‘Ye Children of Man! Whose life is a span,
Protracted with sorrow from day to day
Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous,
Sickly calamitous creatures of clay!’

This comically glum observation comes not from Harry Love, but Aristophanes in The Birds, the ancient Greek comedy that was Love’s inspiration for All’s Well That Ends. Otago University’s Department of Classics is responsible once a year for some strikingly original theatre. Last year’s thrilling Hurai was a resetting of The Bacchae in colonial New Zealand that still resonates for me.

This year it is a comedy, not a tragedy, that has tempted Love to explore themes of life and death, and, principally, life after death. It succeeds in being both intellectually challenging and deliciously absurd.

The feeble and querulous mortals who have apparently just died at the opening of All’s Well That Ends are two of ancient Greece’s most famous citizens, philosopher Socrates, and playwright Aristophanes himself. They do not seem daunted by finding themselves deceased, but set about working out just where they have awoken, arguing and insulting each other as they did in life. “We’re both dead, you pompous old fart.”

“Is paradise like the old life without the bad bits? And are we there yet?”

Veteran actors John Watson as Socrates and Harry Love as Aristophanes look absolutely right in their roles, and work together with consummate ease. They grumble and fart, rhapsodise and jest, the perfect odd couple, reminiscent of Beckett’s old tramps, but occasionally soaring into lovely lyrical flights of crazy fancy. Eternity could be okay with such entertaining companions. 

Greek comedy switched easily from crude slapstick to erudite philosophy to brilliantly biting satire, and here too at one moment Aristophanes is tricking Socrates into bending over so he can kick him up the bum, and next the two are engaged in a fiendishly difficult debate on some aspect of religion. Author Love manages to work in plenty of satire, with Dunedin’s controversial new stadium being a prime target.

The set, by Globe’s tame genius Andrew Cook, is immensely satisfying: a neat box, with softly draped material, white on white. We are in the clouds. Cloud-cuckoo-land, ‘Nephelo-Coccygia’ as Aristophanes wrote it. Against this marble white background the two Greeks in their earth brown robes are like chunky little terracotta statuettes. You want to reach out and pick them up, watch them wriggle like the insects they are. 

High on a balcony above the stage a drummer and guitarist perform original music by Stephen Stedman. This sets the mood and provides attractive backing for the Greek chorus, gorgeous shimmering girls called the Nephalettes, whose singing and dancing break up the verbal debate. “We sort of drift around, doing gigs,” they explain. These ‘mistresses of Time’ are polished and hard-working, but I most enjoyed the moment when they enticed the cutely chunky old Greeks to join them, puffing, in a full-on boogie. 

Other characters who invade the stage include three beautifully costumed birds, representing the main religions. The Lord of all probably shouldn’t be named, but a clue may be the portrait of a demure duck on the poster. Then there’s a really mean Hope, viciously portrayed in tailcoat, fishnet tights and boots by the always dynamic Denise Casey. She wields a riding crop altogether too convincingly and spins a wheel of fortune. Scary.

There are also the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse, considerably less scary, with ‘Death and Destruction’ cosily nicknamed ‘DeeDee’. I never did quite work out the reason for their presence, anachronistic as far as the Greeks are concerned. It’s the sort of play that has you worrying you’re not as educated as you had thought. 

But as it is essentially absurdist comedy that deals with the meaninglessness of human existence that is no doubt as it should be. As a character warns, “You’re in danger of deconstructing the whole artifice.” Perhaps one shouldn’t try too hard to understand, but simply relax, listen to the chorus sing the Pythonesque ‘Look on the sunny side of death’, and enjoy Cloud Cuckoo Land. 
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Aristophanes can’t work it out. “What happened to the gods? Where are the fields of Elysium?” Socrates doesn’t know either and the Socratic method is no help. “Is that all there is?” he wonders.

The two “dead Greeks,” as the programme helpfully describes them, have fallen into some sort of glitch in the eternal system. Instead the expected bliss, they encounter later ages’ ideas of the afterlife.

The four horsemen of the apocalypse bumble by, followed by sexy and cruel Hope, a Tinkerbell looking and sounding far too much like T.S. Eliot, and the Birds of Pray who represent major religions (Mutually Assured Divinity) and behave as ineffectually as the United Nations. A trio called the Nephalettes acts as chorus, and the Most High remains as enigmatic as ever.

If all this sounds a bit absurd – well, it is. It’s also a light-hearted look at notions of death through the ages, good entertainment and just possibly a commentary on life in Dunedin today. Harry Love not only wrote and directed the play, but also stars as Aristophanes alongside John Watson’s Socrates.

Years of working together in the theatre have given these two fine actors a rapport which is a joy to watch. The third star of this particular show is Denise Casey (Hope), who knows how to dominate any stage.

Andrew Cook’s set consists largely of white draperies, just about everyone’s idea of died-and-gone-to-heaven. Excellent masks, of which Aristophanes might have approved, have been made by Matthew Robertson and Fiona Shaw, and musical accompaniment is provided by Stephen Stedman (guitar) and Jeff Harford (drums).

Produced by the Globe Theatre and the University of Otago’s Department of Classics, All’s Well That Ends deservingly attracted a near-capacity opening night audience.
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