It's a witty play done in 1941 by Noel Coward whose umlauts I refuse to add because he's not heavy enough to merit the double dots.
He sought to do a play about death to allow WWII army boys to feel a bit less depressed.
It was a bit chatty and old fashioned for my tastes, although the 2:45 (including 2 intermissions) breezes by. I find Noel Coward creepy and gross as a person. I'm not sure why exactly.
My favourite English plays of this fall have been Henry V and Dark Owl, both quite low-budget intimate affairs done by youngish folk.
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