What could be cosier than lunch beside a crackling fire in the company of three affable actors wearing autumnal knitwear? Nothing really – although the subject that has brought Woody Harrelson, Andy Serkis and Louisa Harland together, in this quiet London pub, is about as cosy as a hand grenade.
They are in the middle of rehearsing Ulster American, David Ireland’s savagely funny three-hander about the explosive misunderstandings between Ruth, a principled playwright; Leigh, a well-meaning director; and Jay, a domineering Hollywood star. As the three prepare to stage Ruth’s incendiary play about Northern Ireland, which features decapitated priests and the ghost of hunger striker Bobby Sands, they find they’re not even in the same bookshop, let alone on the same page. Jay is having trouble getting to grips with the Troubles, Leigh mistakenly believes the whole play is about post-Brexit tensions, and Ruth is refusing point-blank to do any rewrites. She has been promised an introduction to Jay’s pal Quentin Tarantino – but the way things are going, there could be enough blood spilled before opening night to make even the Kill Bill director queasy.
