No one can accurately imagine Hell. In Terminus, a magical paean to the art of storytelling, playwright Mark O’Rowe wisely does not try.
No one can accurately imagine Hell. In Terminus, a magical paean to the art of storytelling, playwright Mark O’Rowe wisely does not try. The one soul in his universe who does manage to escape the place, finds himself, like Old Hamlet, unable to unfold its horrors to the youthful melancholic he encounters in a run-down corner of Dublin. But Miltonic questions of salvation, punishment and survival are infused through every phrase of the language his characters inhabit.
Hell, or its earthly echo, an inner-city sink estate, may be inescapable for some, but the characters of Terminus are indefatigable in the search for loopholes to salvation – hence the intoxicating bravado of one claim, that ‘I’ve heard tell that even the Devil remembered Heaven, after he fell.’
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