THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
By David Cole
Ambassador's Theatre, West St, London WC2H 9ND until May 11, 2024
Who doesn't like a tall tale especially when it's well told, and this is precisely what this one man show delivers. It may be a bit of a shaggy dog story but it's all in the telling, which is why I will do my best not to spoil the plot.
It marks Billy Crudup's West End debut, and he plays a blinder. Probably best known currently for his astonishing Emmy winning turn as the scheming Network boss in The Morning Show, he's also got a grand theatrical pedigree in New York. Stoppard loves casting him, and he won a Tony for The Coast of Utopia.
Here he plays Philip Brugglestein, a timid, gay Midwesterner who is obsessed with all things British and insists on speaking with a British accent, which enrages his Indianan parents. His bullying father yells at his mother: "You wanted to keep the kid, you deal with it".
Like many a sensitive soul he flees to New York seeking acceptance and his 'Briddish' accent opens many doors. Then one day he casually stalks a guy in the street, listens into this phone conversations, bumps into him again and a conversation ensues. Suddenly what bursts out of him though isn't Philip but rather a complete alter ego, a geezerish Cockney named Harry Clarke, who says he was the personal manager of '80s soul diva, Sade. And so, we're off with the lie and "Oh what tangled web we weave..."
Although the writer, David Cale, was born in Luton he's lived most of his life in the US and it shows. Harry's idioms are all a bit '70s - or '70s TV to be precise. However, the piece wittily explores the US-UK special cultural relationship, poking fun at all those stateside folk glued to their British shows on PBS, or on the other hand the wideboy Brits in thrall to the land of opportunity.
Crudup first played this in New York in 2017 and then in California and it fits him like a glove. He beautifully delineates a whole panoply of characters including a whole wealthy New England family, the Schmidts, into whom Harry insinuates himself. In time he seduces the son (a closet-case financier), the daughter (a melancholy trustafarian singer) and their very Jewish mother, who is Sade's biggest fan. With its tale of a poor outsider breaking into the world of the gilded elite there are strong echoes here of Highsmith's The Talented Mr Ripley, but where this falters is that it doesn't go anything like far enough in establishing Philip/Harry's psychology. His motivations are not financial, he seems to be a confidence trickster in love with the game.
The contrast between nerdy Philip and brash omnisexual Harry is stark and we'd love to understand more about the damaged soul who uses his fake Englishness as a shield. Instead, we get an 80 minute rollercoaster ride of Harry's journey and it is wonderfully engaging.
The backdrop is a seascape with a single sun lounger (it's partly set in the sailing world of New England), Alan C Edwards' subtlely gradated lighting does wonders to evoke changing moods, and director Leigh Silverman keeps it all wonderfully taut.
Crudup's accents are good, although they probably won't pass muster with really fussy Londoners. He has great fun playing all classes and genders and his versatility is a joy. He's utterly beguiling – one minute impish, with an aristocratic Merchant Ivory twang, the next the brash Cockney who sweeps all before him.
