Reclining in the luxury of cheap red wine and diet coke while waiting for the imminent arrival of their playwright, a buttoned-up British director and a brash Irish-American Hollywood actor begin a conversation about rape.
It's shocking, provocative and political - at least it's supposed to be. But somehow the politics of identity, gender and placement/displacement are entangled in a warped bear-baiting episode that provides comedic routines which lack subtlety and substance.
David Ireland's Ulster American is a sophisticated main stage work and the actors deliver polished performances. Leigh (Robert Jack) is an articulate but sycophant director, eager to maintain his pro-feminism and pro-minority stance while acquiescing to his obnoxious box-office star Jay (Darrell D'Silva). The latter, rocking a grey beard and old movie star charm, is convinced that his role in this production will facilitate some long-lost connection to his Irish roots and seems more intent on gaining an eye-patch than actually understanding the differences of Northern Ireland and the Republic.
Then there's the woman. Between two men who seek to mould, mask and manipulate the female mind and body, it's important to note that Ruth (Lucianne McEvoy) arrives late (literally because of a car accident) to the party - and as a result a substantial amount of time has been chewed up by the men in the room.
Delighted by the praise of Jay and thrilled at the possibility of meeting film director Quentin Tarantino her excitement only begins to dwindle when Leigh confesses the "uncomfortable" but "hypothetical" conversation he shared with the golden boy before she arrived.
