But none of his posts satisfied onlookers’ most pressing curiosities: Who is Mr. Asghari? What is his life like? And how did any of this happen?
Mr. Asghari’s Work Endeavors
On a Friday in October, Mr. Asghari arrived at a predetermined location in downtown Los Angeles for a photo shoot and hourlong interview, and was joined by his publicist, Brandon Cohen (reticent; black T-shirt; frequently holding phone to ear), and his creative director, who goes by Maxi (garrulous; pink plaid suit; frequently everywhere)
In advance, Mr. Asghari had agreed to teach his interviewer some of the action stunt work he has been working to master. This would provide a natural foray into a discussion of his career goals (action stardom).
Yet, on the day, this plan fell apart completely, its individual components skidding out of reach in previously undiscovered directions. For instance: Upon learning that the interview contained no video component — there had never been a video component — Maxi and Mr. Cohen professed disbelief and skepticism that Mr. Asghari’s stunt demonstrations could be expressed in any format but one designed for the broadcast of moving visual media.
At the suggestion that the essence of the stunts, as well as specific maneuvers, could be described in writing and then pictured by the reader, Maxi voiced strong doubt, “because I have a vivid imagination,” he said, and “I can’t visualize it” — and his dubiousness meant that the stunt demonstration was never attempted.
Mr. Cohen and Maxi also understood the interview to have different start times; according to one of the timelines, a photographer, who arrived for the shoot exactly on time, was either 45 or 90 minutes late. At one point, Maxi declared that the hourlong interview would take 15 minutes.
In conversation, Mr. Asghari — who moved to California from Iran at age 12 to live with his father, who had emigrated seven years earlier — was pleasant. He was loath to express dissatisfaction of any kind, about anything, or to acknowledge any familiarity whatsoever with that state.
Asked what aspect of everyday life he initially found hardest to adjust to after leaving his mother and sisters in Tehran as an adolescent, to travel to a foreign country whose language he did not speak, to live with a father he had not seen since age 4, Mr. Asghari replied: “To be honest with you, it wasn’t hard for me at all. It was easy for me.”
Asked to identify the worst job he ever had, Mr. Asghari, who said his pre-acting work included a stint at Best Buy and rolling sushi for quinceañeras, said each job was as enjoyable as the last because, “I find happiness in every job.”
Asked to rank his work endeavors in order of priority, Mr. Asghari explained that he prioritizes everything in life equally, even when stepping back from it, as he has done with his career in personal training. Asked which of his three older sisters he is closest to, Mr. Asghari said, “I’m closest to all of them.”
And when asked, flat out, “What is your job?” Mr. Asghari replied without hesitation: “I’m a plumber.”
While he exhibited it sparingly, Mr. Asghari has a genuine knack for deadpan humor. The effect is enhanced by his chiseled facial features, which do not immediately suggest comedy; by his shatterproof earnestness, which leaves one unable to see his jokes coming; and by the fact that everything he says is delivered in the same calm tone.
Though deadpan humor can often be mean — a way to leave a straight man twisting in the wind — Mr. Asghari is not. His flippant responses were quickly and invariably followed by genuine answers.
“My job, at the moment, is acting,” he clarified.
