George MacKay is probably the best British actor working today. Not that anyone yells about it. The tabloids leave him alone. No Gen-Z’ers are following him about Shoreditch bars. It’s almost like he’s not sensational in everything he does, not the leading man in Sam Mendes’ 1917, not the searingly daring character actor from one of the films of last year, Femme, not the visceral raw talent seen in one of his early breakthrough roles, For Those in Peril. What’s going on?
“It’s just about the work,” he shrugs, when I ask why he’s not in the Mail’s sidebar of shame ever, “Those things are out of your control. I just want to work.”
