Harry Clarke review: Billy Crudup gives ‘a titanic performance that deserves every award going’
The American actor makes his West End debut in David Cale's queer-themed comedy thriller
By Simon Button
In Harry Clarke, Billy Crudup gives a masterclass in virtuoso stage craft with such sly likeability that people who don’t know his previous work might wonder where he’s been all their lives. In this queer-themed comedy thriller, he plays no less than 19 characters with a bedazzling dexterity that had the opening night audience on its feet with wide-mouthed astonishment. And understandably so. He’s such a nimble actor that you never see the wheels of his technique turning. He’s in the moment every moment, as if he’s making it all up as he goes along.
He sort of is. Harry isn’t real. He’s the cockney geezer invention of shy guy Philip Brugglestein, who is also an invention of sorts. Growing up gay in Indiana with an abusive father, he adopts a fey English accent as a means of escape, then brings Harry into the mix. Neither accent is convincing to UK ears but that’s part of the joke in David Cale’s play. (Cale himself was born in Luton and is now based in the States.)
When we first meet Crudup-as-Philip, he declares “I could always do an impeccable English accent” in such a bad one that it’s jarring. But we soon learn that he’s a great pretender, like the talented Tom Ripley except by accident rather than premeditated intent. Bored one day on the streets of New York, he stalks a stranger into The Gap, then bumps into him again at the theatre. Soon he’s inveigled himself into the life of this well-off insurance broker called Mark Schmidt.
“Harry Clarke is a slight story”
Holidaying on Mark’s family’s boat, the gay daydreamer and his questioning new friend dive into “the deep end of sexy” but let’s say no more here about the plot. Cunningly twisty, Cale’s very funny and fanciful tale takes surprising turns that shouldn’t be spoiled. They seem to take Crudup by surprise too as he plays Philip/Harry, Mark, their relatives, and various other folk in a remarkable feat of theatrical plate-spinning.
The nods to Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley are intentional, the comparisons to Saltburn inevitable but probably irksome to the writer, since Harry Clarke predates Emerald Fennell’s film by a few years. Crudup first performed it off-Broadway in 2017.
There’s none of Ripley’s darkness here, nor any Saltburn-style delves into salubrious behaviour. Crudup dances (very well, actually) but he keeps his clothes on. If you only know him from the soapy Apple TV+ drama The Morning Show, his range might come as a surprise. But since the mid-90s he’s been a jobbing actor on stage and screen who has always seemed more interested in challenging himself than chasing fame and fortune. Making his West End debut, he has the wide-eyed delight of an actor doing what he absolutely loves.
It’s become a trend of late for stars to take on multiple parts on the London stage, like Andrew Scott in Vanya, Sarah Snook in Dorian Gray, and Sarah Jessica Parker in Plaza Suite. Like the latter, Harry Clarke is a slight story – which I’m sort of grateful for because stories of queer sexual exploration often get dark and doomy – but it’s powered by a titanic performance that deserves every award going.
Harry Clarke is at the Ambassadors Theatre, London, until 11 May. Get tickets here.