It is two o'clock and the pale Melbourne light is veiling the city with the chill of premature evening. Paul Mercurio is late, and the restaurant he has chosen for the interview is only a quarter-full of elegant corporate types--bespectacled thirtysomethings in bespoke suits, chattering quietly over good wine and oysters. Rosati is wide and airy and high-ceilinged--a restaurant with ragged butterscotch walls and snowy tablecloths, chic darkwood chairs and trilingual waiters, the glass doors overlooking a mural of the powerfully sunlit Mediterranean. It could be a theatre set, and it is one of the places Paul Mercurio is studying as a possible model for the bar he plans to open.

He surfaces from the depths of his manic life at three, surprisingly small and far slighter than he appears to be on film, his face initially quite ordinary. In his long-sleeved light-grey grandfather shirt, blue jeans, and ratty sneakers, he could be mistaken for any vivid delinquent in a pinball parlour. It is a look which advertises his loathing of pretension. He has one silver ring in his left earlobe, and two rings and an enamelled mandala-stud bearing the Yin/Yang symbol in his right. His slender wedding band is white gold, his thick black hair was cropped the previous day and his five o'clock shadow is prominent. "You look like you've been stood up," he says, at once teasing and apologetic and tense. Once he has seated himself he orders a caffe latte from the staring waiter, plays with the crisp white napkin, taps his chin with his strong fingers, jiggles his foot, and smiles. "Am I about to get operated on?" he asks sweetly. "Is this going be like a deep-tissue massage?" His dark eyes are challenging, and he suddenly laughs. "Because, being a dancer, I don't mind deep-tissue massage at all."

Like many other performance artists, Mercurio has the ability to project pure charm for emphasis or impact. If he is making a point, he will turn and fix you with a stare of absolute beauty. The famous eyes, which have been described as "velvet brown" and "smouldering" are, in fact, less hoochy-coochy than intelligent. His eyes are eloquent and perceptive--constantly observing, formulating, emitting will; they belong to a leader. This leader has no time for doubts or fears. There are so very many things to be planned and accomplished, so many people to be organised and taken care of every hour, every day. Since Strictly Ballroom roared across the globe and won the hearts of both the critics and the audiences, Mercurio has been working hours that any self-respecting futures trader would blanch at--choreographing ballets, preparing the opening season for his infant company, ACE (Australian Choreographic Ensemble), doing the mandatory publicity rounds for the film, finishing his own movie script (The Dancing Burglar), considering the starring role in a film to be directed by Ghost's Jerry Zucker, starring with Meryl Streep in a movie version of Stephen Sondheim's Into The Woods, trying to find $60,OOO-worth of sponsorship for his company, working on ACE's next season, and struggling to find the time to be a husband, and father to his two daughters.

The staring waiter deposit the caffe latte on the table, and Mercurio fingers the saucer pensively before bringing the cup to his lips. "Life is essentially about searching." He blinks the eyes that launched a thousand adjectives, and frowns. "It's the quest for the Holy Grail. Or maybe that's just what my life is about. I'm always curious as to what makes people tick and what makes me tick, and I like to express that through dance and, hopefully, through film. My dad used to say to me: 'You've got to love your audience, you've got to love them to death'. I always thought that he was a bit over the top. But dad likes to verbalise things in a manner that I may not. " And he begins to chuckle. After a life fraught with hardship, things are finally beginning to happen and he likes it.

Born in Swan Hill, Victoria, on March 31, 1963, Paul was the second child to Jen and Gus Mercurio, a housewife and a practising chiropractor. It was his father's second marriage and second career, and he ended both when Paul was six--remaining in Melbourne while his family moved to Perth--and moved into the field of entertainment.

Paul Mercurio has few childhood memories of his father, but does recall growing up in a Coolbellup Housing Commission unit in the "violent" Fremantle area of Western Australia. His expression becomes solemn. "I think my father fucked up, but I can sort of see why and how, and I think as I've gotten older I have more compassion and love for him. I can look at his history and understand he's been fighting fears all his life, you know, on the streets, boxing, a violent family, whatever. Despite this, I grew up thinking I never wanted to do what my dad did. " He exhales awkwardly and sips his caffe latte. "I had a lot of anger over the divorce. I was a very angry young man. But I no longer feel that, because I think they've been so courageous in their own ways. My mum was so strong that I never for a moment feared for us. She was great. Great. We had chocolate and cake on Friday nights while we watched movies on TV, and I never felt poor or any of those things, ever. "

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