RUSSELL Crowe appears to be apologising to his wife Danielle Spencer for being too "hard to handle" and for coming home with "black eyes" in a musical tribute on his new album.

RUSSELL Crowe is a changed man.

Best known for his stellar acting achievements, he has also worked on a music career for the past 20 years.

But his new album, My Hand My Heart, due out May 10, marks a departure from his past works.

Not only has he gone solo after playing with his band Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts, he has shown a soft side, including a tender salute to his wife in the single Weight Of A Man.

He's an Oscar-winning director, but gets flak for being a softie. With 'Cinderella Man,' it's time to rethink Ron Howard.

By David Gordon

Many directors have said it's a pleasure working with the famously mercurial Russell Crowe. Ron Howard is not one of them. "Directing Russell is like shooting on a tropical island," he says. "The weather is going to change several times a day, but you're shooting there for a reason. Sometimes those dark clouds are just what you need. And sometimes"—he laughs—"you wish it would stop raining so you can do the sunny scene." Still, Howard insists that he adores Crowe, and if he's lying, he must be a masochist. The men are already planning a third collaboration even though their second, "Cinderella Man," the true story of boxer Jim Braddock's improbable rise to glory during the Depression, doesn't open until June. It's a curious pairing. Howard, 51, is known as one of the most genial guys in Hollywood; Crowe is not. But it works. Crowe gets a director unfazed by his Vesuvian blasts and unintimidated by his talent. And Howard gets from the actor something that his movies, even the very good ones, have often needed: an edge.

To date, Ron Howard has made 17 films—a diverse portfolio of thrillers, dramas, comedies and zero sequels—that have grossed more than $1.3 billion in the United States alone. His fee is about $10 million per movie, which is just down the street from Mr. Spielberg's neighborhood. He's an Oscar winner (for 2002's "A Beautiful Mind," his first film with Crowe) and a two-time Directors Guild award winner. But among critics, cineastes and even some in Hollywood, he can't seem to shake his rep as a cruiserweight—one division shy of the big guns, more artisan than artist. "It's a bummer that it doesn't compute the way it should," says Brian Grazer, Howard's longtime producer at Imagine Entertainment. "There are many directors who get fussed over a lot more than Ron and who have had significantly less impact. But he's just such a no-fuss guy. He doesn't wear all black clothes. He's not Paul Thomas Anderson—he doesn't have three names. Maybe he should." "Cinderella Man," which costars Renee Zellweger, who won an Oscar for "Cold Mountain," and Paul Giamatti, whom we're prepared to nominate right now for his supporting role as Braddock's corner man, is a vintage Ron Howard film. Make that a vintage Ron William Howard film: a humble crowd-pleaser with more intensity and elegance than at first appears. Just like the guy who made it.

During his acceptance speech at the Golden Globes for "A Beautiful Mind," Crowe praised his director for his "honor as a man"—a comment that upended perceptions of Howard as an affable softie. He was now a lion tamer with the blessing of the biggest cat in the jungle. "I think Russell believes the world is divided between guys who are men and guys who are pussies," says Grazer. "His speaking up for Ron was really important. It was essentially him saying that Ron is a deeper person than anyone realizes. It was our Brando going, 'Hey, this guy is good'." Says Crowe: "I get involved in what I do, and that doesn't bother someone at ease with himself like Ron is. He knows I'll never be as hard on him as I am on myself on his behalf. And he's OK with that deal."

While filming "A Beautiful Mind," Crowe mentioned to Howard that he would next make "Cinderella Man" with director Lasse Halstrom ("Chocolat"). When the deal fell through, Crowe lobbied his new pal to step in. Howard, coincidentally, has had a lifelong interest in the Depression. As a high schooler, he made a 30-minute documentary about the subject for his social-studies class. "That was the end of dabbling for me, and the beginning of filmmaking," says Howard. He also admired the story of Braddock: a decent family man and gifted fighter who lost every penny in the Depression, got stripped of his boxing license and was reduced to accepting handouts to feed his family—then jabbed his way back to the top after getting one last chance in the ring. "Men felt utterly degraded in that era," says Howard. "So many of them disintegrated under the pressure. And Braddock didn't."

"Cinderella Man" may be an optimist's take on a bleak era, but it's not the Depression Lite. And its searing middle act should help answer the rap on Howard that he's not gritty enough to excavate the ugliness of real life. "Ron said to me when I first met him that he was interested not in a boxing movie per se, but in making a drama about a family living through the Depression," says Giamatti. The film's most vivid sequence isn't a fight but a quiet, tragic moment when Braddock's wife visits an old friend's massive Manhattan apartment, now stripped bare except for a few chairs and a rickety table. It's arguably Howard's specialty: an actors' moment.

IT was an invitation for afternoon tea and a chat with the new neighbours, complete with mini-hot dogs, cheese croissants and spinach and cheese cupcakes.

And when the neighbours in question are Australia's own Hollywood Gladiator Russell Crowe and his business partner Peter Holmes a Court, son of late West Australian businessman Robert, you can be sure to attract a crowd.

The pair invited locals in Sydney's Darlinghurst to a street party last Saturday to look over their plans to create a filmmakers' centre in the area.

They talked to about 30 residents in Riley St about redevelopment of a vacant three-storey warehouse they bought for $3.8 million in October.

They want to turn it into a film and music precinct, complete with an audio recording studio, offices for film-related businesses, editing suites and a screening room.

Their personal offices will also be in the former printing warehouse.

Nearby restaurant Two Chefs On Stanley St put on a spread for the party, held at a small pedestrian mall.

Tea, coffee and hand-made brownies were on offer as residents chatted to a typically unkempt Crowe and his son Charlie, and gawked at a model of his proposed development.

After half an hour, Crowe ambled in and told guests about his plans to ensure disabled access to the building, by constructing a hydraulic wheelchair trolley up the side of an internal steep ramp which runs up the building.

He also wants to keep all the building's original internal columns.

"He had his little son Charlie there and was very nice to people," resident Evelyn Klopfer said.

"He was talking to people, discussing the building, saying 'glad to meet you'."

One of the attractions of Crowe buying the building is its close location to the famed Stanley St restaurant precinct, meaning he can more easily graze at Bill And Tony's eatery.

East Sydney Neighbourhood Association vice-president Jane Anderson praised Crowe and said he appeared to have the neighbourhood on-side.

She said Crowe's plans are eminently better than the previous building owner, who wanted to construct dozens of units and excavated two levels of basement parking at the warehouse.

Residents were lured to the street party with a personally-signed letter from Mr Holmes a Court, one of Crowe's best mates.

"As you may be aware, Russell Crowe and I purchased the building at 98-106 Riley St in November 2004," the hand-delivered letter said.

"In making our decision to purchase, we were both immediately drawn by the character of the building and surrounding local community.