Hulu’s hot new crime series Furious, which wraps its thrilling first season Monday, begins on Halloween, a night of costumed and masked revelers. The young woman we meet in the first episode, however, is no longer play-acting.
“I don’t really like listening to you,” she whispers to the man who lies dying next to her, gasping for air after being injected with an unidentified substance. When he stops breathing, her face crumples into a moment of real pain. The woman saves her disguises for the next few of the show’s excellent eight episodes, switching wigs, identities and personas in her quest for revenge against the men who not only trafficked and raped her as a teenager but who she believes also killed her friend.
Played with chameleonic flair by 30-year-old Irish actor Lola Petticrew—their past work includes the BBC series Bloodlands and Three Families and the FX show Say Nothing—Furious’ Catherine Grace can be sweet or sexy, astutely identifying and weaponizing men’s weaknesses against them. When she catches the eye of one target (Rob Delaney) at a party she’s waitressing, she suppresses a giggle as though flattered by the attention; it’s really a move designed to flatter his ego. Later, she entices him with the idea that he could own her, only to reverse the dynamic and hold him captive instead.
To get to another target (Campbell Scott), she takes the opposite approach. Having slept with his son (Nicholas Podany), she overstays her welcome at his house the next morning, brazenly asking his wife (Janel Maloney) for WiFi access and coffee. She’s commanding and unflappable, soon wearing out her hostess’ patience by refusing to leave.
Catherine knows the woman will call in her husband to deal with the situation. He’ll recognize her and then acquiesce to her demands so as not to be outed. When she nestles against him in the elevator, however, he still clings to the illusion that he has power over her; it’s this obliviousness that enables her to get close enough to jab him with a dose of fentanyl too.
Despite being a woman with full conviction about her ultimate goal, Catherine has little idea of who she is, or was. Her cocky retelling of a past event trails off when she realizes it might’ve happened to someone else.
“My memory sucks. It’s cause I got strangled so much,” she explains, the deadpan intonation only heightening the tragedy of her past. Petticrew doesn’t play her killer with stoic efficiency. Instead, there’s a moment during each murder when Catherine’s composure frays. She might be adept at putting on an act of helpless desperation, but the deep despair that frequently threatens to overwhelm her is genuine.
Catherine’s instability is a precarious balancing act: As she curls a target’s daughter’s (Riley Vinson) hair, the framing makes it seem like she might just burn the girl’s neck. Instead, she swiftly switches from being lost in a recollection of trauma to a spirited cheeriness.
When she befriends undercover FBI agent Alice Black (Emmy Rossum) at a shelter for abused sex workers, her smiles are wide and genuine. As she messes around on a kids’ playset, there are hints of girlish mischief. Her eagerness to chat and share anecdotes points to a well of loneliness. In a scene where Catherine realizes she’s regaining feeling in her fingertips after years, Petticrew has the character break into teary, exuberant laughter, look down at her hands, and then at herself in the car’s rearview mirror. The only person she has to share this monumental moment with is herself.
Catherine’s appeal lies in her porcelain-doll features, which project an air of fragility. In making herself seem small and helpless, she lets her marks feel powerful enough to let their guard down.
“We can do this together,” says one such dupe (former SNL cast member Chloe Troast), deep under Catherine’s spell, believing she can save her. Petticrew’s narrowed eyes and air of impatience communicate exactly what her character thinks of this woman’s intelligence and her misguided beliefs.
Later, when Alice repeats the same cliché, Catherine’s outburst and her pointed questions about the agent’s past assault are geared towards underlining how hollow and self-serving this platitude is in a system that’s fundamentally broken. Catherine’s aware that the men around her aren’t really listening. When she’s asked what being a sex worker was like on a date, she leans in: “It made me really angry.”
The words are said in a whisper, but their venom is undeniable. That still doesn’t stop the man from unthinkingly using a degrading slur against her in a subsequent sex scene.
There is, however, a gentleness to Catherine when she’s with Alden (Steve Way), whom she tends to under a false identity as an in-home nurse. While he’s also the only character who sees right through her, his perceptiveness about her duplicity elicits only amusement.
“You wanna pay for a real nurse?” she shoots back when he calls her out. She isn’t above lying to him, but she’s also honest with herself about her feelings. She might not love him, but she cares enough to admit she doesn’t want him to be alone.
While Petticrew received a BAFTA TV nomination for their performance in Say Nothing, Furious is garnering the actor a whole new legion of admirers—especially as the show barrels towards its highly anticipated season finale on Monday.
By delivering a stellar, shapeshifting performance as a character intent on slipping under the radar, Petticrew has captured our full attention.
