made, and that's because of him, too. He and Marvel have built an astonishingly large business out of this, a business that has now spread across the film industry like kudzu, choking everything else out, including many of the more modest, performance-driven films that Downey used to star in, back when he was frequently hailed as one of the greatest actors of his generation, rather than merely the most highly paid. The reality is, these days he's a little bit of both.
GQ Style: So, we're going to do this slightly differently. Instead of just baring our souls to each other, I'm going to administer a nonlinear questionnaire. Robert Downey Jr.: Okay. Yes. "Robert, let's start with your death."
Weirdest grooming ritual? Well, it's not weird, but I think it's funny. If I'm gonna go promote one of these Marvel movies, I'll want to have the thing [points to his chin, where the signature Tony Stark facial hair would go] done up right... So I will attempt to do my own version. I'll try to get the hourglass there
What about lowest moment on a movie set? Well, I mean, I didn't know it at the time, but in Baby It's You, my first studio picture, I thought I was throwing heat, and all my shit got cut out. My friends all called me and said Maybe It's You.
"World's highest-paid actor" and "one of the greatest actors of his generation." You've been called both many times. If you had to choose just one, which would it be? Neither. Because they're both so—I mean, it's like, really? First of all, could you imagine back in, let's call it the golden era, you know, my dad's age, Pacino's and DeNiro's—do you think they would ever have allowed such a paltry discussion, reducing them to a monetary figure? I have had and I have created some of the worst luck in the history of anybody in the public eye. And then there was five minutes there where I was batting a thousand.
So why isn't the answer just "one of the greatest actors of his generation"? Well, if I'm one of, you know, well, then, who else is one of? So should I have said "greatest"? The implication that we're in competition with each other, or what the numbers are on Monday—I mean, all this stuff is largely chance. Although I'll flip it around a little bit and say that you've financially played the industry better than a lot of people have. It seems like you've thought more about it. Right. Here's what I would say. When you're on the outside looking in, for years, for decades, only a fool misplays it once he's given a winning hand. And aside from certain devastating genetic weaknesses, I am not a fool.
Is there a right age for Hollywood retirement? Sixty-five. Why 65? Look, I just need a 14-year plan. That's all. I got seven projects left before tee time.
Buried or cremated? Cryogenized. Really?! Got to. It's inconvenient. It's expensive. But it's gonna be someone else's problem. I mean, come on. Let's do in death what we've done in life! Is that actually what you want? It's all a fantasy. My only wishes for death are to go to it with an open mind. You know. You have an empty Reddi-wip bottle in your hand. You had your fun. It's empty. Now you can't even use it for what it was meant for. You can't even put it on pecan pie anymore. You gotta toss it.