Twopenny Theatre

Two dynamite leads, a famous Western, and an Oscar-winning screenwriter – High Noon has all the necessary ingredients for a hit. So why does it feel like such a dud?

The play opens with the wedding ceremony of Will Kane (Billy Crudup) and Amy Fowler (Denise Gough), an unlikely match of an Old West town’s long-serving marshal and a Quaker music teacher. As a condition of marriage, Kane has vowed Amy to give up his badge – but no sooner has he done so than the ceremony is interrupted with a shocking announcement. Frank Miller, a violent criminal that Kane thought he had put away, has been released from jail by dirty politicians. He’s said to be arriving on the train at “high noon” – surely to get his revenge on Kane.

What transpires, ostensibly in real time, is a tale of two halves – Amy implores Will to keep his promise and avoid the confrontation. So too do the town elders. But Will bails from his honeymoon trip and returns to round up volunteer deputies. He’s unwilling to let the town he’s worked hard to clean up “so women and children can walk safely in the streets” fall under the boot of a lecherous outlaw. 

The townspeople, for the most part, decline to stand with Will or stand up for themselves, leading to a number of monologues from the marshal centered on themes of right and wrong, moral bravery and cowardice. When the film that this play is based on was released in 1952, this was perceived as an allegory for the indifference of the Hollywood community towards the blacklisting of film industry members pegged as Communists. Aware of that pedigree, High Noon (the play) would clearly like to play in the register of serious, thematic drama.

The issue with this is that in the up-close, in-the-flesh world of live theatre, character work is foundational and prerequisite to any broader themes – and the top-billed characters in this production feel underbaked.

Crudup is a fine actor, and his performance as Will is energetic – but Will’s self-assured righteousness throughout the play, remarked upon explicitly by his fellow citizens, feels ungrounded and cheap. While doing publicity for High Noon, Crudup told The Times he’d never played a character with such “indefatigable moral certitude,” and that statement is no less accurate than unfortunate. There are serious stakes for Will here, including the potential of death, not to mention the consequences of doing a complete about-face on the vows he made to Amy mere minutes ago. Yet he never once rues these too much, or is given a scene where he (and, by extension, the audience) feels there’s an alternative. In his quest for deputies, the town judge, councilmen, churchgoers, friends, and even his former deputy all disappoint – but Will almost seems to expect this from the beginning, despite his half-hearted statements to the contrary. There’s no moments to point to where his resolve dips – or strengthens. Crudup’s proven talents playing enigmatic, charismatic men are slightly wasted on this character whose intentions are clear, yet can’t convince anyone to be on his side.

Meanwhile, Gough’s character is even more perplexing. A devout Quaker (a pacifist religion), Amy is naturally at odds with Will’s profession, which requires just violence. As the clock ticks down to noon and Will waits for Frank’s train, it’s made clear that to be there for her husband, Amy would have to set aside her deeply-held beliefs. Yet through the end of the play, there’s no indication she might change her mind. Stung by Will reneging on his promise, she resolves early on to take the noon train out of town. Thereafter, she spends much of the play in a form of purgatory, waiting (largely offstage) for the three whistles that indicate it’s stopping at the station. The inchoate characterization isn’t helped by Gough’s application of an unsteady Midwest accent, or the atmospheric but forgettable verses she’s prevailed upon to sing in it.

It’s Will’s ex, Helen Ramirez (Rosa Salazar) who stands out as the most compelling character in the show. Conveniently a former partner of Will, Frank Miller, and a long-dead Mr. Ramirez, she’s brave, enduring, compassionate, and smart. She’s got grief with Will, who said he could never truly love her – yet she makes a clear case to Amy of why she should stay with her husband. One wonders whether she might have been a better match for Will’s zeal and temperament, and might even love him more than Amy. This isn’t dissuaded by the conspicuous lack of chemistry between Will and Amy, and the fact that the loving words of their wedding vows are immediately undermined by their deeds to the contrary. 

Instead, when we meet her, Helen is shacking up with Will’s deputy, Harvey Pell (Billy Howle). He’s a weak man who nevertheless believes it’s his right to inherit the marshal vacancy left by Will and count on Helen’s unwavering affection. Jealous and petty, one can still empathize with him for the pains of working with a man who cares for him but doesn’t esteem him, even after many years. Yet he’s still a scoundrel – and thankfully, Helen knows when enough is enough.

The same can’t be said for High Noon as a whole. As Will goes around to the town’s homes, saloon, and church, there’s a sense of deja vu. His pleas for decency and support are rejected again and again, in similar shiplap-framed environs (the all-wood set is by Tim Hatley), often by the same actors (most of the ensemble is double- or triple-cast). Even within scenes, certain lines feel repetitive. Straining against the time constraints of a long single act, the show could use less words and more time to breathe, contemplate, and let the issues at play resonate with its characters, and the audience. 

More than once during High Noon, I thought back to last year’s production of Robert Icke’s Oedipus. The two share a prominent ticking clock onstage. But where Oedipus’ clock built tension – a relentless countdown to a catastrophe that only becomes clear at the last minute – the clock here feels vestigial, brought in solely due to its starring role in the film. The journey to “high noon” – which inexplicably begins at 10:15, for a play with a billed hour-forty runtime – is telegraphed from the opening few scenes, leaving the clock a mere timekeeping device. And it’s not that good at that either, distractingly stopping and starting to resync with scenes. A promising idea, with faltering execution – much like High Noon altogether.

Rating: ★★★

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