Old School. Biblically Independent.
By Dustin Rowles | Celebrity | October 23, 2025
Jason Clarke is everywhere right now, and I’m not sure my stomach can handle it. The Australian actor currently stars in two television series and a Netflix movie, A House of Dynamite. He’s always been one of those “that guy” performers — reliably great, deeply committed, and somehow underappreciated. But with his latest run of roles, Clarke has become nearly impossible to escape, and that’s both a blessing and a curse.
His Apple TV+ drama, The Last Frontier, is fine. Competent, if not underwhelming. Clarke brings more to the role than the writing probably deserves.
But his Hulu series, The Murdaugh Murders, is another beast entirely. Watching him embody Alex Murdaugh — the disgraced South Carolina lawyer whose web of corruption and violence tore apart his family and community — feels like watching a real-life nightmare. Clarke’s Murdaugh is repulsive, magnetic, and horrifyingly real. He doesn’t play him as a caricature of evil but as the kind of man you could easily know.
Every time I finish an episode, I find myself turning back to The Last Frontier almost as an emotional palate cleanser. It’s like needing to shower after eating too many Hostess snacks. That’s how deeply unsettling Clarke is as Murdaugh. You can see the rot behind his polite smiles, the entitlement in every shrug, the way he weaponizes Southern charm to hide his sociopathy. He’s like Rasputin, Boss Tweed, and Santa Claus all rolled into one. It’s so good. And so gross.
What makes the portrayal even more disturbing is how plausible it feels. If you grew up in the South (or Connecticut, probably), you know men like Alex Murdaugh — insulated by money, family name, and local influence. They talk about “doing right” while cutting every corner and screwing over everyone around them. They confuse privilege with virtue. They think the rules don’t apply because they didn’t. At least until they do, and it always takes way too long.
I won’t spoil the series for those unfamiliar with the true story, but suffice to say: when I finally broke down and checked Wikipedia, I learned that things only get worse. Much worse. Clarke doesn’t just act the downfall — he inhabits it, piece by grotesque piece. His performance is the kind that crawls under your skin and refuses to leave. That sh**-eating grin keeps me awake at night.
There’s also an unsettling familiarity to his portrayal. Clarke’s Murdaugh reminds me of certain figures in power — men who treat consequences as inconveniences, who buy loyalty instead of earning it, who think their presence is a gift rather than a burden. Man, I dislike him. And indeed, Clarke is having a career moment, but it’s one that leaves you queasy. He’s doing his best work, and I can barely stand to look at him. God, he’s good.
