I’ve been a fan of Martin McDonagh’s writing ever since I saw In Bruges; a fan of Aidan Turner since Dead Romantics, Being Human and last but not least, Poldark. So, what could be better than a theatre trip to check out The Lieutenant of Inishmore, a play written by McDonagh and starring Turner?

Two things had initially put me off: the apparent violence in the play and the ticket price. Prices range from £47 to £124, both a bit above my particular price range no matter how great the theatrical combination. Having spotted a £10 ticket offer, my desire to get something for cheap overcame any concerns I might have had with regard to the possible emotional trauma from watching staged violence and off I went.

I prevaricate when it comes to watching violence for three good reasons: I simply hate watching it; I also scare easily and I scream loudly. I once screamed so loudly in the cinema, I caused a Mexican wave of screams around me with one guy sidling up to me afterwards to confide that: “I don’t know about the film but you sure scared the shit out of me.” Sadly, a true story.

But I’m so glad I went to see this production. As you’d expect from a play written by Martin McDonagh the writing is superb. The Lieutenant of Inishmore dissects the nature of Irish terrorism and lays bare all the hollow patriotic platitudes used to justify the unjustifiable and to turn morality on its head. The play also makes uncomfortably clear that terrorism like revolutions have a tendency to destroy its own and that no matter how bad or fanatic one terrorist lot are there’s always another bunch waiting in the wings who will be far worse and by far the more fanatical.

And it’s not just Irish terrorism that McDonagh has in his sights. It’s not difficult to see an analogy with those carrying out terror acts in the name of religious fanaticism or numerous other so-called liberation movements.

That violence begets violence and the twisted moral logic that terrorism fosters is exemplified by the play’s protagonist Padraic (Aidan Turner). He is first shown torturing a drug dealer (Brian Martin) for selling drugs to children. This is the same Padraic, however, who sees no problem whatsoever in children ending up as the collateral damage of a bombing spree so long as it’s done in the name of Irish freedom. (Or if the children being sold drugs are protestant for that matter). He even thinks he’s being a lenient and rather considerate torturer in that he’s only ripped 2 toe nails out and only damaged the one foot of said drug dealer.

Padraic, it turns out, is such a murdering psychopath, he’s been kicked out of the IRA. He, in turn, is now unhappy with the more extreme INLA he’s since joined and is thinking of forming a splinter group from this particular splinter group. For their part, the INLA is unhappy with Padraic for the simple reason they are in financial cahoots with the drug dealers, and Padraic’s current moral crusade is affecting their income stream. It would seem that one man’s terrorist might be one man’s freedom fighter but he might also be one man’s gangster.

Worse is to follow. Back home, on the Island of Inishmore, Padraic’s only friend and the only thing he loves, his cat Wee Thomas is dead. His father, Donny (Denis Conway) and hapless neighbour, Davey (Chris Walley) are the unfortunate ones who have to break the news to Padraic. But how exactly do you break such bad news to a murdering psychopath?

Over the next 2 hours or so what unfolds is a macabre comedy of errors; body parts may come and go but the humour remains throughout. In order to be really funny about something you have to know the subject matter inside out. McDonagh clearly does. Secondly, to be able to write comedy on such a serious and sensitive subject takes real skill but as the body count piles up the play becomes all the funnier, while the absurdity of all this violence becomes even more apparent.

There’s a great Oliver Cromwell joke, for example, which shows how skilled McDonagh is with his material. Given the monstrous role Cromwell played in Irish history and the trigger effect that name must have among Irish republicans, the way McDonagh uses that joke to poke fun at the way some use the past to justify the monstrous present is masterful, hilarious and spot on.

Moreover, McDonagh hits home with his anti-violence message without ever venturing into preachiness: rather he creates a macabre, absurdist comedy of the highest calibre, constantly keeping the audience engaged while still managing to bring his message home with a punch.

If you happen to be one of those Poldark fans, smitten by Aidan Turner in scything mode, you’ll no doubt be delighted to know that Mr Turner appears for the most part attired in a rather fetching jeans and vest combo, if a slightly blood-soiled one. Turner also proves he’s a fine comedic actor. Great comic acting always lies in playing the truth rather than playing for laughs, and this is what Turner does, perhaps most comically of all during the final scene of the play.

We all knew from previous incarnations by Turner that swagger and charm are second nature to him but so, it would seem, is comedy, as he puts in a very fine turn as the psychopathic, slightly thick terrorist from hell with a soft spot for one particular moggy.

Did I scream? Yes, of course I did though fortunately this time I wasn’t the only one in the theatre to do so. Did I laugh? (I also have an incredibly loud laugh, some might say (usually those poor sods sitting next to me) a rather annoyingly loud one. Yes, I did. Loads. Did I find the play thought-provoking? Yes, that too.

As someone who grew up during The Troubles with ultra-patriotic Scottish parents in a part of North London, full of Irish catholic families, I could also relate to it. I had experienced a similar mythologizing over Scotland, its past and its present woes, from my mum and dad while one of my earliest childhood memories is of my mates, scions of Irish Catholics, singing anti-English republican songs, resplendent with thick London accents. The irony was totally lost on them.

It turned out then that The Lieutenant of Inishmore was the great theatrical combination I’d hoped for and more. Turner definitely has star quality but the real star is the brilliantly written play. As someone who is trying to write scripts (What stand up comic isn’t? All comics are in the process of writing that sit com/film/drama series that will catapult them to fame. Comics are nothing if not determinedly deluded.), I can only marvel at McDonagh’s technique, his skill and the intellectual thought that underpins all of his writing, not forgetting the neat little twist in the tale at the end. As a comic, you have to admire his brilliant way with words, his ability to create laugh-out-loud jokes about the most serious and difficult of subjects and his adept way at building set ups.

On a final note, if you’re now tempted to go and see the play, and believe me, you should be, go direct to the theatre website. For one thing, the booking fee is included in the ticket price! (I did intimate I was one for a bargain). And hell, if there are no more £10 tickets left and you can afford it, maybe fork out on a more expensive seat. You may well find it is still value for money after all!

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