Over lunchtime tagliatelle with Theo James, he flashes a smile as he recalls the moment he and a friend stood on stage, performing Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” with a full choir during a school music night. The audience of adolescents and teachers “were confused and slightly scared,” he says, laughter breaking through. “They weren’t ready.” James’ schoolboy memory sits somewhere between the absurd and the formative, a mix of youthful experimentation and balls-out bravado that has shaped an acting career which marries wry humour with simmering intensity.

“I’ve always had a big mouth,” he admits of his younger self. “But if you’re the joker, you get this reputation, and people won’t take you seriously.” Whether belting out Coolio in the school hall or playing a character steeped in stickily moral contradictions – men that audiences hate to love, rather than love to hate – James seems most at home onscreen when walking the provocative cliff edge between attraction and repulsion. His critical breakthrough as Cameron in Mike White’s The White Lotus left us as morally confounded as we were horny.

His manner is polished and polite, confessional and casual, and his words – occasionally punctuated with dry laughter – carry the weight of someone who’s thoughtful but not overthinking. “The stories we fall for, that seduce us, are really about empathy coming back,” he says. “Making you see the world through someone else’s eyes, even if you hate them.”

For more than a decade, he’s been telling these stories and navigating the paradoxical terrain of Hollywood and its lazy typecasting, but he’s certainly not jaded.

James understands the appeal of his dashing looks, initially gaining recognition with roles that played into this – his fandom-snaring turn as Tobias Eaton in the Divergent trilogy still follows him around the internet like an over-eager fangirl. These days, he speaks of roles with nuance and a certain existential curiosity, acting has become less about performing for applause and more about cracking open the mysteries of human behaviour. “I’ve always been drawn to the contradictions in people,” he says, brow furrowing briefly. “It’s the flaws that make a character interesting. I suppose the same could be said about us all.”

James approaches The Monkey, his latest feature film adapted from a short story by Stephen King, with relish. “What drew me in was its darkness,” he says, pausing momentarily as though he’s not quite done unpacking the twin characters he inhabits in the film. “There’s this undercurrent of fear, but also this thread of humanity – how people face their own shadows, literally and metaphorically.”

The Monkey staunches its own myriad scares with comedic interjections that serve to temper the excessive gore – I was wincing with glee as the titular monkey forecasts each death with a clash of its little cymbals, causing spear-gun slayings and electrical executions, as James gets Carrie-at-prom dowsed in blood. For the actor, a self-professed horror enthusiast, King’s visceral storytelling was alluring source material.

“I’ve always loved horror,” James says. “[King]’s a master of creating these worlds where the ordinary turns terrifying. It’s not just about jump scares – it’s about unsettling you, making you question what’s real.”

It’s this fascination with contradicting realities that has propelled James beyond the glossy mould of a leading man and into meatier expressionistic territory. His critically acclaimed Emmy-nominated turn as Cameron in Mike White’s The White Lotus took James’ prowess to a new level and proved to be a career-defining moment: “Mike gives you complete confidence.”

Replenishing his lost luggage with hotel shop two-pieces, the luxury-vacationing Cameron was a brooding and toxic alpha male, weaponising his charisma, and navigating the horror and humour of his privileges – gender, race, money – with an unnerving charm. As a “glutton for life”, Cameron’s insatiable appetite for food, power and people’s attention, was a commentary on societal signifiers of success and the men who mindlessly gobble them up.

“Cameron’s the type of guy who dominates a room without even thinking about it,” James says. “But what I loved about him is that beneath the gluttony, beneath the bravado, there’s this gnawing sense of insecurity, this fear that the game he’s so good at winning might suddenly change its rules.”

James’ Cameron was dastardly, but somehow magnetic. “He had to be likeable, the kind of person to hang out with for one night…” – when Cameron’s wife is out of town for the evening, he does molly with two sex workers in their room – “… but never two nights.”

James admits the character had “shades of me”, but was an amalgamation of people he’s met in real life – men whose confidence borders on arrogance, but still lures you in. “I know guys like that,” he says, matter-of-factly. “The ones who assume the world is there to serve them. There’s something both fascinating and infuriating about people like that. You kind of hate them, but you also can’t stop watching them.”

Has James always loved playing baddies? I know he played tyrannical King Herod in a school play. “I remember understanding the power of playing bad, someone who is abhorrent and duplicitous, but holds a lot of power. It was an elixir that I found interesting, even as a young kid.”

For our lunch, he wears an easy white T-shirt – a bold choice when ordering a splattering ragu – with a nonchalant overshirt. It sounds simple, but it’s effective (the women at the next table can’t stop glancing over). “I think style should feel lived-in,” he says, hinting at his preference for clothes that have a sense of history and, for want of a better word, authenticity. “You can tell when someone’s trying too hard.”

Collaborating with his stylist has been key to achieving his understated elegance, especially on the red carpet, where he blends sharp tailoring with a relaxed edge. “It’s not about looking perfect, it’s about balance,” he says. His sartorial choices resist pretence, favouring quality over flash-of-the-pan embellishments. He credits his stylist for pushing him toward bolder choices while adhering to his identity. “They’ve helped me lean into textures, details, even subtle risks.” The result is a wardrobe that aligns with his onscreen characters: classic and unshowy, yet layered with intrigue.

Though often lauded for his undeniable aesthetic appeal – he’s part-Scottish and a quarter-Greek, and he’s just shot a Dolce&Gabbana perfume ad in tight white Speedos – James is swift to subvert any expectations of him as merely a heartthrob, taking roles that allow him to destabilise our expectations.

Last year, he starred in Netflix’s global juggernaut The Gentlemen, created (and in-part directed) by Guy Richie, the story of a second-born son inheriting a subterranean marijuana operation, which dances seamlessly between Richie’s trademark hijinks and high violence. For James, the part of Eddie Horniman was more than just a vanity role, it was a playful critique of British upper-class tropes and our collective fascination with class hierarchy.

“I liked the idea of sending up the British upper class,” he says. “One thing [Richie] said to me is that we need to show how this system is stacked. ‘Don’t judge the character on your own perspective of the class system.’ It’s horrendous and its toxicity has shaped so much of the world – colonialism, racism. But within the character, he has to believe in the history of it, that he can be part of it.”

So, that was the appeal? “I’ve always liked an evolutionary story, starting with someone morally centred and watching them become much darker.” Eddie doesn’t start out bad, and James hints that he gets more corrupted in series two, which starts filming soon.

His biggest consideration when taking a part revolves around “leaning into those [handsome] perceptions,” he says. “You have to embrace what you bring to a role, even if it’s not always comfortable.” He’s hyper-wary of seemingly simple and seductive roles that “dumb down the audience’s intelligence”. After The White Lotus, the offers must’ve come flying in?

“People think once you’ve ‘made it’, the doors just swing open. But the truth is, you’re always hustling. Even with The White Lotus, I had to fight for that role. There’s this balance between what you want and what the industry thinks you should want.”

James gets a call from his wife – the actor Ruth Kearney – reminding him that he’s due at school pickup in 10 minutes, bringing our pasta date to an end. I’m struck by the image of the onscreen cad juxtaposed with the reliable north London papi, within walking distance of the school gates. The family split their time between here and Venice, California, a British/American, work/life balancing act. “It’s nice to move around, but kids don’t like itchy feet.”

As he leaves, I get the sense that, much like his unpredictable career choices, what happens next for James will be something unexpected. After lunch, after the school run, after The Monkey, Theo James is getting ready to surprise us again.