It’s an unusually bright summer morning in New York, and the sun
streaming through the windows of Soho House makes it hard to tell
whether Ralph Fiennes, who is sitting on a velvet sofa in the lounge, is
staring at the ground because the light is too strong for his famously
pale blue-green eyes or because, as he admits several times during the
course of an hour’s sit-down, interviews make him squirm. The problem
with “these kinds of situations,” as he calls them, is that pesky
journalists always want answers, and Fiennes doesn’t really believe in
answers. He’s especially wary of what he calls “the pat response,” and
so the replies he dispenses often end with him pointing out that their
opposites could just as easily be true. Life, as the actor sees it, is
enormously complicated, and, he says, “the human need to know and
quantify and put labels on things and make language control and give
shape to our lives, in the end, is useless.”...
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