Billy Crudup
Whether it's on Broadway or the big screen, we've become used to Billy Crudup, leading man. Take his breakout part in the 1996 Bus Stop revival where he met now ex-girlfriend Mary-Louise Parker, with whom he has a two-year-old son, his shattering portrayal of John Merrick in The Elephant Man for which he earned a 2002 Tony nomination, or his disturbingly captivating turn as a murder-minded author in 2005's The Pillowman yet another Tony nom. Or—among others—his starring role as hotheaded sprinter Steve Prefontaine in the 1998 biopic Without Limits and his pitch-perfect performance as an arrogant, enigmatic guitarist in Cameron Crowe's 2000 film Almost Famous. Lately, though, Crudup's become more of an ensemble player: He's among the impressive cast of Tom Stoppard's The Coast of Utopia, sharing the stage with—and often ceding the spotlight to—such actors as Ethan Hawke, Josh Hamilton, David Harbour and Tony winners Jennifer Ehle, Richard Easton, and Brían F. O'Byrne. In "Voyage" and "Shipwreck," parts 1 and 2 of the mammoth three-play cycle, Crudup plays antsy literary critic Vissarion Belinsky, a herring-out-of-water in class-conscious 19th-century Russia. Even his most recent movie roles have been of the smaller, supporting variety: Tom Cruise's IMF cohort in Mission: Impossible III; Julianne Moore's brother in Trust the Man; a British spy in The Good Shepherd, the upcoming Robert De Niro-directed drama headlined by De Niro, Matt Damon and Angelina Jolie. But Crudup is relishing his foray into Russian history: It's the second time he's immersed himself in a wordy, worldly Stoppard play the first was 1995's Arcadia, which marked the actor's Broadway debut, and if he sounds a little like a college student studying under a famous professor, it's understandable.
You've just had your first performance of "Shipwreck," the second part of The Coast of Utopia. How did it go?
It went very well, all things considered. To step out onto a stage where you're familiar with the set, with the actors, with the house, with the character—and you don't have a clue about a play—is a really novel feeling. I was mostly engaged in managing the feeling last night. But it was really fun.
As far as your appearance in part 2, the playwright gives us a little clue in this stage direction: "Belinsky is thirty-six and less than a year from death."
[Laughs] Tom doesn't leave much suspense there for the reader.
Guess that explains why you're not on the cast list for part 3.
Yeah.
I think it was only four weeks ago; we had three or four rehearsals a week. We didn't have a full six-day schedule.
I don't know how you could, with such a huge cast.
Right. Most of the company had very little time to put this together. They're basically rehearsing in front of an audience, which is a very challenging thing to do—especially for your ego.
Still, it must be kind of a rush.
It's such a unique and gratifying piece. We're discovering something new about the process of doing theater every week. Having an opening and going into tech for another play two days later just never happens.
Especially considering the setback the company had with Richard Easton's cardiac arrythmia.
It's a perfect example of the kind of surprises that a project like this has in store.
Meanwhile, when I saw him, he looked like he hadn't been sick a day in his life.
The guy's unbelievable. He's an indomitable force. I remember when it first happened, Andre [Bishop, LCT's artistic director] was talking to the company. We were all scared witless and mourning his absence and Andre said, "He's an incredibly tough person and I suspect he'll be back in no time." I was sort of like [getting good-naturedly riled up], "Don't talk down to us! I don't need your condescension! I'm a 38-year-old man—I can handle the truth!" Well, he was absolutely right. Three weeks later, Richard was back in rehearsal with a defibrillator in his chest and broken ribs.
I'm so glad they pushed back the opening—after The Invention of Love, I really wanted to see him in another Stoppard epic.
Me too. I loved him in that so much. And David Manis, his understudy, did a heroic job coming in on one day's notice for that part.
Okay, let me admit a bit of ignorance here: I didn't know Vissarion Belinsky was even a real person. I knew nothing about him until I looked him up.
I'll admit—I didn't know either until I started to do research. I wasn't familiar with his work. And once you start studying a little bit, you wonder why not? He's such a fascinating figure, and the names of so many of the people that circulate around him are familiar to Western students. He's also a fascinating personality to uncover.
He's so emotional and expressive.
The great joy for me is the exploration of that level of idiosyncracy and inspiration. He wears his heart on his sleeve.
It's a great contrast to Ethan Hawke's character, Bakunin, who Belinsky spends the most time with.
Bakunin is just pouring out hope. He has an almost insufferable level of optimism, and Belinsky has an almost insufferable level of emotional chaos. He has to put all of himself into every feeling he has. It's not a cultured response.
Which is why he looks so uncomfortable and so out of place on the Bakunin estate. They've got money, servants…
In terms of class, there were few things as important in Russian culture as your station in life. And the lines between castes were very clearly drawn. So when Belinsky was, by chance and by force of will, moderately accepted into the social arena of a different class he was beside himself in anxiety. There was nothing that escaped his internal sense of self-consciousness and judgment. Everything was fodder for him not belonging in his own mind. And that really accounts—in my own internal story of him—for his anxiety. It becomes clear in a very brief scene he has with his lover.
Right—he's so at ease with her.
It becomes more clear in the second part too—once he feels accepted, so many of those abrasive and idiosyncratic tics melt away.
I sweat like a hog. [Laughs] It's based on all that anxiety. If you can imagine thinking that everyone is watching your every move, waiting to figure out that you don't belong, and match that with an intense desire to communicate what you think are life-threatening and life-altering points of view, you see a very interesting conflict. Tom has done an exceptional job of delivering that to all the actors who will play Belinsky in the future.
That perspiration-soaked, bumbling demeanor is actually pretty endearing.
I think it's the best chance the audience has of being taken in, and of having some level of empathy. And that mostly comes from them enjoying his level of discomfort, rather than being threatened or repelled by it. That's a possible choice as well, but not the one Jack and Tom and I decided on.
This is also, in a lot of ways, a character part. Belinsky's not the leading man.
It's not the kind of part that people typically offer me. And if they do, it's not always with a director that I'm excited about the possibility of working with. What's interesting is that this is the kind of part that when I started acting came naturally to me. When I was first in school—when I first started to have a notion that performing was of interest to me—I always ended up in the odd supporting parts. I loved it; I reveled in it. I have a kind of offbeat sensibility anyway; often I'll make a choice and hear a director say, "Well, I didn't see that," and I thought I was doing the conventional choice. In any case, based on what people have given me the opportunity to do…I just feel so grateful that Jack [O'Brien, the director] offered me the part.
So he just offered it to you?
We had lunch and he said, "Now, this isn't the kind of part that you might expect." And that's where he was totally wrong! I always want this kind of part. This was a perfect fit for me.
Belinsky seems like the heart of the play; Bakunin, to me, is the glue—the character who connects to all the others.
Bakunin is the engine. He takes the audience on the ride that many intellectuals were endeavoring on—which is the thrill of going from one new idea to the next and discovering that there's actually a journey happening in the world of ideas. When he's talking about philosophy and he says "the great discovery of our age," it's a completely foreign idea to us, because in a post-modern world where you're already commenting on people's notions of philosophy and ideology and religion we take it for granted.
What great discoveries remain? At this point, they all seem to be medical or technological. As far as philosophy, I think most people's belief is that it's all been covered.
That's our belief. Whether or not that's true remains to be seen. But to imagine that a great discovery would be that you don't have to worry about the world because the world is on its own mission, and the way you discover that is by somebody using their mind to rationalize it and all you have to do is read it and follow the logic—that was pretty groundbreaking. Any previous examples of that had to do with religion, so you had to have faith. This only required reason.
Truthfully, how much did you know about philosophy when you started this?
Nothing. That's the great thing about Tom's plays. I get a crash course in, typically, subjects I have absolutely no comprehension of. I really don't know anything about philosophy or Russian writers, but I know it in this context. It's just enough to enter into a conversation that I would eventually be disrobed by [laughs].
I think for certain theatergoers—particularly quick ones with the ability to decide what's important and what's not—it's an ambitious but very comprehensible play. For people who are not so skilled in discerning what is important to hold onto and what is anecdotal, you can be led on a million wild goose chases. If you worry too much about it, you're going to miss the story.
There is a lot of exposition in "Voyage"—introductions, setups, groundwork being laid. But I was so swept up by it. I couldn't wait for "Shipwreck"!
When you see the second play and see how vastly different it is from the first and how equally ambitious it is, I think you're only going to me more impressed—though I don't know if you can be more impressed. And then there's a third play! It's startling that he's got more to give.
One thing that's so admirable—and sometimes frustrating—about Stoppard is that he doesn't talk down to the viewer.
He never takes for granted that you might not get something. His plays are so ambitious, but he never condescends. If you don't understand something, then it's likely it will pass you by. But I appreciate that. It forces you to keep up.
