A prickly comedy that turns dark over 80 minutes, Ulster American will especially tickle people who appreciate the sensitivities of Anglo-Irish heritage, so it proves a fine match with Irish Repertory Theatre’s subscribers. Other viewers are likely to learn a bit about such niceties, linguistic and otherwise, while being amused and perhaps even later appalled by David Ireland’s mordant play, which opened on Sunday in its U.S. premiere.
Matthew Broderick depicts Jay Conway, an Oscar-winning film star of Irish-American lineage, captivated by the “visceral rhythm and savagery” of a new drama about Northern Island he has signed to perform on the London stage. Max Baker, all gingery whiskers and woolly scarves, portrays Leigh, the play’s English don of a director, who has invited Jay to his comfy living room to meet the playwright on the eve of the first rehearsal.
Traveling over from Belfast, Ruth Davenport is running late, however, and so the men chat, during which time the earnest, though self-involved Jay reveals himself to be a not overly bright artiste given to sententious remarks such as “women’s voices are crying out to be heard.” The actor is eager to quiz Ruth because, Jay declares, “I have to know the history, the cultural woodwork of this play, like I know the contour of my own genitalia.”
[Read Roma Torre’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Their increasingly uneasy conversation, rambling over odd topics like the hypothetical rapes of Princess Diana and Margaret Thatcher, continues with the arrival of Ruth, straightforwardly embodied by Geraldine Hughes. As much as Ruth is thrilled at first to encounter Jay, disillusionment follows when it is discovered how the star has misunderstood both the drama and his character. Even Jay’s ability to produce an Irish accent proves risible. Matters deteriorate as wine is guzzled, tempers flare and, well, let’s just note film director Quentin Tarantino’s name pops up more than once in the talk, so viewers should anticipate the worst kind of outcome (or perhaps the best, depending on their viewpoint). Popping up also quite frequently in the dialogue is the word “fuck” and its variations, and so are “truth” and “history,” since the playwright’s aim is satirical.
Much of the comedy’s humor slyly mocks cultural ignorance – the Irish Rep playbill offers a helpful glossary of terms like “Fenians” and “Ulster” – liberal piety and social intolerance. The playwright also swipes at showbiz with remarks like “He’s not an adult, he’s an actor” and “Only thing I ever want to read from a theater critic is a suicide note.”
Ciarán O’Reilly, Irish Rep’s producing artistic director, gives the comedy a handsome production with a cozy setting designed by Charlie Corcoran in greens and tartans. Generally mellow lighting devised by Michael Gottlieb and the costumes designed by Orla Long are so subtly done for the intimate 148-seat theater as to be scarcely noticeable. Yet these visuals contribute to the atmosphere and can provide insights about the characters, such as how Jay, the silver-haired movie star, dresses himself as casually and youthfully as possible in a T-shirt and faded jeans.
Soft in voice and evidently a bit slow on the uptake as Jay, who really, really hopes he can play his role with an eyepatch, Matthew Broderick is quietly droll as Jay tries hard to absorb new information that does not compute with his firm beliefs on topics like the Bechdel Test, let alone the history of Northern Ireland; his mounting panic later looks very real. When troubles brew between Jay and the playwright, Max Baker’s British director assumes a wheedling tone of voice that trembles with anxiety. Adorable as the stressed Ruth, Geraldine Hughes develops a wonderfully slow boil of anger worthy of a 1930s screwball heroine. O’Reilly’s staging of the darkening comedy is cannily judged, although the story’s outrageous conclusion registers as something of a shocker.
Ulster American opened March 15, 2026, at the Irish Repertory Theatre and runs through May 10. Tickets and information: irishrep.org
