by Diana Miranda

Death and The Cat, directed by Penny Gkritzapi, explores life’s ultimate and inevitable outcome – death – wrapped with absurdist humour and a surprising amount of heart. Robert Emlyn Slater’s debut play gives life (ironically) to Death. What starts as a comedy full of quirky characters slowly reveals itself as a deeper reflection on questions about what infinity means, and how the power of connection may ground our search for meaning within the immeasurable.

We’re dropped into limbo, where Death (Rowland Stirling) and his sharp-tongued, talking cat Panther (Rosalie Evans), have spent eternity ushering souls into the afterlife. They pass the time playing chess, sipping tea, and betting on the profiles of newcomers. But everything shifts when Panther’s curiosity gets the better of her. After sneaking a peek through an enigmatic door (an oddly mysterious alternative
beyond heaven and hell), she refuses to continue the job and abandons his old friend, much like a Jiminy Cricket on strike. Lonely and hurt, Death embarks on a journey of redemption as he begins questioning his role in humanity’s fate.

Stirling as Death is a strong presence onstage, carrying the two-hour dramedy with ease. His portrayal of the Grim Reaper is both charismatic and layered, bringing humour and emotional depth to a character who could easily have been a one-dimensional archetype. Determined to prove he’s not a heartless, unquestioning soul-sucker, he begins small. He bargains a self-concerned man out of hell (Kieran Dobson), much to the annoyance of party-throwing, larger-than-life Satan (Lydia Cashman). Then, scaling it up a bit too much, he tries to steer a murderous woman into heaven (Anya Sayadian), until a lofty, (im)patient God (Kaneesha Watt) glides onstage to Beyoncé’s Halo.

Credit goes to a strong ensemble, some of them multi-rolling. Take the versatile Kathryn Bates, who transitions from a sweet, terminally ill patient to a spiky Welsh bartender. Lanre Damola’s deadpan flair brings in the laughs as hell’s guard with perfectly stretched pauses, in a priceless scene with Ludovic Jean-Francois’ quirky angel. Overall, the ensemble’s chemistry and spot-on timing keep the energy high.

Even if stage elements and transitions are not always watertight, this existential quest is a joy to watch. Slater’s writing succeeds in taking a handful of abstract concepts and squeezing them into a feel-good comedy; the script is peppered with clever lines that land seamlessly thanks to the cast’s spot-on delivery. The pacing keeps a healthy rhythm, alternating between laughs and poignant beats. As such,
the themes of friendship and scruples (or the lack of) underpinning the show land effectively.

In the end, Death and The Cat is a feel-good comedy that manages to take abstract concepts and turn them into something tangible, funny, and moving. It’s a night of laughs with a side of existential pondering.

Death and the Cat runs through 30 November.

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