Creation & All That Jazz

Jesus and his entrepreneurial rat pack (Buddha, Ghandi, Jehovah, Lucifer) have royally cocked up Creation. It all began when our unruly messiah spat in a petri dish in a slapdash effort to engender life but, looking back on it, more care could have probably gone into it. The cosmos is running amok and the human race is becoming a shambles. Quite frankly, it was badly planned, and now when they descend to Earth hoping to sort out the mess, they get nailed to a cross and whatnot.

Back in heaven Ghandi files an accident report for his ephemeral experience down below, Jehovah assesses the situation on his Nintendo DS, and Jesus hands over management to Lucifer who is persuaded by the Grim Reaper (God’s top managerial consultant) to sod it and let the humans annihilate themselves. It might sound like frivolous fun, a fearless, taboo-busting orgy of a play, but this is far less than that.

Like the classic American high school jock, it thrives on picking on obvious targets, and shouts out its macho war cries at every shove. It’s a cacophonous apoca-shocker that fancies itself Douglas Adams but is little more than a thuggish fraud, empowered by and intoxicated on its own delusion of grandeur. The jokes are harrowingly unintelligent all the way through, and often boil down to cheap puns and the raucous swearing of Christ. Its plot is leprously weak, giving nothing to hold on to, and it is a miracle that this offensively trivial, pub brawl-like play is being staged in a church.

Creation & All That Jazz is an omni-rotten production that’s as funny as your house on fire, and should be feared and avoided like the wrath of God.