Will Smith is in an enviable position. Entangled in full clinch with Charlize Theron, he's wrestling around for a frisky fight scene on the set of the romantic comedy Hancock. Sweating and grunting, they grapple in the bucket of a fake bulldozer against a green screen, doing take after take for director Peter Berg and a crew of about 50 standing below. It's the film's last week of shooting at Sony's studios in Los Angeles, and Smith's hallmark laugh—confident, flagrant, manchild mirth—is the loudest thing on the soundstage, a pleasing basso profundo. While movie sets like these can become a grind, Smith—playing a down-and-out superhero who hires a publicist (Jason Bateman), only to fall for the flack's wife (Theron)—is churning out DVD extras as he boxes the air, taunts Berg, and keeps Theron in stitches. "Did anyone see Will fall like a girl?" she asks, toppling over in imitation. Finally, on the seventh take of intense tussle, they nail it, so to speak. Smith grins and declares: "That one was kind of soft-porny."
Remember, this is the Willenium, and you're just living in it. Whether the camera's rolling or not, whether he's getting jiggy or getting real, the 39-year-old Smith exudes the same appeal—an organic hyper-likability that has helped make him the most bankable star in the world, surpassing even Pitt, Clooney, and those white dudes named Tom. With Smith's last four movies—The Pursuit of Happyness, Hitch, Shark Tale, and I, Robot—each grossing over $300 million, and his total worldwide box office topping $4.4 billion, he is as sure a thing in Hollywood as celebrity DUIs, Botox, and paternity suits. Not that you'd ever find him indulging in all that. "I've never met anybody at that place who is as grounded and non–full of bullshit," Theron attests. "I don't say this kind of stuff about people, but he's godly."
Everyone—literally, everyone—agrees. Michael Mann, who directed Smith's Oscar-nominated turn in Ali, says, "I would do anything for Will Smith at any moment in time, period." Hitch costar Eva Mendes: "If you don't like Will, you're a jerk." Tommy Lee Jones, his Men in Black wingman: "If someone had a bad day at home, or is a little bit grouchy or sad, he'll know it, and he'll go straight to 'em and he'll work on 'em until they're laughing."
During a late-morning break, the vibe is dorm-loungey on the Hancock set. Smith invites me into his trailer, a tricked-out duplex stocked with Balance bars, Vitamin Water, and Cribs-worthy appliances befitting a former fade-topped rapper, including a huge flat screen tuned to ESPN. "I saw race car driver trailers like Mario Andretti's that pop up, rather than the trailers in Hollywood that pop out," Smith says, tucking his six-foot-two frame into a banquette. "So I got a guy and asked him, could he design one that pops up and pops out? Go take a look upstairs." He grabs his BlackBerry and dials his wife, actress Jada Pinkett Smith, with whom he has two kids, Jaden, 9, and Willow, 7. "Ma-ma, love you to the moon, I'll call you in a bit."
