the dark side

The Irish Times - Friday - The Ticket - - Cover Story -

it. It won’t al­ways be like this.”

We suspect her hus­band is right; there is some­thing un­flap­pable about Hu­ber­man. She smoothes down her leop­ard-print skirt, as if to prove the point, and points be­yond the win­dow where we’re sitting in the Shel­bourne Ho­tel.

“I had a lit­tle Mar­i­lyn mo­ment on the way here,” she smiles. “The dress went right up as I was cross­ing the road. I had to have a quick look around. ‘Please don’t let there be a pho­tog­ra­pher. Think I’m okay. Phew. Keep mov­ing. Keep mov­ing’.”

Tak­ing on the rad­i­cal ca­reer de­par­ture re­quired by Rewind, she says, was not nec­es­sar­ily guided by a need to “prove some­thing”. She ad­mits, how­ever, that her mar­i­tal sta­tus has pro­vided her with an ad­di­tional im­pe­tus to suc­ceed.

“It does make you want to make some­thing of your­self. You don’t want to be seen as a fluffy wag.”

She has loved drama since she first took classes at Betty Ann Nor­ton Drama School. Acting did not ini­tially ap­peal as a pro­fes­sion, how­ever.

“I was never a stage brat. I was in­sanely giddy as a kid – my mom used to call me The Foghorn – but not pre­co­cious. It was never about try­ing to be in movies or the glitzy side of things. I just loved do­ing work­shops with my brother. I loved get­ting medals for read­ing your lit­tle poem at speech and drama ex­ams. I loved be­ing cre­ative. It was all the small things that won me over.”

She read so­cial stud­ies at UCD but in­evitably fell in with Dram­Soc. By the time she com­pleted her Mas­ter’s pro­gramme in me­dia stud­ies she had al­ready landed a re­cur­ring role on the do­mes­tic GAA drama On Home Ground. Her brother Mark, mean­while, had em­barked on his own thes­pian ca­reer with work on Band of Brothers and Pure Mule.

“Even at univer­sity I never thought of it as a vi­able pro­fes­sion. I thought peo­ple who were ac­tors had to go to drama school, and I knew I wasn’t go­ing to do that. It was too huge an ex­pense to ask my par­ents to cover. But then my brother came out of Trin­ity with a science de­gree and be­came an ac­tor. So that got me think­ing.”

Were her par­ents con­cerned that they might have two adult de­pen­dents on their hands? “I know! Are you proud mom and dad? It can be hard on them be­cause jobs aren’t al­ways there, and you have to move around. But as long as we had an ed­u­ca­tion and as long as my­self and Mark are happy, they’re happy. Dad comes from a job where he worked for him­self. He was a de­signer. So we’re used to the idea of go­ing it alone. We weren’t hip­pies, but in our house there was cer­tainly an ethos of go out there and try it.”

Af­ter univer­sity she moved to Lon­don where, be­tween jobs, she kept her­self oc­cu­pied by writ­ing Hello Heart­break, her de­but novel. Liv­ing out­side the coun­try at the mo­ment when we all got to­gether and de­cided that Ire­land re­ally, re­ally hearts rugby, she scarcely knew who O’Driscoll was when they first hooked up in 2007.

“Art and sport are very dif­fer­ent worlds,” she says

If Rewind was a gam­ble for a woman whose name is on the guest list for Will’s and Kate’s royal wed­ding bash, it’s one that has paid off rather hand­somely. Her un­recog­nis­ably dark cen­tral turn has al­ready won her an Ifta and a con­stel­la­tion of glit­ter­ing re­views. She is just happy to see the film fi­nally mak­ing it in to mul­ti­plexes, how­ever.

“It’s such a re­lief. We shot this two years ago. But it’s so hard for Ir­ish films. It’s hard to get them made. And it’s even harder get­ting them re­leased. It’s an up­hill strug­gle. And it’s such a pity, be­cause I love Ir­ish films.”

In par­tic­u­lar? “No. Prob­a­bly not. I love thrillers and come­dies and pe­riod drama. I leave al­most ev­ery movie think­ing ‘I loved that’. I’m eas­ily pleased.”

She’s keen to get back to writ­ing, and has her “fin­gers and toes crossed” for a re­cently com­pleted UK com­edy pilot, but be­tween ra­dio, TV, char­ity work and be­ing Mrs O’Driscoll, her life is “com­pletely men­tal”.

“I have no rou­tine any more. This week I was out at a ra­dio play, then down in Lim­er­ick for Concern. It’s all go. And I love it. But it was a lot eas­ier to write when I had noth­ing to do and my head was a bit less fre­netic.”

She has, more­over, cer­tain wifely du­ties to at­tend to. “I’m wag­ging it this week­end. I’m go­ing to Cardiff. Where are my pom poms?”

Is it not as glam­orous as it looks? “Er. No. We’re there in jeans and run­ners. No boxes and sun­glasses for us. The girls are so lovely. It’s al­ways a re­ally fun week­end.” That all sounds dis­ap­point­ingly un­wag­gerly.

“I know,” she says. “I’m a failed wag. The tan­ning thing doesn’t work for me. I’m not us­ing a sunbed; they’re so creepy. And when I’ve had the fake tan done I look men­tal. Fake lashes make my eyes wa­ter and ev­ery time I put them damn things on I can feel my head dip­ping with the weight.”

It’s a good thing she can act.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Ireland

© PressReader. All rights reserved.