I hear Jonathan Majors before I see him. He’s offscreen when his voice cuts the silence. “What publication is this for?” Rising whack-a-mole style from the bottom right corner of my laptop screen, a grin smeared across his face, he realizes he’s been caught. “Did you hear that?” he says, quick to extend an apology. I begin to worry that our conversation won’t go much of anywhere, that it will be just another press interview, but as I will come to learn over the next hour, Majors is the same on screen as he is off: a genuine and total presence.
This is called the Jonathan Majors Effect. He eclipses expectation. It’s all by design, of course. The exacting discipline. The meticulous preparation he does for a role, burrowing deeper and deeper into the interior of a character, using the reservoir of the human soul to render a singular depiction. He loves this shit. Majors has wanted to do it since he realized his calling as a performer during boyhood Sundays in church, where he fell in love with the arc and linguistic dazzle of sermonizing. It’s where the fire for his creative expression was first ignited.
If it seems like Jonathan Majors is everywhere these days, that’s because he is. He’s roamed through realms of the fantastic in Lovecraft Country (HBO) and played a revenge-happy cowboy in The Harder They Fall (Netflix). In Devotion, he delivered a gripping portrait of a Korean War fighter pilot. But it was his appearance in the Season One finale of Loki (Disney+) as the terrifying jester-king of the multiverse, He Who Remains, aka Kang the Conqueror, that showed just how agile Majors is as a performer. Has villainy ever been so fun?
Majors as villain is like nothing we have witnessed from him before. He’s more conflicted. More unpredictable. But it’s the unpredictability, the not-knowing, that’s spell-like—where is he going to take us next? As Kang in Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, he’s power-mad. In Creed III, he’s hellbent on vengeance. With Magazine Dreams—a Sundance favorite, with a wider release coming later this year—he is an obsessive bodybuilder transfixed by the twisted pull of celebrity.
What makes Jonathan Majors an affecting anti-hero across these varied performances is his ability to occupy the murky gray space that makes those characters all the more savory: Their motivations are grounded somewhere deeply familiar. They resonate with such force because we recognize the amalgam of hurt, resentment, and loss; we recognize all intangible things that make us human, we recognize how Majors is able to beautifully bring them to the fore. To remind us. To teach us. Like I said, all presence.
What I gathered from reading some of your other interviews was that you seem to be incredibly disciplined. Where did that come from?
Oh man, that’s just survival. There’s a version of me not being disciplined enough, not getting out of some situations that I was in when I was a kid. I also come from a military background. My father was in the military. My grandfather’s in the military. My uncles. And my mom is a pastor. My grandfather was a farmer—a real farmer. That’s what I witnessed. In any case, when we made progress as a family, it was because of a lot of hard work and discipline. I just copied the men and women around me that kept us afloat.