Sunday Times - December 11th 2005

Where has Michael Flatley been hiding?
His feet danced him to a fortune. But along the way, accusations of
arrogance and rape dogged his steps. Michael Flatley has been locking
himself away in his Irish mansion ever since - but now the Lord of
the Dance is finally coming out of the shadows again. Report by Ariel
Leve

Michael Flatley has just come off stage and taken off his dance
shoes. He lies back and puts his feet up in his dressing room.
The "world's fastest feet" are perched inches from my face. They
should be steaming. I can't resist inhaling: no whiff of exertion.
They are remarkably well preserved, having tapped their way around
the world and all through this evening in front of 25,000 screaming
fans in Budapest and into Guinness World Records in 1989, drilling
out 35 taps per second.

I've taken a seat on the floor alongside a leather sofa where
Flatley's legs are stretched out as his trainer, Richard Hughes, a
Welsh rugby coach, places two thick bags of ice under his Achilles
tendons. He has been quoted as having the highest insurance premium
ever for a dancer's legs - $40m - which means his feet are worth $20m
each. It's like sitting next to the Mona Lisa, but hairier.

His legs are strong, bronzed, freckled and taut - like Flatley
himself. A week away from turning 48, he is in the best shape of his
life. Maybe it's the Jaffa Cakes. Stacked boxes of them sit on a
table. He eats the low-fat biscuits for energy before shows. There
are also bouquets of flowers and bottles of water. On one side of me,
a pair of fire-engine-red leather shoes with a Ferrari logo - a
custom-made gift from Flatley's fiancée, Lisa Murphy. It seems
fitting that the fastest feet in the world should walk around in
Ferraris. His manager lingers; he is hesitant to leave - questions
might be asked that the Lord of the Dance is unable to sidestep.

Flatley is wary of the press. It was only 11 years ago when
Riverdance exploded. It began as a seven-minute segment on the
Eurovision Song Contest, when 300m viewers witnessed an Irish dancing
phenomenon. So at an age when most dancers would be considering
retirement, Flatley's career took off. From Riverdance came his own
show, Lord of the Dance. Then the Lord tumbled from grace. His drive
was characterised as relentless; his pride was depicted as arrogance.
We will discover later if he feels this was fair.

He had his share of legal and commercial troubles too: a contentious
lawsuit with his former manager John Reid, and more recently an
accusation of rape that was quickly dismissed. But through the years,
and the ups and downs of his career - artistic and financial - the
one thing that nobody has ever disputed is his talent. Flatley speaks
gently and in a delicate Irish brogue. That too has been thought to
be affected, but the truth is, as he spent time as a child in Ireland
with his grandmother, the accent is genuine.

At 17 he became the first American to win the World Championships for
Irish Dance. He also won a Golden Gloves boxing-championship title
and the first of his All-Ireland Flute Championships. Flute albums
followed, which included original compositions as well as traditional
Irish melodies. He toured with the Irish band the Chieftains, and
Riverdance catapulted him to global fame and wealth (£1m per week at
the height of his career).

So how did a man who worked at his father's then his own construction
company on Chicago's south side end up performing before thousands of
hysterical Hungarian fans? Determination. Dedication. Believing in
himself; not taking no for an answer; and rising above the
accusations that he's high on hubris and low on humility. He is used
to achieving his goals, and if there is a goal to be accomplished in
this interview, it's to show that, in spite of the nasty reports,
he's really a simple bloke who loves doing the jig. He endorses the
request for privacy and his trainer and manager leave. "Foier away."
He smiles, but he looks uneasy. There is no bravado in his voice and,
left alone with a journalist, barefoot and immobilised by ice packs,
he seems vulnerable and exposed.

Earlier in the day, we were introduced briefly while he was warming
up for the evening performance at the outdoor Nep stadium in
Budapest. Created, produced and directed by Flatley, his new show,
Celtic Tiger, "portrays the oppression of a people. The tiger
symbolises the awakening of their spirit in the struggle for
freedom". When Flatley speaks about it - or about anything to do with
Ireland, for that matter - he sounds like he's on autopilot. The show
is about the history of Ireland, told through pulsating rhythms and
thunderous taps. With over 40 dancers, pyrotechnics and rolling
visuals of the Celtic fire on a gigantic screen, it is indeed a
spectacle. Rehearsals took place at Shepperton Studios, which gives
an idea of the scale of the production.

Part two of the show is an authoritative statement.

A rousing celebration of modern Irish people in America loaded with
sequins, stars and stripes, the Statue of Liberty and a big dance
number to Yankee Doodle Dandy. It's the celebration of July 4 and
apple pie in nonstop motion. The only thing that would have made it
more patriotic would have been Flatley dancing wrapped in the
American flag.

"Too American?" His manager asks afterwards, judiciously worried this
patriotism might put off audiences. While putting the show together,
Flatley ignored such concerns. If anything is to be taken away from
Celtic Tiger - aside from the fact that Flatley is still, in spite of
his age and his detractors, at the top of his game - it is that he is
intensely proud of where he comes from, and indisputably grateful to
be an Irish-American.

The first glimpse I had of Flatley was when he was warming up,
trotting, knee to chin, like a clydesdale horse, back and forth
across the width of the empty stage. Wearing black matador pants and
a sweat-soaked olive-green tank top, his greeting was warm and
unpretentious. He made personal introductions to the crew, who have
been with him for 10 years - teamwork, something Flatley has been
reproached for shunning, was in abundance.

My next glimpse of Flatley was at the stage door after the
performance. A crowd had gathered to shake his hand and get an
autograph. Flanked by security men, he worked the line, pausing for
photos, patiently giving back to his fans. As he walked away, an
eight-year-old girl became frantic, tears streaming down her face.
She was far back in the crowd and Flatley had failed to see her. The
look on her face was pure devastation. When this was brought to his
attention, he returned, pulled her up and over the rail, held her,
hugged her, and rubbed her back until she calmed down.

Observing this, it's hard to know what motivates Flatley. The need to
be adored, certainly, but what performer isn't motivated by that? Did
he show such care and affection because he was being observed?
Doubtful. He's not as slick as a politician. What kind of person
wouldn't comfort a distressed little girl? Many performers feel that
when the show ends, they're done.

How did this transformation happen? Tonight he will chat with me here
in his dressing room before celebrating with his parents, who have
flown over from Chicago. He will spend time with his family and his
fiancée back at the hotel. What will go through his mind before he
eventually falls asleep are notes of things he has to improve and
things he has to do. "I have to send a case of whiskey to one of the
guys that saved me tonight. He just pulled a rabbit out of the hat.
It's the guy that let off the pyrotechnics - I've never seen more
precise timing in my life. Talk about world class. I couldn't have
timed it better if I'd had the button in my hands. And I was actually
dancing it."

So, sitting here with this seemingly benevolent, soft-spoken
entertainer, the question has to be asked: how did he get
his "difficult" reputation? He answers without hesitation. "I don't
think anyone ever really took the time to get to know me. When they
see the show, I think it's easy to think, God, that guy is cocky. I'm
sure that the guy who plays the lead in Jesus Christ Superstar
doesn't think he's God, but you have to play the role."

What he seems to be saying is that his stage persona is amplified. He
nods vigorously in agreement. Flatley does not apologise for his
success, because he feels entitled to it. He worked hard, was
tenacious and never doubted that he'd make it. He believes in his
talent, believes he is unique, and what others call ego he calls
confidence, optimism and a refusal to settle for second best.

"I do what is in me to do; work is not work. I want to excel. I'll
take a move that may only be 30 seconds long and work on it for eight
hours a day."

Performing is something Flatley is unwilling to forgo. His alleged
retirement from four years ago has ended.

What is driving him now?

"To be the best I can be." But hasn't he achieved that already? Yes,
but he still enjoys it. "How can I not?" he says. Thousands of people
standing up and screaming - the buzz of being on stage, it's
addictive. So now that it's no longer about proving himself or
acquiring things, it's about not wanting to stop. "I was broke the
first 35 years of my life. But I never gave up. Never for one
minute." He is shaking his head, looking suddenly wistful and lost in
his thoughts. "I never gave up."

Flatley has exceeded even his own dreams. He is worth more than
£350m, according to The Sunday Times Rich List. He owns homes in
London, the Riviera, Chicago, but spends most of his time at
Castlehyde, his 18th-century mansion in Ireland. Still, there are
limitations he can't surpass, such as age. His way of dealing with
the fact that there will be a time when he can't dance any more is to
deny the inevitable. "When the time comes, the time comes. I'm 47
years old. I feel like a teenager. With my dancers, never do I ask
them to do one step I can't do; in all the rehearsals, however many
hours it takes. When those kids go home at 8 o'clock at night is when
I begin my solo work. I work . . ."

We are interrupted by a knock on the door. His manager checking in.
Flatley twists his torso round and reassures him: "We're doing
great." The door shuts and he continues with a slight edge in his
voice. "Who made up the rule that you can't dance when you're 50
years old?" He describes the thrill of being on stage in front of a
line of his dancers. "It's like a Concorde taking off behind me. That
noise - you can't believe it. It's brilliant."

There has been speculation that Flatley, with Irish parents and an
entitlement to Irish citizenship, is considering a run for the
presidency of Ireland. He emphatically denies it, but it does raise
the issue of his political views. Given that his show is so fiercely
patriotic, is he conscious of making a statement?

"I am conscious of it, yes. I am proud to be an American and I am
proud to be an Irish-American. If I come to a country where they
don't like that . . . Well, what I do is art. I am not a politician.
I do not want to run for president of Ireland, or any other country,
for that matter. I would like to celebrate America. My parents went
there in 1947 with nothing. That country gave them all the
opportunity and they gave me everything on account of that. If I
can't turn around in my own little way to say thanks to my parents,
to Ireland and to America, then something's wrong. And I know a lot
of people don't like that . . . but they don't have to come and see
the show.

"You don't see me hiding. I'm proud. I will support our president
that we have in office. If our country elected that man then I will
stand behind him as an American citizen."

Even if he disagrees with his actions?

"I am an American standing behind my president. A perfect example is
that horrible terrorism that went on in London in July. It's
disgraceful. Does anyone really know why these people are so mad at
us? Has anyone ever taken the time to ask them why they're so mad at
us?"

Uh, yes. But a discussion on foreign policy isn't something Flatley
is up for. "You'll have to forgive me for not going down the
political road with you right now. I can't talk much about politics.
I can't really . . . go into that." Fair enough. The guy just tapped
35 taps per second for two hours; he's allowed to be tired. But then,
not wanting to displease, he adds a final thought: "I'll stand behind
America - whatever that means. I'm antiwar, anti-violence. A lot of
times I disagree, as I don't think we should be sticking our nose
into other people's business. We have enough problems of our own in
America, but that doesn't mean I don't stand behind our president."

Aware that any second his manager will return, I warn him that I'm
about to raise a sensitive subject. He sounds frightened when he
responds: "Okay . . ." His reputation. "Well," he says, wearily, "I'm
glad you brought it up because I do need to address it. The best way
to answer is this. Every time I do a television show, all kinds of
people call me and say, 'Oh my God, I never knew you were like that.'
Every time I do an interview with someone who writes about me, it's
generally shite."

When it's suggested that perhaps the questions asked on television
are tamer, he laughs. "I don't think so. Barbara Walters? I don't
think so. I think people can decide for themselves without having it
filtered through somebody else. They can make up their own mind."

Fame and fortune came quickly to Flatley, and in the early days he
was not as experienced at dancing with the press. Does he feel he
deserved what was written?

He is thoughtful for a moment. Choosing his words carefully is
something he's grown accustomed to. "I think there's no question that
I've matured and grown up in many ways since that time. I worked for
35 years and had no money. Naturally, when you first get success and
fame, your life changes. Everything becomes different. I enjoyed it.
But I put everything I had in the world into that show." He is
referring to Lord of the Dance, the 1996 show he created and starred
in, which was born out of Riverdance.

"I remember I was in Liverpool, and in four days we were meant to
open at the Coliseum in London. To make a long story short, the
ceilings were low, I was miscued, the music started, and I had no
time to stretch. I tore my right calf muscle. It was like being shot
in the leg with a gun. Horrific. I hobbled off the stage, someone
took my place and I sought immediate attention of the physios to
figure out how to cope and what to do.

"You have to understand, if I stopped then, I'd have lost everything.
I had one shot. So the first guy came in and said, 'In about a year
you'll be normal.' The second guy said, 'We should have you back up
to speed in six months but you won't be dancing like this again.' The
third guy from Australia said, 'Well, why don't we just see how it
goes?' And I said, 'You're the guy. You're hired.' And they strapped
me up and shot me full of some things, and I danced four nights later
and I didn't miss a show - 500 shows."

This story illustrates his resilience. So is he relating this element
of his nature to show how he copes with the unfair headlines, or is
it more to show how determined he was to succeed? Maybe it's
both. "At that time in my life, because I was so . . . focused on
making this work . . . I was anxious to grab any headlines I could.
Anxious to keep the name of the show and the brand out there in the
media. I was probably a bit careless in my decision-making. I may not
have made the most prudent decisions, but we were flying by the seat
of our pants. It was everything we could do to keep the show going."

But to cite the specifics might mean incriminating himself in a way
he is uneasy with. And pressing for details doesn't yield anything
new.
"I don't analyse it that carefully, to tell you the truth. I'm much
more confident now, and I don't need to try so hard. I don't need to
push so hard. At the beginning I was trying so hard to please
everybody . . . and of course you can't do that."

The next morning we meet in the lobby of his hotel to go for a walk.
He appears fresh, rested and stylish, wearing a Dolce & Gabbana
jacket with a silk leopard-print lining. An espresso is ordered
before the walk, but a downpour means we stay inside. We move to a
secluded part of the lobby
and settle in for another chat. "Are you getting what you need?" He
asks, unfailingly courteous, but his eagerness to please is in equal
measure to a resolution to stay guarded.

Born in 1958 in the US, Flatley is the second of five children. He
has three sisters and one brother, Patrick, who now runs the family
plumbing business. On his website he is referred to as the Lord of
the Plumbers. Flatley's parents had emigrated to the US in 1947. Both
his mother and maternal grandmother were champion Irish dancers, and
he solidly attributes his success to where he came from.

"I was lucky my family gave me talent for art, music and dance. It
was in my genes. And if you're willing to work at it, you can get
better. My father taught me from when I was a little boy that there's
no substitute for hard work. We worked seven days a week. Didn't
matter if it was Christmas or New Year, we worked. Plumbing sewers,
digging ditches - I did the labouring. I was proud to do it because I
learnt great, great lessons. It's easy for someone who's never spent
a day in the ditch with me to say, 'He made it overnight.' At 35
years old, every ditch I was in, my dream was to be on stage at
Madison Square Garden and I believed that someday I would be. If I
kept trying. And I did keep trying."

Flatley has what seems like a biological imperative to focus on the
positive. But he must have had some doubts, right? Sure, he says,
he's human. But I get the distinct sense, which is immediately
confirmed, that he's not a worrier. "I believe the harder I work, the
luckier I get. Do I need to do another tour now? No. But this show
will make Ireland proud. Ireland is very, very important to me."

What drives him now is another sign of maturity: pride and a desire
to give back to where he came from. This is strong enough to
overpower any sliver of doubt he might have and certainly the doubts
of others.

"The naysayers said, 'You're too old, you've got the money, relax.
It's too big of a risk. What if the show's a failure?' If I had a
dollar for every time I heard, 'What if it fails?' 'What if the first
half is too Irish?' 'What if they hate the American part of the
show?' What if, what if, what if? I'd have had some serious regret if
I didn't get off my ass and build this show." He wants to get across
this message: don't stop when people tell you no. "The more I hear
the word 'no', the more it makes me try harder."

So now what? Does he want to have children? Yes. Does he plan to have
children? Yes. And how does he see himself as a father? "Well, when
you talk about fear . . . I wonder if I'm a complete enough man. I
can't imagine what it's like to hold a newborn baby and try to think
your way through that. Is everything I'm doing right to show him or
her the way? When are you ready for that?"

Ah, finally. Doubt.

Now, Flatley lives in Cork, Ireland. "It sounds strange to say I live
in a castle and I hope that doesn't come out wrong. It was built in
1745 - a beautiful historical property - and it's taken the past five
years to restore. It just really, really feels like home." He has
over 200 acres of land and he takes walks by the River Blackwater.
The mansion, contrary to reports, does not have a colonic-irrigation
room. He admits he does have a flotation tank with water from the
Dead Sea. He has indulgences - yachts, cars, homes - and enjoys
spending his money. But with wealth and prosperity come people who
want to take advantage.

In 2003, Flatley was sued by a 30-year-old estate agent who told
police that he had raped her in a Las Vegas hotel. He admitted to
having had a consensual sexual encounter and countersued for
blackmail and extortion. The police found no merit to her claims and
the case was dropped.
But the claim was "out there" and, for someone so upbeat and
optimistic, it must have dented his outlook. "It's not easy, quite
frankly. I think it's disgraceful that someone can drag your name
through the mud and that person remains anonymous, but before the
person who's been accused ever gets convicted they're presumed
guilty. It's not right."

He says he was never scared, only angry.

"I talked to Bert Fields, and the first thing I wanted to do was go
to the FBI and take a lie-detector test." Fields, a top Hollywood
lawyer, says: "Michael is a hugely talented man, well known
throughout the world. That makes him a target for some people.
Michael has been cleared of any charges and the woman's civil case
was dismissed. Our right to sue her lawyer was upheld in the trial
court and affirmed by the Court of Appeal. It will be heard by the
California Supreme Court early next year."

Being falsely accused of egomania is one thing. But the powerlessness
he must have felt after being accused of rape - how did that change
him?

"I am awful careful now who I say I'll have a dance with. I feel sad
that the whole thing happened. But there are people in this world who
will do anything for money. At the time, Lisa and I were apart and I
was on the road, and it's lonely on the road. And I, uh . . . I
admire beauty and live my life to the fullest. Luckily, now I have
the girl of my dreams. If I was a bachelor today, I would be so
guarded about everything and everyone - so it has taken away that
innocence. I'm at the point now where I'm just going with it. Really
enjoying it. While that's going on, it's a good day."

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2099-1901173,00.html