Death, Ray revives the Faust narrative, removing the religious imperative with the notion that morality can emerge from a simple love of our shared existence – without needing the whip of a heavenly father, nor a heaven and hell.

The premise is the true story of Takapuna inventor Victor Penny, who was indeed transported to Matiu under heavy government security in 1935, to work on a ‘death ray’ he had been developing at home. The fictionalised account here differs from the true story in that Ray’s wife, Patricia, is dead, possibly murdered due to her involvement with peace and union activism. This is an essential plot feature as Patricia slips back from the afterlife to become Ray’s conscience.

The Prime Ministers of 1935 are fictionalised into one character, caricaturised with strong elements of Trump and recent forms of disinformation – such as labelling protest groups as terrorists. Ray’s incarceration is also made more onerous than Penny’s true experience, which emphasises the purgatorial nature of Ray’s situation. 

We enter the bats Dome space with the performance already underway. Ray (Zachary Klein, who also wrote the play) is on one knee in front of a table in his sparse cell/laboratory – the lack of a chair underlining the minimalism of the space. All of the props have their entire surfaces pasted with strips of newspaper, anonymising them, removing them from prominence, emphasising starkness. The set is simply the table, topped with a few props symbolising Ray’s past inventions, a telephone … and some WD40.

In the middle of a table is what looks like a papier-mâché model of Matiu, but later reveals the only prop with colour. The only other items in the room are three tiny, exquisitely realised newspaper-covered mushrooms. The walls of the rectangular room are delineated with ruler-straight and perfectly square strips of newspaper taped to the floor, reminiscent of Von Trier’s Dogtown set. There are boxes neatly arranged just outside the ‘room’, also covered in newspaper, for the purpose of storing props and costumes for onstage changes.

The lights are down, and as the audience enters Ray casually interacts with his inventions. These interactions are trivial and private. We are voyeurs he is oblivious to – like observers through a hidden security camera. The audience is chatting and responding to his actions as though he cannot hear us, while a mediocre 1988 Beach Boys album plays over the PA.

The lights go up, the Beach Boys are silenced, and the premise is set up in a quick exposition narrated by Death (Stella Vaivai). Vaivai’s supporting role narrates the drama throughout, emphasising the philosophical conundrums being explored, as well as providing some detail. We are introduced to Patricia (Peggie Barnes) who quickly leaves the ‘room’ to prepare for her next scene. The premise is only important as a base, anchoring the philosophical dialogue we observe to the question: is there such a thing as appropriate violence?

The Prime Minister arrives (also played by Barnes), symbolising the devil, giving the standard political line on the necessity of weapons of mass destruction. This sets up the second act: one extended scene where Patricia slips back from the afterlife (Death makes a mistake!) to possess… the death ray!

Barnes is in costume as a protestor, but interacts with Ray via masterful use of the colourful death ray prop/puppet that has been hidden under the newspaper mound on the table. It is a Jetsons-style enlarged pistol, complete with fins and a prominent bulb on the tip doubling as a puppy-like nose. It is roughly the shape and size of a kiwi.

This scene is long, with brilliant, snappy dialogue, reminiscent of Aaron Sorkin’s West Wing in its humour, accuracy and logic. Barnes remarkably never misses a syllable with her puppet mouth movement. Likewise her puppet acting is subtle and nuanced – one of the highlights. This is where the moral discussion occurs. Patricia challenges the insecure and bewildered Ray, dissecting his parroted excuses for creating the weapon – as supplied by the devil/PM. They end up reconciled, dancing to the Beach Boys 1966 classic, ‘God Only Knows’– very ironic. The second turning point is a literal climax, hilarious and masterfully directed (Rachel McLean). Possibly the best sex scene you will ever see, with multiple layers of meaning.

Vaivai’s Death is sprightly, pragmatic and empathetic. She is beautifully dressed in a formal office ensemble – all black of course. Her delivery is engaging, giving her character genuine warmth, and cheeky assertiveness. Klein perfectly embodies the neurodiverse awkwardness of a stereotypical inventor, with the subtlety and depth to avoid melodrama.

Barnes is the standout for me. Simultaneously performing as a fully-realised person and as a subtle and expertly acted puppet demonstrates formidable talent. On top of that her turns as the PM and her one-line prison guard role also avoid melodrama, through understated intonation, physicality and facial expression. Klein’s script – especially the second act dialogue – is deeply human, with tangents, sarcastic jokes and emotional responses that transform a Socratic dialogue into a real human argument.  

Josiah Matagi’s lighting is complex and guides us through the emotional states being observed, without once intruding – except where it has to. Wei-Chi Lin’s AV sequences provide delight and humour. A starry night sequence is beautifully done, evoking the experience of gazing at the night much more accurately than a photograph could. Ray’s death flashback of his life provokes delighted laughter. Ruby Carter’s costumes are also notable for their period authenticity – especially the deeply unsexy but practical underwear. 

The French euphemism for orgasm is petit mort: little death. This is made real by the nature of Ray’s climax. He, and we, are guided by Death to the next state, as the props and the walls – such as they are – are removed and we are told there is no heaven, no hell. What there is, is not clear, nor is there any conclusion to the morality debate. We are not being preached to here, although I am left with the suggestion that perhaps heaven and hell are here on Earth – or more accurately, here in our minds.

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