Skip to main content

Mark O’Rowe - Terminus

“That could be the truest thing I’ve said all day,” Mark O’Rowe admits at the end of our conversation prior to rushing off to catch his flight home. Which, considering the Irish playwright has been doing press interviews all day, makes you wonder about what exactly he’s been coming out with before now. Especially given the fantastical nature of his most recent play, which Dublin’s Abbey Theatre brings to The Traverse Theatre as part of its Edinburgh Festival Fringe season. Because, as the internal rhymes of Terminus spin into ever wilder flights of fancy in its three connecting monologues, the truth it reaches verges on the unbelievable.

“I was wondering what would happen,” O’Rowe relates earlier on from the above pronouncement, “if you took someone up a crane after a drunken night. So I took this girl up the crane and had her fall off it. But I knew if she hit the ground she’d be dead, so I couldn’t have that, and I genuinely didn’t know what territory I was going to go into. As it turned out, it was the supernatural.”

The end result starts out like some dirty realist booze-fuelled yarn of nasty chucking-out time fights and desperate little trysts, common enough in terms of attention-seeking, and exaggerated for sure, but nothing you haven’t heard before. Within seconds, however, the rug is pulled from under us and we’re in some metaphysical landscape where devils and angels run wild. The end result is some beautiful-ugly hybrid of Orpheus In The Underworld and Buffy The Vampire Slayer, delivered in a bare-knuckle pulp fiction style that’s in-bred with a dog-eared kitchen-sink ordinariness, but at its centre is as visionary as they come.

It’s the sort of world we’ve come to accept in special-effects friendly fantasy films and the graphic novels hat inspired them. Onstage, however, despite a predilection for magical-realist angels in the 1990s to believe in, literal depictions of such other-worldliness can appear naff. Hence the use of monologues to report what happened as with a confessional or a police statement, thus allowing the audiences imagination to do the rest.

In style, then, Terminus is not only reminiscent of O’Rowe’s own work, his 1999 breakthrough play Howie The Rookie in particular. They also reflect an ongoing wave of storytelling techniques used by contemporary Irish writers, from Brian Friel in Faith Healer and Molly Sweeney, to Conor McPherson in The Weir and St Nicholas. Terminus, however, is something else again.

“If they say it happened, then it happened,” says O’Rowe. “You’ve heard a million ghost stories or whatever, but I literally stumbled on this by hitting a brick wall. I didn’t know where to go next, but this way you can take things wherever you want, and to be able to make that leap is very liberating. If you can make people believe that a demon was flying through the sky through words alone, that can be a very powerful thing.”

Terminus opened at Dublin’s Peacock Theatre in 2007, and has already played in New York prior to its forthcoming Edinburgh run. Much of the play’s appeal may come from a trademark low-rent brutality that courses through O’Rowe’s stage work, although he’s no stranger to controversy elsewhere either. O’Rowe scripted Boy A, the 2007 TV film based in Jonathan Trigell’s novel about a young man released from prison with a new identity after committing a murder when still a child. With little recourse to monologues, it was as different a vehicle for O’Rowe as his previous screenplay for Intermission, starring Colin Farrell and Cillian Murphy.

“The stories come out unconsciously,” O’Rowe says, “and I’m not sure why they come out the way they do. Anything can happen. One of these days I’ll get around to the beauty of a flower or the beauty of true love, but we don’t have to be confined by real life. I’ve never had anything bad or violent happen to me, but I find a great beauty in descriptions of violence. I was inspired by a lot of American literature; James Elroy, Cormac McCarthy, the films of Sam Pekinpah. These guys take no prisoners, and create things that are beautiful works of art without worrying about what people think. That’s kind of the way I want to write. Someone said to me recently that my plays are all about shame and the fear of shame. If I look deep, I think there’s a small element of truth in that. Before I wrote Howie The Rookie I thought it was about being clever and not exposing yourself. Now I think you have to reveal yourself, and be honest.”

Terminus, Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, previews Aug 1-2, various times, then Aug 3-24, various times

The Herald, July 24th 2008

ends

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Losing Touch With My Mind - Psychedelia in Britain 1986-1990

DISC 1 1. THE STONE ROSES   -  Don’t Stop 2. SPACEMEN 3   -  Losing Touch With My Mind (Demo) 3. THE MODERN ART   -  Mind Train 4. 14 ICED BEARS   -  Mother Sleep 5. RED CHAIR FADEAWAY  -  Myra 6. BIFF BANG POW!   -  Five Minutes In The Life Of Greenwood Goulding 7. THE STAIRS  -  I Remember A Day 8. THE PRISONERS  -  In From The Cold 9. THE TELESCOPES   -  Everso 10. THE SEERS   -  Psych Out 11. MAGIC MUSHROOM BAND  -  You Can Be My L-S-D 12. THE HONEY SMUGGLERS  - Smokey Ice-Cream 13. THE MOONFLOWERS  -  We Dig Your Earth 14. THE SUGAR BATTLE   -  Colliding Minds 15. GOL GAPPAS   -  Albert Parker 16. PAUL ROLAND  -  In The Opium Den 17. THE THANES  -  Days Go Slowly By 18. THEE HYPNOTICS   -  Justice In Freedom (12" Version) 1. THE STONE ROSES    Don’t Stop ( Silvertone   ORE   1989) The trip didn’t quite start here for what sounds like Waterfall played backwards on The Stone Roses’ era-defining eponymous debut album, but it sounds

Edinburgh Rocks – The Capital's Music Scene in the 1950s and Early 1960s

Edinburgh has always been a vintage city. Yet, for youngsters growing up in the shadow of World War Two as well as a pervading air of tight-lipped Calvinism, they were dreich times indeed. The founding of the Edinburgh International Festival in 1947 and the subsequent Fringe it spawned may have livened up the city for a couple of weeks in August as long as you were fans of theatre, opera and classical music, but the pubs still shut early, and on Sundays weren't open at all. But Edinburgh too has always had a flipside beyond such official channels, and, in a twitch-hipped expression of the sort of cultural duality Robert Louis Stevenson recognised in his novel, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a vibrant dance-hall scene grew up across the city. Audiences flocked to emporiums such as the Cavendish in Tollcross, the Eldorado in Leith, The Plaza in Morningside and, most glamorous of all due to its revolving stage, the Palais in Fountainbridge. Here the likes of Joe Loss and Ted Heath broug

Carla Lane – The Liver Birds, Mersey Beat and Counter Cultural Performance Poetry

Last week's sad passing of TV sit-com writer Carla Lane aged 87 marks another nail in the coffin of what many regard as a golden era of TV comedy. It was an era rooted in overly-bright living room sets where everyday plays for today were acted out in front of a live audience in a way that happens differently today. If Lane had been starting out now, chances are that the middlebrow melancholy of Butterflies, in which over four series between 1978 and 1983, Wendy Craig's suburban housewife Ria flirted with the idea of committing adultery with successful businessman Leonard, would have been filmed without a laughter track and billed as a dramady. Lane's finest half-hour highlighted a confused, quietly desperate and utterly British response to the new freedoms afforded women over the previous decade as they trickled down the class system in the most genteel of ways. This may have been drawn from Lane's own not-quite free-spirited quest for adventure as she moved through h