Every One Dies

Despite spending large periods of the play in the afterlife, Every One never settles for an explicitly religious or secular interpretation of death. If it makes a final nod to a sentimental "life goes on" resolution, it is more concerned with the experience of death itself, brushing the indignity of hospitals, the final flickerings of consciousness and the mind's last attempt to cling to life. Even Mr Death himself, a smartly suited gentleman who arrives from the audience, seems uncertain whether a celestial joy or howling void is beyond.

Although the script conjures well-defined characters and the cast use Jo Clifford's frequent breaching of the fourth wall to gain sympathy, Every One is at its most fascinating in the second act, when the structure breaks into a series of disorientating episodes. A dance interlude, a grandmother blathering about the Germans, memories and hauntings all meander past. The loose narrative refuses to be pinned down, and Clifford's script is admirably diffuse.

The final scene, which resolves the tragic death into determination on the part of the survivors, wraps events up a little too neatly. Yet it remains a bold choice for The Lyceum, which is starting to shed its reputation for old fashioned theatre.