Death Song

A man waits on death row. Seven years earlier, in 1980s Nevada, a family of Mexican immigrants risk being torn apart by new arrivals. Death Song tries to show that, like a charging bull, life doesn’t care who gets hurt.

An enormous amount of potential is squandered here. The staging is deft and inventive, the live sound effects seamless, if a tad cute. In particular, the use of the theatre to manipulate time and space is impressive, although risks giving the audience a sore neck from craning behind them.

The script starts off as a light, thoroughly human drama. The cast imbue their characters with warmth and life. Initially, you fear for what might happen to them. However, like a funeral dirge, Death Song refuses to develop: simply going round in circles, getting ever more hysterical. Eventually, the audience are thrown off like they’re riding a mechanical bull.

Despite its subject matter, there’s no sense of danger in the script or performances. When the play ventures beyond the everyday into matters of fate and death, it simply breaks down. Death row is an endless awkward conversation and the sexier scenes are unintentionally funny. The physical effects grow tiresome and, by the ridiculous ending, even the accents have been abandoned.

There is a lot to like about Death Song; many intelligent choices have been made by a clearly gifted company. Indeed, seeing this much talent ultimately wasted is enough to make you see red.