Rivals on Xbox, Partners Onstage

NEW YORK — It was a day off for Broadway’s two Farinellis. The man who plays the role and the man who sings the role were instead focused on a big-screen television. They were feverishly toggling Xbox One controllers — novices trying to figure out how to make animated soccer players properly execute a cross.

Sam Crane and Iestyn Davies both portray the famed 18th-century Italian opera singer in “Farinelli and the King,” a play by Claire van Kampen now at the Belasco Theater.

The real Farinelli was a castrato, his high voice resulting from childhood castration, a once common procedure starting in the 1500s. The play tells the true story of his efforts to provide a kind of music therapy to a mentally anguished King Philippe V of Spain (Mark Rylance, who is also Van Kampen’s husband).

Crane speaks the lines, but when it’s time for the character to sing, Davies, an acclaimed countertenor, steps onstage to deliver Handel arias while his identically costumed other half stands by.

Both are British, 38, and never met before the production, which had its premiere in 2015 at Shakespeare’s Globe in London. The two men share similar boyish features. If one didn’t know better, they could be mistaken for siblings. Davies’ jaw is slightly wider and Crane wears glasses, but onstage, in brocaded waistcoats, powdered wigs and shiny shoes, they are almost indistinguishable.

And even now, as they relaxed together offstage, they were reminded of the oddness of the performing task they’ve been assigned.

“I don’t relate to Sam onstage — I enter scenes when he’s doing something else or he stays onstage when I’m singing,” Davies explained. “I have to sometimes remind myself that we are the same person so I don’t accidentally interact with him.”

“My side of Farinelli is more aware of you than you are of me,” Crane said, turning to Davies.

Davies nodded. “You’ve inhabited the character, the person, more than I have to,” he said.

They were sharing a couch in a cavernous space called The Pub, some 30 feet below the Belasco stage. This is where the cast spends most of its limited free time (often still in costume) during the shows. The Pub has foosball and Ping-Pong tables, several couches, a makeshift bar and light-bulbs dangling off wires hanging off the ceiling.

Onstage they mimic each other’s motions and personality. On this basement sofa, they were a study in contrasts. Crane brought his family: his wife Pinny, 9-year-old son Kit and 6-year-old daughter Iris. Davies came alone. Sam Crane’s favorite Premier League team is Arsenal, while Davies roots for rival Liverpool.

Davies was expressive, often raising his voice at the video game, whether it was a near-missed goal, a poor offsides call or an uncooperative controller.

Crane was mostly serene, nearly frozen in place in game after game, while his exuberant son flanked him with encouragement and instructions. (Iris, uninterested in soccer, sat nearby playing a wooden board game version of tic-tac-toe with her mother.)

“What is pass? B, right?” Sam Crane calmly asked Kit.

“What the hell is that? Is that a shot?” Davies grumbled at himself, after a particular play went awry.

“What am I doing?” Crane said a few seconds later. The first game was not going well for him.

“You should’ve passed!” his son interjected.

“I know what I should’ve done but I don’t know how to do that,” Crane answered. “I keep getting confused.”

Though they share a role, the Farinellis described their relationship as no closer than with the rest of the cast — but also emphasized that the whole ensemble was tight. (To that point, half an hour before the house opens at every show, the cast bats around a volleyball in the aisles.)

Davies is more loose and jocular before a performance, Crane said. Davies attributed that to being freed from the burden of acting, normally part of his responsibility when singing in full operas. (His last New York appearance was in “The Exterminating Angel” at the Metropolitan Opera.)

Yet the video game was proving a struggle for both of them. Neither player scored in the first match, much to the chagrin of Kit, the frustration of Davies and the bemusement of Crane. They tried again in a second match.

This match was going the same way. But finally a breakthrough: Crane willed Belgian striker Romelu Lukaku to knock the ball into the net.

He jumped out of his chair with his arms raised. The serene Farinelli had disappeared.

“Yes! Yes! Come on! Come on!” he yelled. Even Iris raised her head to notice.

Within minutes, though, Davies had tied the game. Eventually, the match turned to a shootout to settle things.

Davies took control, scoring a few easy goals.

“Rubbish!” Pinny Crane said.

“How did you not save that?” Kit asked his father, with high-pitched incredulity.

“I don’t know how to save it,” Sam Crane said with a quiet laugh, soon handing over the controller to his son.

Farinelli vs. Farinelli had wrapped for the day. Crane let out a content sigh as everyone packed up to leave. Davies hummed a few notes.

They would next see each other, in costume, the following night.