Born in New Zealand and bred in Australia, Russell Crowe has been makin’ movies, singin’ songs and delightin’ ’round the world for almost four decades. He’s portrayed generals and goof-offs, cops who sing and sting, demons and diviners, pastors and priests, gladiators, reporters, whistleblowers and more than his fair share of murderers (in reality and virtual reality).
In honor of Crowe’s 60th birthday this month, Midwest Film Journal is celebrating the actor. We’ll look at the lightning-rod controversy of his 1992 Australian breakout, the genre pictures with which he broke out in Hollywood circa 1995, his early-2000s ascent into a leading man with consecutive Oscar nominations, his occasional zags into unexpected genres like comedy, musicals and exploitative schlock, and many things in between. This April, MFJ truly has A Murder of Crowes.
Can you hear the critics sting? /
Blaming the choice of Russell Crowe /
His is the singing of an actor /
Who will not be cast again …When the bleating of his voice /
Causes the downing of a thumb /
It is an easy choice to mock /
When Les Miz comes on
Ah, but I come not to bury Russell Crowe’s performance as Inspector Javert in the 2012 film version of the musical Les Misérables but rather to … OK, not praise it. I won’t go that far.
But I want to suggest that Crowe is not this screen adaptation’s biggest problem (even though I said as much when the film was released).
Let’s go back a little further, though.
My first exposure to Les Misérables was the original Broadway production (well, with its first replacement cast), where it left me a bit disappointed. From my seat in the balcony, I felt it peaked emotionally once Jean Valjean asked “Who Am I” and Fantine was out of the picture.
I warmed up to it during subsequent touring and local productions, as well as a couple of PBS concert specials and grew to admire not only its scope but also its core passions. The score by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg is packed and made even stronger thanks to the English-language lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer. And while I don’t share its religious worldview, that doesn’t mean I can’t be moved by the story of a man finding himself through sacrifice and getting rewarded at the end of his exhaustive life.
During my subsequent exposures to the work, the post-Fantine material grew on me with the relentless Javert’s aria “Stars” developing into a show highlight.
Usually.
So, yes, when I first saw the film and heard Crowe not make that song soar, I was kinda sore. And I joined the mocking chorus pinning him for the film not being what it could be.
Watching it again more than a decade later, though, it became clear to me that the film’s biggest flaw manifests long before Crowe’s Javert reaches for the “Stars.”
The fault is not in the “Stars” but in our star.
Yep. Hugh Jackman.
The relentless close-close-close ups that director Tom Hooper and cinematographer Danny Cohen impose on the material — the style that contributed to Anne Hathaway’s Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her Fantine — is not Jackman’s friend. Rather than accentuate and intensify his emotions, it reveals the work he’s doing to try to give the role gravitas that he just can’t deliver. At times Jackman’s Valjean makes William Shatner reciting “Rocket Man” seem subtle.
Even when toning it down — as in “Suddenly,” a new song added seemingly for the primary purpose of scoring a Best Song nomination (which it somehow did) — Valjean here seems creepy rather than admirable in taking care of Fantine’s offspring, Cosette. When the film passes the two-hour mark and the urchin has grown into Amanda Seyfried, the costumers can’t resist having him crash her “In My Life” intro, making it seem like he’s going to seduce his ward rather than endorse her match with Eddie Redmayne’s Marius. Valjean, by this point, should be exhausted with life. After all, he sings “I am old / And will be gone” in “Bring Him Home.” But with his shirt unbuttoned down to here and his collar open, he seems like a suburban dad on the make.
The presence of original stage Valjean Colm Wilkinson, in an inspired bit of casting as the tender Bishop, only underlines what’s missing in Jackman.
Compared to Jackman, Crowe is … OK. His Javert is given more motivation in the movie than in the stage version, and this time I came close to buying his ultimate awareness of his misguided judgment. If only his lack of vocal oomph wasn’t exaggerated by the crazy-ass camera movements that seem to say “LISTEN TO THIS!” only to have us ”hear this.”
And while there’s a good reason you are unlikely to hear the Les Misérables movie soundtrack playing on the SiriusXM Broadway channel or on on anyone’s music player of choice, let’s keep this in perspective: As much as he was mocked for his Javert, Crowe is no less vocally disappointing in Les Misérables than Meryl Streep has been in Into the Woods or The Prom.
Until we acknowledge that, Crowe shouldn’t have to eat crow for his effort here.