Insider Russell is on the outside
by James Mottram
London Evening Standard (March 2000)

Right now, it must be good to be Russell Crowe. He's just been Oscar-nominated as Best Actor for his role in The Insider. He's set to appear as a slave-turned-centurion in Gladiator, the lead in what promises to be one of this summer's biggest blockbusters. He can count Tinseltown royals Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman among his closest friends. And, finally, after a career that has continually stop-started, promising A-list status without ever delivering, Crowe has been able to capitalise on a star-making performance.

Since that startling turn as the thuggish cop in L.A. Confidential in 1997 (another Oscar winner), Crowe has been compared to the likes of James Dean and Mickey Rourke, and with his broad build, blond-brown hair and full beard, it's easy to see why. Dressed today in a navy suit, he sits down and cracks open a packet of Extra Mild Benson & Hedges. The fag in the mouth may embellish Crowe's laconic cool, but it's rather at odds with our subject matter.

In Michael Mann's The Insider, Crowe plays Jeffrey Wigand, a 52-year-old head of research at tobacco giants Brown & Williamson, who blew the whistle on some of the company's less-than-legal practices, at the expense of his livelihood, reputation and family. His disclosures ultimately led to law suits being filed against the industry, settled to the tune of $246 billion.

'I know a lot about smoking,' says Crowe, who started when he was ten, 'and I can't understand why you cannot just tell tobacco companies, "OK, boys and girls, you've got away with a lot over the years. From tomorrow, there is no more of these chemicals in your product."'

Crowe took a lot of persuading to play a man 18 years his senior, although once he'd signed up he embraced the task with the care of a craftsman. He put on 80lb in two months with 'a medically controlled diet of bourbon and cheeseburgers'. Based on a 560-acre farm some seven hours north of Sydney, Crowe is used to retreating to the Australian bush to ride horses and herd his cattle in his spare time. Without this natural re-shaping therapy, it took him over five months to lose the weight. 'For me, the normal course of the day when I'm at home is very physical. To not be physical, that was where the real damage kicked in. Is it sensible? No f***ing way. Would I do it again? I don't think so. From now on, I'll just let the natural ageing process take its own sweet time.'

Crowe who, unlike Mann, met the real Wigand several times, recalls the feeling that ran through him after their first encounter. 'In my heart, when I got up from the table, I said, "I will honour this man."' Yet, oddly, he retains no affection for the scientist. 'I don't like him that much. We don't get on. We're not mates or anything - he's 20 years older than I am. He doesn't like me, either. I have respect for him, for what he did, and he understands how serious I am about my job, but... sometimes I read articles about actors and they talk about how they have to fall in love with their characters, and I think that's just a bunch of bollocks. I can't think of anything more stupid: when you fall in love, you forgive a great deal and lose your objectivity.'

Such frank talking is all part of Crowe's game. With a reputation for being sulky, blunt and foul-mouthed, Crowe - who reportedly once drew a pistol on a set stylist to put his point across - is used to getting his own way. But it's this brutish behaviour, blended with his ability to charm the pants off you, that contributes to the enigma of his performances.

Born in New Zealand, but raised from the age of four in Sydney, Crowe - whose grandfather was a cinematographer - was acting by the time he was six. His 'vocation' parents were on-set caterers, and the precocious Kiwi accompanied them to work, landing himself roles as a child extra. So rootless was their lifestyle that Crowe (cousin to famous New Zealand cricketer Martin) was 14 before he lived in his first house. But by that time, he was almost ready to rock the world. Reinventing himself as Russ Le Roc, Crowe formed a band called Roman Antix and took to the stage to work on that swagger that has stayed with him ever since. They have since evolved into the curiously-titled 30 Odd Foot Of Grunts ('most of the time we go by TOFOG: it saves money on the embroidery'), an outfit that Crowe sings, plays guitar and writes lyrics for.

Back in those early days Crowe was prophetically penning such tunes as 'I Want To Be Like Marlon Brando', but it wasn't until he was 25 that he starred in his first feature, the little-seen Blood Oath. It was his turn as a neo-Nazi skinhead in Romper Stomper three years later that first drew him under Hollywood's - or to be more precise, Sharon Stone's - gaze. Producing her quick-draw Western, The Quick And The Dead, Stone cast Crowe opposite her to engage in some highly erotic bedroom shenanigans. The actor went on to carve a few more celluloid notches on his bedpost - Bridget Fonda in new-age romance Rough Magic, Salma Hayek in weepie Breaking Up and, of course, Kim Basinger in L.A. Confidential.

As for a real-life female companion, Crowe was recently seen escorting - nay, nuzzling - the terminally single Jodie Foster at the Golden Globe awards. When they were spotted shopping for baby clothes together (presumably for Foster's 18-month-old son, Charles), speculation grew that Crowe is the child's natural father. The 'intention', according to Crowe, was simply to cause a stir. But the pair are set to initiate a professional partnership, working together on Depression-era drama Flora Plum, Foster's third directorial outing, in the late summer, with Crowe set to play a circus freak opposite Claire Danes. Prior to this, Crowe must complete shooting a hostage drama in Ecuador (currently titled Proof Of Life) that sees him teamed up with yet another Hollywood beauty, Meg Ryan. 'I always say I'm going to take heaps of time off but I never end up doing it,' he says, regretting the time spent away from his farm animals. 'I'm such a slut. I read something and I enjoy working - it's a kind of good job like that.'

Crowe has earmarked the summer months to pack up his guitar and head to Austin, Texas, where he will record a new album with TOFOG, currently titled Bastard Life Or Clarity. With 18 songs already in the bag (written by Crowe himself), the group hope to test out the material on unsuspecting punters by taking up residency in various local bars. 'I take the music quite seriously and I don't get any points for that,' he remarks. 'You've got to understand that there's no credibility for me being in a band. People think it's a joke, until they hear the music. I played some songs to Rachel Griffiths [the Muriel's Wedding star], who's known me for a long time. She was blown away. I said, "What did you expect?" She said, "I thought you'd be yelling and screaming about what a bad life it is being famous." What'd be the point of that?' Indeed. Right now Russell has every right to crow.