KENREX Unfolds Like a True Crime Podcast Onstage, and Jack Holden is At the Center

On July 10, 1981, in the town of Skidmore, Missouri, a local man named Ken Rex McElroy was shot dead in broad daylight. It is estimated that at least 30 townspeople witnessed the crime. But not one person came forward to identify the shooter, and to this day, McElroy’s murder remains unsolved. 

How does this happen? New true crime thriller KENREX seeks the answer by investigating McElroy’s life in Skidmore, where he was infamous for years as a frightening bully and violent criminal. A high-octane solo work led by acclaimed performer Jack Holden, KENREX transfers to the Lucille Lortel Theatre off-Broadway following three celebrated UK runs.

Holden earned an Olivier Award nomination for his solo play Cruise, and his transformative work in KENREX has been declared “astonishing” and “terrifying” by UK critics. Theatrely sat down with Holden, who also co-wrote the show alongside director Ed Stambollouian, to discuss vigilante justice, portraying 35 characters and putting a true crime podcast on stage. 

When did you first learn about the story of Kenneth Rex McElroy, and what made you want to bring it to the stage?

Myself and Ed Stambollouian, the co-writer and director of KENREX, had been wanting to make a true crime show for a while. We wanted something American—small-town America lends itself to the true crime genre so well. And we were looking for something unsolved, because we wanted an open-ended story.

The story of Ken Rex McElroy and the town of Skidmore just really stuck with us. It had all the elements of a really good show: incredible location, an amazing host of wild characters, a really bad baddie, and a story that has twists and turns but also a super theatrical ending.

Why did you specifically want an American story and the American small-town milieu? 

Growing up in the UK, we absorb just as much American culture as British culture, to be honest. Thinking of my evenings after I got home from school, it would be The Simpsons, followed by Buffy, followed by Frasier. Ed and I always had a love for Americana. The first play we worked on together was an Annie Baker play, The Aliens. We just love American storytelling.

And then our biggest touchstones in terms of true crime pieces were The Jinx, Serial, S-Town, Making a Murderer. All of these were American. We just wanted to dive into that world.

Kenrex unfolds like a true crime podcast on stage, and that extends into the soundscape of the play. Was that always the notion from early on in the process?

The form developed alongside the story. We called it mosaic storytelling: there’s a court transcript there, there’s a radio recording, a commercial or interview, loads of different sources. So the sound element developed alongside that, and accelerated when we were finally putting the show together for the first time. John Patrick Elliott’s incredible music elevated the whole, and Giles Thomas’ immersive sound design really gives you the impression that you’re in a true crime podcast as it’s happening.

I’m looking at you now, and you don’t exactly resemble McElroy. Nor can I immediately picture you playing all the denizens of this Midwestern American town. How do you transform yourself physically for all these different characters?

We drilled down to six core people, plus Ken and a few other key characters. Once we knew that was our palette, then it was a collaboration between me, Ed and our movement director Sarah Golding to create a physical and vocal language, and identifiers, for each of these characters, so that when I’m flipping between them in quick succession, the audience is in no doubt about who’s talking. 

I don’t do any costume changes. I basically just do posture changes, facial changes, voice changes. It’s a pretty stripped-back approach to multi-roleing, but with the pace at which our story moves, it’s the most economical way of doing it. It’s just all about clarity really, because there’s so much information. 

That was one of the key things we borrowed from true crime podcasts—they do a big information dump quite early on. And you’ll feel overwhelmed at first, but gradually it makes you as an audience member feel like an armchair detective, like you are putting all the pieces together. 

At the center of it is Ken McElroy himself. To read about him, and all these awful things he did, it’s hard to imagine finding a lot of nuance to the man. Did you want to find some complexity in Ken? Or can a person just be the embodiment of pure evil?

Certainly in the long, long development of the piece, at one point we did go down the path of: “Let’s really flesh out Ken, let’s humanize the guy.” But…he was bad. He was really bad. He did a lot of bad stuff. He did worse stuff than we even cover in the play. We wanted to instead view him as the people of Skidmore did: as a villain. And then by the end, when they take the law into their own hands, it feels really cathartic for the audience. But then there’s this moment afterwards where the dust settles, and you feel the audience wondering: “Hmm, was that the right thing to happen?” Even though he was really, really unequivocally bad. 

‍Right, and that question of vigilante justice feels especially resonant at this moment. That horribly alluring idea of someone taking matters into their own hands. 

For KENREX it really did take the world shifting, not necessarily in a good way, for it to suddenly become, as other people have said, “relevant.” When they say that, I guess what they’re talking about is: obviously bad people, doing bad things, and getting away with it repeatedly. And what do you do in that scenario?

It brings up horrible thoughts that no-one wants to speak aloud, that question of, “Would it be the worst thing…if…?” But then the moment you have that thought, you immediately have to take a step back from it and remind yourself that the consequences would probably be even worse.

It’s an unanswerable question. And that’s what is so exciting about the piece. That’s what people take out to the bar or take home with them afterwards, the wondering how you would have responded, if you’d been there. All good true crime ultimately leaves you with the question: “What would you have done?”