There is no Hell and Heaven is an empty promise that humanity made to itself. Sinner, saint and all those in-between go to the same place when they stumble from this mortal coil: The Underworld. In the Underworld the only god is Death.  

It’s a lousy final destination – a seething morass of overpopulation and spirit-withering bureaucracy. Hot, crowded and ravaged by pterodactyls. The obscenely wealthy gaze over the suffering masses from the air-conditioned utopia of the Golden-Gated Community. Death is a slumlord presiding over this kingdom from within the Castle of Ten Thousand Souls.

And it’s only going to get worse. After all, folk just keep on dying. Someone really ought to do something about that. Maybe someone will. This is where our protagonists come in. A trio of disaffected newly-deads – Penelope, Rufus and Gohzmeir – band together to bring about lasting change on the far side of the river Styx.

Their plot is to overthrow Death and recalculate wealth distribution within the afterlife. But it’s not gonna be easy. First, they must traverse their personal manifestations of punishment and damnation. Each character has their own demons to confront and skeletons to rattle loose.

Dastardly Productions is a young theatre company established in 2020. Their mission statement is to bring some serious fun to the Wellington performance scene. For this show, our entertainment is provided by Olivia Chelmis, Kealan Schmidt and – in an eleventh-hour switcheroo, due to actor Bon Buchanan suffering a bout of laryngitis – the role of Rufus falls to stage manager Cole Sharland. Ellie Springer takes on the mantle of stage manager and all is under the direction of Jeremy Hunt. I am told that there have been some substantial adjustments to the script in order to accommodate this challenging re-shuffle.

It begins with screams. Gohzmeir (Kealan Schmidt) descends, wailing, from the curtains, to collapse face-down upon the stage. Seconds later, he is joined by Penelope (Olivia Chelmis). Rufus is already there, shadow-eyed and hunkered over a cup of tea.

They make an unlikely trio. Gohzmeir is a grimy, groveling ram-wrangler – recently come to his death upon the horns of an irascible sheep. Penelope is a preening, vacuous princess whose demise came via a poisoned glass of juice. Rufus is a mystery – mute, knowing, possessed of a wry demeanour. He can speak only through the others, puppeteering them by touch. This last device is an odd and ingenious contrivance (even more-so as it was likely a last-minute addition due to the need for re-casting). It lends the character of Rufus an inscrutable, slightly sinister aspect. More could be made of this.

Upon learning of just how this afterlife operates, they are overwhelmed by the injustice of it all and seek to inspire a revolution among the thronging dead.

There are flourishes of social commentary and generational concerns. The Underworld is getting hotter, the eternal fire burns brighter day after day. The rich – presumably boomers, social-media influencers and tech billionaires – covetously guard all the resources while the skeletons of the lowly poor are crammed in, shoulder to bony shoulder. Layers of impenetrable bureaucracy stifle any discernable hope for improvement in living (unliving?) conditions. A moment of triumph is undercut by the lingering question of “what do we do now?” 

Make no mistake, this is a loud show. The howls that open it set the tone of what is to come. These are fast, energetic performances that leave little room for nuance, although the actors acquit themselves admirably within these parameters. The script is an explosion of wild plot deviations, clumsy exposition dumps and abrupt deep-dives into elaborate lore. The narrative is frequently incoherent and random to the point of feeling improvisational. Characters reveal themselves in about-face pivots (occasionally through the medium of song!).

The final confrontation with Death is underwhelming, anti-climactic and yet, strangely apt. In the credited role of ‘Extra’, Jeremy Hunt ricochets through a succession of bright wigs and campy bit-parts, often puppeteering the delightfully-makeshift (fashioned from cardboard and duct tape) legions of the pit.

Too Many Dead People is a hailstorm of dumb jokes, silly accents and broad mugging. Put simply, this show – much like the world is portrays – is a hot mess.

The production design is consistent and well-judged, from the red light that bathes most of the scenes through to the song-list that plays before the show starts (a selection of upbeat songs about death and damnation from artists such as Squirrel Nut Zippers, Queen and Elle King). The stage direction is taut and fluid; the prop-work both whimsical and amusing.

This is an imaginative, exuberant and exhausting comedy. It is definitely a play for the younger generations. As such, it makes me feel very, very old.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer