Opinion
For someone who prides himself on being an eccentric original, Russell Brand’s attempt to reinvent himself as a born-again Christian has an eye-roll level of predictability.
Among shamed and publicly shunned celebrities, there are three options for social redemption: flee to a rehab facility, sit down with an A-list interviewer for a contemplative tell-all, or find God.
Given Brand says he has been sober since 2003 and no one in the mainstream media wants a bar of him, he had no choice but to use the light of the Lord to try to redefine his past behaviour as sins rather than potential crimes.
In an appearance on The Megyn Kelly Show last week, Brand said: “I recognise that my sexual conduct in the past was selfish, and I did not apply enough consideration, barely any, I suppose, really, to how that sex was affecting other people. What fame gave me and what my addiction fuelled was opportunity for endless consent, which led me to be a hedonist and a fool, and an exploiter of women, and that is wrong. And that is something that needs to be redeemed and addressed and atoned for.”
Brand is due to go on trial in the UK in October, where he faces seven charges – three counts of rape, three counts of sexual assault and one count of indecent assault – against six women. He has pleaded not guilty to all counts and strenuously denies all allegations of criminal behaviour.
By apparent coincidence, his latest spiritual awakening came right around the same time as police began investigating the allegations in 2023. It’s remarkable how God so often arrives not only at someone powerful’s darkest hour, but also right when they might need to neutralise accountability for their actions.
So profound is his transformation, Brand has written a book on the subject, titled How to Become a Christian in Seven Days. In another incredible coincidence, the release of his book about the Bible – an already pretty well-known and well-read book in its own right – has allowed him to hit the PR circuit in an apparent attempt to get on the front foot before he goes to trial.
Through his book, and a gaudy wooden crucifix he’s taken to wearing during his right-wing media appearances, Brand appears to be trying to re-contextualise his past and self-diagnose his actions as crimes against God, not legal matters.
Take this gem of a moment, where he reframed a months-long sexual relationship he had with a 16-year-old school girl when he was 30.
“The plain fact of it is that in Europe and the United Kingdom, where I’m from, the age of consent is 16. And I did sleep with a 16-year-old girl when I was 30. But when I was 30, I was a very different person. I was a lot younger, and I was an immature 30-year-old.”
Good to know that the man who brought us My Booky Wook, Booky Wook 2 and Booky Wook Collection is now a biblical authority on when responsibility begins for adults. Again, it is convenient that it doesn’t kick in until after he’d ended a relationship that involved him allegedly instructing a teenager to save his phone number under a girl’s name to avoid detection by her parents, nicknaming her “the child”, and becoming aroused when he learnt she was still a virgin.
Brand’s entire reinvention is pathetic. It’s a preemptive redemption tour for the comic who once sold out arenas to try to cling to whatever small skerrick of relevance he still has.
That Brand is pandering to this new audience, though, is no real surprise. This far-right space is where conspiracy theories, Christianity and capitalism converge perfectly. Here, cancelled or deplatformed celebrities are welcomed as modern martyrs and are granted safe passage into a gilded echo chamber that must seem like a kind of heaven on earth.
But it’s doubtful there’s much genuine about Brand’s latest era. The Christian right, particularly in Trump’s America, is simply the last outpost for those who have burnt every bridge, but still need an audience to ensure their pockets remain lined.
Which was something even British commentator Piers Morgan, perhaps one of the UK’s greatest platformer of grifters, was able to spot a mile away.
During an interview last week, Morgan asked Brand if the bible he had with him was the same copy he’d taken to a previous court appearance.
When Brand agreed it was, Morgan said, “you were seen looking at some passages [in court]. What were the relevant passages for you?”
Given Brand is so committed to the Lord’s word that he wrote a book on the subject, you’d expect him to be pretty familiar with the Bible. But what ensued was one of the most painful and instantly memeable moments of modern television history.
For one minute and 34 seconds, Brand flicked between pages and occasionally muttered to himself as he tried in vain to hide the fact he is unfamiliar with the Scriptures.
In the end, after Morgan broke the fourth wall with a glance to camera and an expression of bemusement, Brand conceded, “I can’t actually find the verse that I had that day, but this is good enough,” and proceeded to read out a verse from Isaiah 12.
Much like the miracle of the loaves and fishes, this brief exchange ballooned almost instantly, going viral and feeding the millions online.
Sadly for Brand, God can’t be called as a character witness in court. And in trying to lay the groundwork to claim he is a victim of conspiracy if found guilty, he’s inadvertently made himself the butt of his own joke.
Katy Hall is a regular columnist and senior editor.
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Katy Hall is deputy state topic editor. She was previously the deputy opinion editor for The Age.
