Content warning: mentions of sexual assault
David Ireland’s Ulster American cannot be easily summarised, though it certainly provokes. The meta-theatrical piece deploys satire to interrogate Hollywood’s gendered power dynamics. Jay (Jeremy Waters) is an American award-winning actor, Leigh (Brian Meegan) is a British theatre director, and Ruth (Harriet Gordon-Anderson) is a Northern Irish/British playwright. We meet the trio on the eve of rehearsals of Ruth’s unflinching historical drama, Shrapnel.
Within the play’s fast-paced 75 minute run-time, a seemingly agreeable conversation divulges into frenzied attacks and violence. While initially seeming as if actor, director and playwright are in accordance with the political stance of the metafictional play, a discovery of their opposing views of Northern Ireland’s unionist-nationalist divide, as well as misogynistic attacks on Ruth, jeopardises its continuation. Ulster American’s relevance lies in Jay and Leigh’s tokenistic feminism, which is questioned as they hypothesise justifying sexual assault, constantly mansplain, dismiss Ruth’s identity, and sideline her from any agency of her play.
Waters plays the blatant misogyny of the successful actor infuriatingly well, which, when combined with Leigh’s contrived ‘feminism’, paints a clear picture of how patriarchy thrives on complicity. Leigh talks about how Ruth wouldn’t have a career without him, saying she is “sensitive, fragile, haphazard”, while simultaneously declaring “I’m not a misogynist. I adore women.” Both men acutely understand how to fashion a façade in accordance with ‘public’ respectability, yet revert to their core patriarchal beliefs in ‘private’ spaces, as shown by the satirising of their appalling “locker room” talk. Such staggering (and perhaps unconscious) hypocrisy shows the convenience of claiming a feminist identity, but only insofar as the dominant group can retain their power.
I could see why the play advertised itself as “brutally hilarious”, as the audience often erupted in snort-inducing laughter. However, I had trouble joining in. Although I appreciate Ireland’s commitment to satire, the play’s reliance on jokes about sexual assault was ultimately uncomfortable and gratuitous. The script crosses the tenuous line between purposeful satire and shock factor. There is something concerning about hearing an audience willingly laugh at such black humour. By being encouraged to laugh, the play makes the audience temporarily complicit in the misogyny; the audience is the enabler. Irony doesn’t act as the liberating tool David Ireland intends it to be, or was that the underlying point?
That being said, Shane Anthony’s stage direction was outstanding, especially in the actors’ use of the limited space. For instance, in a scene of heated argument, the characters were triangulated, mirroring their opposing ends of political and moral spectrums. They would move closer to each other corresponding to their ideological closeness — a brilliant way of representing the characters’ ever-shifting stances. Their physical movement became notable as the men continually evinced different politics to pursue their own grandeur.
Veronique Benett’s impeccable set meant that the play never felt stagnant, despite the small stage. The positioning of the coffee table in the stage’s centre created a roundabout that mirrored the characters’ tumbling, circular and often overlapping conversations.
What remained on my mind was Gordon-Anderson’s moving performance in the climactic tragedy of the play. The director transforms the original stage direction instructing Ruth to look contemplative into a directive of crying, creating a salient moment of stillness, a single perfectly-timed tear falling down Gordon-Anderson’s right cheek. It arrested me in that moment of shock, which felt like the first sincere moment in the play. However, almost immediately following her exit, Jay and Leigh began plotting how much creative liberties they could take with the play, taking advantage of her “fragility.” Ruth then entered unbeknownst to them, creating an uncomfortable instance of dramatic irony. The play succeeded in its aim to shock and prod, though it came at the price of palatability.
When the curtains were drawn and we filed out of the Ensemble Theatre, I was left with a frustrating sense of injustice, and repulsion by how much contemporary truth I found in the satire. Ulster American is still as relevant now in Australia’s epidemic of gender-based violence as it was in 2018 as a response to the #MeToo movement.
Ulster American plays from 13 May – 8 June at the Ensemble Theatre. Tickets can be found here.