TERMINUS
TERMINUS, Sydney Theatre Company presents the Abbey Theatre production at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House. June 4- July 9, 2011. Photos by Brett Boardman.
By comparison with other contemporary Irish playwrights whose work we’ve seen in recent years, prolific but hitherto unknown in Sydney is the way you might describe Mark O’Rowe. Between this work and his first major success and second play, Howie the Rookie (Dublin, NYC and Melbourne’s Red Stitch company) close to a decade has passed; in between times he’s written a half a dozen works for the stage and a similar number of screenplays, including 2003’s Intermission, which starred Colin Farrell and a form of interweaving narratives that are echoed in Terminus.
In their “From the artistic directors” intro to the play program, Cate and Andrew tell us they initially considered programming the play but decided instead to invite the Abbey Theatre company to visit. Good decision: it’s not that we don’t have actors more than capable of performing the roles but inevitably they and the audience would be distracted and tied up in Irish accents – good or bad – and even those pointless discussions about “Australianising” or not. As it is, Olwen Fouéré, Catherine Walker and Declan Conlon remind us – intentionally or not – that there is no such thing as a homogenous Irish accent, just as there is no single Australian accent. And, on another track entirely and quite frankly, it is refreshing to see and hear different actors and different approaches – partly why last year’s visitors, the sprawling and wonderful August Osage County and Steppenwolf, were such a brilliant treat.
For completely other reasons these visitors – just three actors and a play of intercut and interconnecting monologues – are equally welcome and thrilling. Mark O’Rowe directs and in choosing the three actors, it’s arguable that it was his most important and successful task. Each inhabits a world of his or her own: a shaft of light in an otherwise black void – and strays not a pace beyond it. They are framed, literally, by a set (Jon Bausor) that is nothing more than an old-fashioned moulded frame. It tightens the Drama theatre stage to a slightly more intimate shape and focuses attention even more intently on the static actors; but the shards of glass that protrude from various parts of the frame, and as shadowy shapes behind the actors, are instant signals to the uneasy superstitious that this is actually a broken mirror: and that seven years’ bad luck is already likely to have befallen the characters.
And you wouldn’t be far wrong, after all, this is contemporary Irish drama and there are obviously going to be tears – and worse – before bedtime; leavened by a lot of humour, a fair amount of everyday gasp-making shock events and much rollicking profanity. The three characters, identified simply as A, B and C, take it in turns to stand up out of the dark and tell us a chunk of their story. At first none appear to be linked; as time and events pass, that proves to be untrue and the links are a great part of the intrigue and joy of the 100-minute journey with the trio. The other part is Rowe’s vivacious and powerful use of seemingly loose and colloquial language in sustained and virtuosic verse play. It’s a combination of traditional storytelling and sounds very Irish and very musical – sort of Blarney Rap – and is hypnotic and fascinating to listen to. On opening night in the Drama Theatre there was barely a cough or wriggle from the rapt audience.
Fouéré opens the evening as A, the seemingly hard-bitten, black leather jacket and jeans clad, middle aged mum who works for the Samaritans to cover for her own guilt and lack of love. She recognizes the voice of a caller as a student from her days as a high school teacher; the girl is pregnant and despairing and A is determined to help – because she failed her own daughter. Somewhere else in the nighttime city is B, a lonely young woman who accidentally upends her single serve microwave dinner on the kitchen floor. This non-event propels her to an evening out with a friend, an almost romance and thence, right to the edge of existence on top of a construction site crane. Somewhere else again in the unloving city, a man – C – is floundering with the enormity of his own inadequacy and shyness and a pathetically keen desire to sing better than Bette Midler, and more; so he enters a Faustian pact with a passing devil. As you do.
Devils and an assortment of angels play a significant part in revealing how the stories of these three disparate, desperate people finally collide. Although Terminus has been characterized elsewhere as having elements of the supernatural and magic realism, neither description seems adequate because O’Rowe pulls off the a breathtaking high wire act of achieving plausibility and logic where none should exist. So much so that death, sex, souls, tenderness and brutal murder combine with utmost ease and credibility. See Terminus to enjoy uncommon imagination and boldness from the writer and the commitment and ease of the cast; and to savour a deliciously horribly hilariously surprising and memorable night at the theatre. Don’t let anyone tell you how it all pans out, and avoid reading reviewers who do that too.
