Personally, I’ve derived great joy from the fact Russell Crowe has played an exorcist twice in the past year. It’s unpredictable and without the calculated air of an actor attempting to renegotiate their public image. Maybe you can draw a direct, logical line between the heartthrob in the leather skirt in Gladiator, through to the slightly beaten down but no less cool detective of The Nice Guys, and on to this new image of him wielding a crucifix and muttering “in nomine patris” while a child levitates over a bed. Maybe you can’t.
But the thing with Crowe is that he commits, whatever the circumstances. There wasn’t a single breath of hesitation in his Italian-accented, scooter-riding priest in The Pope’s Exorcist, even in the face of all that Catholic camp. A visiting demon claims he’s everyone’s worst nightmare. Crowe’s character, in full deadpan, shoots back: “My worst nightmare is France winning the World Cup.”
