‘From the beginning he was determined to be a star.’
– Former manager Martin Bedford
Alas, Australia at that moment wasn’t to be. In fact, Russell was to move back to New Zealand, going on to act in over 450 performances of the Rocky Horror Show, starting off with the dual character of Eddie and Dr Scott. The 19-year-old actor was revelling in his surroundings. He was getting a great apprenticeship with seasoned professional actors, and because he was treading the boards, he was learning to think on his feet and understand what was needed to get an audience involved. He was soon promoted to the plum role of Frank N Furter – the role made famous by Tim Curry in the film version.
‘I did 458 performances,’ Russell recalled in Interview magazine in 1997. ‘I was Eddie and Dr Scott for about 400 performances and about 58 as Frank N Furter. I was the understudy [for Frank] when the understudy’s nightmare came true. I actually had to go on without any rehearsal; I didn’t even bother to try out my shoes. I figured the other guy would do his gig. I only agreed to it because it was an extra $50 a week. So, suddenly, bang! I’m on as Frank.’
Davis and Morley were delighted with their find, with Davis saying, ‘We found Russell in a band in Auckland and hired him. You could say a star was born.’
Russell added, ‘Right through my childhood, and then into sort of my early twenties and everything, I really had no idea with the acting stuff. I never really focused on it, because music was my priority. Then basically somebody gave me an important job and asked me to treat it seriously. And when I treated it seriously I realised that I could really disappear inside this, you know?’
Next up was Blood Brothers, one of the longest running shows in the London West End. It saw a number of events that would be repeated ad nauseam in Russell’s career – the critical raves and the sudden burst of anger at a moment’s notice.
With critics calling his performance ‘strong’ and ‘convincing’ he was revelling in the role, but there was never a chance that Russell would rest on his laurels – and his stage intensity once again ruffled feathers.
His co-star Peter Cousens was furious night after night of the production. It was all due to one scene, which saw Russell fire a shot at him. ‘When the gun goes off, it should fly across the stage, but Russell never controlled it and it always hit me,’ recalled Cousens.
‘We were at loggerheads from the start. He was terrific, but erratic. He lacked discipline and wasn’t familiar with theatre etiquette. One night when the gun landed on me yet again I blew my top, marched into his dressing room and called him an arrogant amateur.
‘He tried to punch me, but the guys in the dressing room held him back. He was hurling abuse and finally broke free and head-butted me in the face. Blood poured out – the bastard had broken my nose.’
Despite playing brothers in the production, they couldn’t have been further removed in real life: Russell, the actor who works from the gut and unrestrained instinct; Cousens, an experienced stage actor and drama school graduate.
Being faced with warring co-stars after only a month was a headache producer and director Danny Hillier didn’t need. But they weren’t the first actors to trade blows, nor would they be the last. He was convinced some breathing room was needed for the two, and ordered them to each write an apology note to the other.
An apology from Cousens, who had to attend his own daughter’s christening with black eyes, was swiftly penned, but nothing was forthcoming from Russell. A production source told the Sunday Times magazine, ‘The producer was furious with Crowe. The producer was the type of person you don’t fuck with, but Russell fucked with everyone.’
That weekend, Hillier had no choice but to fire the young actor.
The set-back hurt Russell deeply – and shaking the brazen actor back into life would take some time. It’s unclear whether it was his actions leading to the incident or the fact that he wasted an opportunity that was such a burning disappointment – perhaps both.
However, he would always think back to a note penned on a school friend’s wall. It simply read, ‘How badly do you want it?’ The friend was Simon Prast, who would go on to be a director of the Auckland Theatre Company. He explained: ‘This was, of course, a reference to becoming an actor. Clearly, he wanted it reasonably badly!’
That was in no doubt, with Rimington adding, ‘I’m absolutely certain he always wanted to be a star. I don’t know why. I don’t think it was money. He could have always done a job at any time that could have made him more money. So, as to what actually drives a person to do that… I have no idea.’
At this point, Russell was living in a two-bedroomed flat full of cockroaches and empty crates that had been crammed with alcohol. Speaking in 1989, Russell said, ‘Well, when I first arrived in Sydney, I spent 22 weeks in this grotty $50-a-week place with just a bed and a cupboard and the toilet halfway down the corridor. For the first time my parents were some distance away. I did a lot of thinking and realised I really appreciated what my father had instilled in me.
‘A lot of people think that because there is a dole there they should use it and that there are a lot of ways to misuse the system. I believe in singing for my supper. I’ll never accept a grant because what I do should be able to be founded purely on free enterprise.’
Stints busking and street performing barely helped him make ends meet, but Russell the waiter didn’t last very long. ‘This American woman asked me for a decaffeinated coffee. In New Zealand in 1986 if you asked for a coffee it was a teaspoon of Nescafé. I come over here and suddenly I’m faced with long black, short black, cappuccino, coffee latte and decaffeinated. So I take her a cup of hot water. And she says, “Russell, this is just boiling water,” and I say, “Lady, when we decaffeinate something in Australia we don’t fuck around.” She complained to the management.’ He was fired straight away.
To make ends meet Russell would live off tacos, drink with the alcoholics nearby and busk constantly with his old friend Dean Cochrane.
When his family came to visit him they were shocked by what they saw. ‘We used to go to Sydney, take him out and give him a good feed,’ his gran recalled. ‘My goodness, he’d be on the bare bones of his bum, you had to help him. But he wouldn’t give up.’
Russell would busk all over the city, playing rock ‘n’ roll songs and bantering with passers-by – all with one eye open for the police so they could make a hasty exit if spotted. Wearing his usual busking combo of jeans and white T-shirt with a cigarette placed self-consciously behind his ear, he would entertain crowds, chat up girls and occasionally get into a fight.
A Norwegian backpacker called Trude remembers Russell coming to her rescue following a brief introduction in a bar. ‘We were just about to leave when these three really creepy guys sort of surrounded me and my friend. They were really horrible and threatening and started to say what they would like to do with us. We didn’t know what to do and one of them sort of grabbed me and tried to kiss me. I reached to try to push him off but just then there was a flash of movement from behind and the guy slid to the floor.
‘I got a glimpse of Russell with his arm out and I realised he had hit the guy. His two friends just disappeared. Russell seemed to be on his own but they weren’t about to tangle with him. He said, “Sorry about that. Are you all right?”’
They ended up dating for several weeks but parted because she went back to her travels. ‘I’m not at all surprised he has made it so big in movies. He’s a fabulous guy.’
At the time, Russell was frustrated at the Australian film industry, saying in 1989, ‘Do you know what killed this business in the first place? A lot of people who didn’t understand what passion was, who didn’t give a zip about art but thought, “Gee whizz, I can get a great tax break here. I’ll make a movie.” We ended up with a whole lot of shit and we’re still recovering from that.’
With Australia not making the kind of films that he wanted to do – at that time anyhow – it was clearly Hollywood he had his sights set on. A conversation with his agent, Shirley Pearce, early in his career, went like this: ‘Shirley said, “What is it you want to achieve?” And I said, “Well, have you seen Rain Man?” which had just come out. And she said, “Yes…” and I said, “Well, that sort of work…” and Shirley said, “What, like Tom Cruise?” and I said, “No, the other fella.”’
Russell was at a crossroads. He had tasted the highs of performing on stage but, living off a meagre $3.50 a day, these were the low times.