Because of the hell into which he was thrown with thousands, Flynn conjures moments reminiscent of Dante's Inferno. There are even echoes in his lines of T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. And what could be more understandable?
Charlotte Moore as artistic director and Ciarán O'Reilly as producing director at the Irish Repertory Theatre form one of the most reliable teams in New York City, and if they aren't regularly celebrated, they should be.
When you sit through something as ludicrous as Williams's last play -- or so we're led to believe of a manuscript cobbled together by other peddler-meddlers -- you spend much of the time wondering whom the roiling cauldron of picked-over Williams obsessions serves.