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.

Which explains why the best keep climbing in the ring with him. On his next film, a tiny, under-the-radar thriller called "The Da Vinci Code," for which he was hired by Columbia studio chief Amy Pascal and producer John Calley, he'll direct Tom Hanks for the third time, as well as Ian McKellen. "I'm just not willing to make adjustments to try to change how people categorize me," says Howard. "I guess that's the bottom line. Sure, I notice it. Would I love to be everybody's darling? Of course." Then he laughs. "Although, when you do this job long enough, you notice that it never really lasts." Howard's more concerned with making movies that will.

© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.
© 2005 MSNBC.com