Sitting opposite me on a sofa in the Corinthia hotel, dressed all in off-white, Jack O’Connell half-smiles, does that exhaling thing people do when they’re deeply contemplating something and then – in response to my very first question – says: “All right, well… this one’s loaded.”
I have always really, really liked Jack O’Connell. Who hasn’t? As a teen he was – by miles – the best thing in Skins, with much more of a natural edge than any of the other breakouts; reflective of a sometimes tough working-class upbringing in Alvaston, Derbyshire. He has been incredible in 2013’s Starred Up and the following year’s ’71 and plenty of other things since. But more than that he just seems – has always seemed – like a decent, humble sort of a guy. When, for example, he later tells me that he’s just made his directorial debut with a music video for Paul Weller, he is fizzing with the kind of obvious excitement you cannot help but find endearing.
