You’re onto something. They often feel like variations on the same archetype: magnetic men who can sell you anything—an idea, a dream, or a lie—and who let a hairline crack of menace or melancholy show through the charm.
Where they overlap
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Charismatic patter. Both are extraordinary talkers. They do long, musical runs of dialogue that sound improvised even when they’re not. Think Goggins’s preacher-hustler energy (The Righteous Gemstones; his silky “let me explain” cadences in Justified) alongside Crudup’s pitch-man sheen (Hello Tomorrow!; the seductive calm he brought even to the blue-god stillness of Watchmen).
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Moral ambiguity. Each lives comfortably in the gray. They specialize in characters who aren’t villains so much as persuaders with flexible ethics—men who can make their case so well you catch yourself rooting for them.
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Electric restraint. Neither chews scenery; they coil it. A half-smile, a patient pause, a softened voice—small choices that read as power.
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Prestige-TV fluency. Both radiate “raise the material” energy: they make mid scenes feel major and lend ensembles a sly center of gravity.
How they differ (and why you feel the rhyme anyway)
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Regional flavor. Goggins carries Southern Gothic in his bones—wiry, sun-bleached, a trickster with dust on his boots (Boyd Crowder to Baby Billy). Crudup reads urbane and mid-Atlantic—sleek suits, glass offices, a golden-boy smile with a bruise behind it (The Morning Show, Spotlight).
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Texture of the voice. Goggins’s twang is precise and cutting; it can turn comic or venomous on a dime. Crudup’s timbre is smoother, more sales-floor velvet, often masking sorrow or doubt.
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Comic register. Goggins leans into arch satire and flamboyance when he wants (he can be outrageously funny without breaking character reality). Crudup tends toward dry irony—a grin that keeps the joke inside the line.
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Career center of gravity. Goggins has built a pantheon of memorable TV antiheroes and scene-stealing character roles; Crudup toggles between stage-trained leading man and immaculate ensemble player, projecting a steadier, quieter authority.
A neat recent echo
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The “vision seller” trope ties them tightly: Crudup’s retro-future moon-timeshares in Hello Tomorrow! versus Goggins’s showman streak—from televangelist swagger to the haunted pitchman/celebrity past life threaded through Fallout. Both play men who can manufacture belief—in God, in technology, in themselves.
Bottom line
They’re cousins in type—masters of persuasive charm with an undertow—yet flavored differently: Walton Goggins = Southern trickster heat, Billy Crudup = polished, melancholic cool. That’s why they feel so similar in impact, even when the surface details (accent, wardrobe, milieu) diverge.
I know them best from WHITE LOTUS S3 and from THE MORNING SHOW current season.
Good—we can use your familiarity with Walton Goggins (from The White Lotus (Season 3)) and Billy Crudup (from The Morning Show) to sharpen the comparison.
GOGGINS
In The White Lotus S3, Goggins plays Rick Hatchett, an older man with a haunted past who arrives at a luxurious resort in Thailand with his much younger girlfriend Chelsea. CBS News+3Cinemablend+3Hollywood Reporter+3 Some points to note:
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Rick is simultaneously charming (he’s handsome, confident) and deeply troubled—he has an unresolved vendetta and a father’s death hanging over him. Cinemablend+1
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Goggins has talked about reading all eight scripts in a day and being “gutted” by the ending. TIME
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The physical, psychological texture of his character: there’s tension in his relationship with Chelsea (played by Aimee Lou Wood) and a sense of “What’s this guy here for—vacation, revenge, both?” Hollywood Reporter+1
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That Southern-Gothic gravitas I mentioned earlier is deeply present: haunted past, moral ambiguity, a mix of swagger and woundedness.
In The Morning Show, Crudup plays Cory Ellison, a high-level TV-news executive whose position becomes increasingly pivotal. TIME+2TVGuide.com+2 Key details:
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In Season 3 he moves from being more of a supporting player to “the show’s most crucial role.” TIME
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The show’s themes—media consolidation, truth in the digital age, power dynamics—play through his character’s arc. AV Club+1
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Crudup’s performance is smooth, authoritative, and suggestive of hidden depths. He embodies the “slick operator” we discussed: polished, controlled, but possibly hiding something.
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His relationship with Reese Witherspoon’s Bradley Jackson has a slow-burn nature, another layer of complexity to his character. People.com
Why your sense of similarity holds strongly (in this context)
Given these two roles you’re familiar with, the similarity becomes clearer.
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Both characters enter high-stakes environments (luxury resort / major news network) where the surface sparkle hides darker undercurrents.
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Both actors bring a charismatic presence: you believe they could lead, you believe their pitch, and yet you sense they’re more than pitchmen.
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Both roles incorporate tension between public self and private turmoil. Rick’s vendetta and emotional scars; Cory’s executive façade and moral/power questions.
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Both have a sense of control that might be unraveling: Rick is trying to control his revenge or his replacement life; Cory is navigating a shifting media world, perhaps losing grip.
Where the differences sharpen in this specific pair of roles
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Tone & environment: Rick (Goggins) is steeped in something rawer—revenge, trauma, moral decay—set against an exotic luxury backdrop. Cory (Crudup) is situated in the corporate/mediatic world—power plays, reputations, public image.
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Emotional pitch: Goggins’ character often feels bristling, volatile, “dangerously charming.” Crudup’s character is more composed, strategic, with tension more internalized.
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Accent/region/style: You’ll hear the Southern/Gothic edges with Goggins; Crudup’s character is urbane, media-savvy, less about raw base emotion than about polished leverage.
Implications for your “very similar” thesis
Given the above, I’d say your intuition is very good. If we phrase it: Goggins and Crudup often play men who look like winners—but whose wins are haunted, whose charms hide something potent. In the specific roles you cite, that shared archetype is very much alive. They feel like part of the same lineage of character: the charismatic persuader with a dark underside.
That said: the flavour of their performances and the worlds they inhabit differ enough that you can appreciate distinctiveness too. So your statement “very similar” is valid—but with nuance: they’re parallel, not identical.
If you like, I can map three-five other roles for each actor showing how this archetype recurs (and where they diverge) to further flesh the comparison. Would you like that?
