Test of character for Russell Crowe

Physically, Jim Braddock was Crowe's hardest role.

Russell Crowe is five hours late for our interview in New York and I'm wondering whether he'll turn up at all. Even before the infamous outburst in June, in which he allegedly hurled a telephone at a hotel concierge, the actor was known as much for his temper as for his talent.

I needn't have worried. He arrives, contrite and apologetic. He stubs out his cigarette and politely opens the window, blowing away the smoke. Immediately all is forgiven. He's so endearingly charming and matey that the tedious afternoon of waiting is forgotten.

He explains he walked several miles from the Mercer, the hotel where he has been staying (and the scene of the alleged crime) to the hotel where we're doing the interview, because he's in the middle of a gruelling press tour for his new film, Cinderella Man, and wanted to unwind.

"Thing is, we're eating fast food, eating late," he says, pulling up a chair. "So I walked this morning and realised not only that I should walk, I should hammer myself and do a bit of sweating because I was feeling really aggressive, and that's the wrong place to be when I'm going to sit down with you.

"To get rid of the aggression I have to find some form of clearing my head every day, to get my head into the right space, whether it's yoga, going for a walk or just having a conversation about a completely different subject than acting," he says.

He claims his reputation for being volatile and temperamental is unfair because it is based on isolated incidents highlighted by mean-spirited tabloids.

"I don't think anyone can possibly go through their life without getting things wrong now and again, without saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. It's never my intention to do anything negative to anyone or to hurt anyone.

"I have a simple ability to know when I've done something wrong and if I can't apologise to that person directly, I can apologise to myself. If you think you can get away with bullshit, you're wrong. You can't live a thoroughly selfish, negative life and expect to be a successful person."

Unshaven, in a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and boots, Crowe moves around a lot. Even after the hike across town, he doesn't appear relaxed sitting in one place.

The logo on his T-shirt reads "Zen Master", but there's a restless energy. He laughs, crosses his legs and stretches his arms. He says he's having a difficult few days in Manhattan because he is missing his wife, Danielle Spencer, and their almost 2-year-old son Charlie, who are at home in Sydney.

"You start scratching your head and try to work out how you ever lived without 40 or 50 cuddles a day," says the actor, looking watery eyed. "The change in my life that has taken place after becoming a husband and father is massive."

The contrast between the image of a tough, difficult, self-centred star and the thoughtful, vulnerable man in front of me couldn't be greater. Perhaps I've caught him in an emotional mood, but he is as happy talking about family life as he is discussing his performance in Cinderella Man.

"My priority list has changed. Everything has shifted simply and easily because I got married and had a baby, because I wanted to do that with an open heart. I was ready."

"Fatherhood hasn't changed who I am, essentially, as a person," the actor says. "So I'm not going to be mellow or less passionate in my work, and if somebody asks me a smart-ass question they're usually going to get a reply in the same tone.

"It's going to be harder for people to take such cheap shots at me now, though. I'm not going to be wandering the streets trying to experience life any more. I'm settled."

Given his past, it is easy to view the star as a pampered celebrity. Yet he doesn't come across as arrogant, rather, as a man who is in conflict with aspects of the life he has chosen.

Fame and recognition aren't interesting, and he's almost puritanical about "the work", refusing to do commercials and criticising actors such as George Clooney and Harrison Ford who make money from their celebrity.

Crowe closes his eyes for a moment. "I love my job. But it doesn't come with any pretension or any prerequisite. It comes with a single focus. Are you prepared to work as hard as it takes to get this job done?" There's another long pause. "I do the gig the way I see it. I've learned over a lot of time."

Crowe is humble about his talent. He says much of his accomplishment is simply down to experience and sheer hard work. But the emotional authenticity with which he inhabits his roles, and the physical transformations he undergoes, single him out.

Whether he is playing the tobacco-industry whistleblower in The Insider, the tortured mathematician in A Beautiful Mind, the ship's captain in Master and Commander, or Maximus in Gladiator, the performances are intense and convincing. His complex portrayal of the 1930s boxer Jim Braddock is another example of that ability to lose himself and disappear into a character.

This time, he is playing a downtrodden underdog who became an unlikely American hero. When Braddock's boxing career was over, he lost his fortune in the Depression but staged a thrilling and unexpected comeback, winning the world heavyweight boxing title.

The appeal for Crowe had nothing to do with victories in the ring, though. "I never saw Jim as a man who really lived for boxing at all. To me, the story was interesting because of his change of fortune. I thought, 'This is a great story, because it's true. You couldn't make it up.'

Directed by Ron Howard, the film focuses on the struggles facing Braddock, his wife (Renee Zellweger) and their children during the Depression. They survived rock-bottom poverty, with no money for food or heat.

"Jim had to go on the dole, but he didn't wear the pain on his sleeve," Crowe says. "He kept trying to do the best he could for his family. The Great Depression is a character, and I think the villain in this piece is poverty.

"If there's a single moment in Braddock's life that makes him important in history, it's the fact that he went to the Social Security Commission and repaid the money he had taken when he was on the dole. That shows you more about his character than anything in his boxing career."

Crowe is famously choosy about the roles he takes, and Cinderella Man is his first film since 2003. It has to be an enticing role for him to leave his family and their homes in Sydney and the cattle ranch in northern New South Wales.

"Physically, this was the hardest thing I've ever done, much more difficult than . I was in massive pain a lot of the time. But I'm happy I did it. I just like Braddock," he says.

"Most of the time, it's not a prerequisite for me to like a character. Mostly it's the opposite; I go, 'Ooh, that guy's dark and weird'. I don't believe in the theatrical tradition that you have to love the character.

"True objectivity will give you the detail. The job of acting is about discovery and about examination and about the human condition."

Crowe maintains that even now, as one of the most successful film actors in the world, he can identify with Braddock's financial hardship. He remembers being broke, first as a young musician touring with his band in New Zealand and Australia, and later as an actor. The big difference was that he was single, unlike the boxer.

"Look, I work at a job, right?" he says. "Just as Jimmy Braddock had a job. It just happened to be that, in the Depression, boxing was the best working-class job you could have. Acting is a similar gig for me."

I suggest that boxing's a bit different, because it can be brutal and dangerous. "So is my job," he says with a grin. "Pen's mightier than the sword, mate."

Does that mean it hurts to read those tabloid headlines? Crowe screws up his face, then gets up, grabs my hands and laughs. "Do you want to listen to what you just said? Would it be hurtful for you? Of course it is," he says, rolling his eyes. He sits down.

"You have a thick skin, which develops over time, it gets thicker, but ... your readers will get it. I don't think there's any need to expand, they've been reading the papers for the past few years.

"You know, my job is entertainment," he says emphatically. "It's a simple gig.

"I've done lots of films now, and I don't live and die on critical response. I'm not hungry, like Jimmy Braddock, in the literal sense any more. But my hunger is my passion for storytelling.

"I believe that's an important part of the culture of our life, you know, going into a theatre and having that collective experience, being moved, possibly. My privilege is to get to work in this medium. It's the most expensive artistic medium that exists commercially, and I never lose sight of that. That's what's important to me."

- INDEPENDENT