Book by Patricia Highsmith

Adapted and Directed by Mark Leipacher

Review by Dominic Corr

The Festival Theatre: Tickets

Under the Mediterranean sun, there’s a profound chill in The Talented Mr. Ripley, now touring through the Festival Theatre in Edinburgh before heading out across the nation. Mark Leipacher’s adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s hit psychological thriller leans heavily into cinematic stylings, with flashes of brilliance in its staging and tone, but like its slippery protagonist, it doesn’t always know when to hold back or when to strike; and often getting lucky, rather than calculated.

Beloved by many for his turn as Prince William in The Crown, Ed McVey delivers a magnetic performance as Tom Ripley. Rarely offstage, McVey slinks through scenes with a chameleonic ease, his Ripley equal parts charming and unnerving. It’s a role that demands transformation, and McVey obliges: his ability to mimic, manipulate, and morph into another is the production’s greatest asset. Whether forging signatures or forging identities, McVey’s Ripley is a master of performance and the audience is often complicit in his deception; rarely do the supporting cast not find their own characterisation heightened, than by sharing the stage with McVey.

The production toys with cinematic devices: scene cuts, spotlight interruptions, and replays, as if we’re watching a live edit of a psychological thriller. It’s a clever conceit, but one that’s inconsistently applied. The ‘cut’ moments, where scenes are rewound or reframed, initially intrigue but eventually disrupt the narrative flow. Rather than deepening the tension, they fracture it, pulling us out of the drama just as it begins to settle. They remarkably inventive, and clever tie-ins to the film version of Highsmith’s tale, but are somehow both under, and over utilised.

Visually, the staging is captivating. Holly Piggott’s set design is minimalist but evocative, with clean lines and shifting panels that suggest both opulence and isolation. Zeynep Kepekli’s lighting design is a standout, if occasionally blinding, using shadow and silhouette to mirror Ripley’s fractured psyche. The use of side lighting and sudden bursts of brightness during scene transitions evokes the flashbulb intensity of noir cinema, though at times it overwhelms rather than enhances.

Supporting performances are solid, if occasionally uneven across the production. Bruce Herbelin–Earle’s Dickie Greenleaf is suitably aloof and golden as a man whose charm masks a lack of substance, and is paried well with Maisie Smith who brings grounded clarity to Marge, though her scenes often feel underwritten. Also onstage are Cary Crankson’s Freddie Miles, who injects energy into the second act, while Christopher Bianchi’s Herbert Greenleaf offers a quiet, tragic counterpoint to the chaos Ripley leaves behind – and makes for a comedically effective police inspector later in the production.

The story itself – one of obsession, identity theft, and murder – is complex, and the production doesn’t always manage its pacing. The first act, while visually rich, struggles to maintain momentum. Scenes feel episodic, and the emotional stakes are slow to build. But the second act finds its footing, tightening the narrative and allowing McVey’s performance to deepen. As Ripley’s lies unravel and his paranoia grows, the tension finally grips. There’s a thematic richness here, questions of class, power one on queerness, and the cost of reinvention, but they’re hinted at rather than explored. The production gestures toward Ripley’s disturbed childhood and ambiguous sexuality, but never fully commits to unpacking them. It’s a shame, because McVey’s performance suggests depths the script doesn’t always plumb.

Stylish, often compelling, The Talented Mr. Ripley doesn’t quite deliver the psychological gut-punch it promises, but it offers enough intrigue and aesthetic flair to keep audiences engaged. And in McVey’s Ripley, it finds a central figure who is as captivating as he is chilling; a man who becomes someone else so completely, we almost forget who he was to begin with.

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