Lynn Ferguson - The Plan

Signs that Lynn Ferguson’s The Plan will be a treat abound as the audience enters the theatre. Viewers who arrive questioning how much enjoyment can be had from a play on Death are instantly disarmed by the impish tally of victims on display and the puzzle book in Ferguson’s hands: ‘Killer Sudoku’.

Being Death, like most desk jobs, is boring. Fire in Fife, car crash in Kirkcaldy – it’s just a matter of crunching the numbers. Death herself has nothing to say—the star of the show is mute, the only nod to familiar Grim Reaper stereotypes—so it’s the dead who tell the stories.

Negotiating a minefield of clichés, Ferguson takes the audience through a multitude of terminal scenarios, ridiculous—breast enlargement and DIY mishaps—and tragic—a child drinking bleach, and rather pertinently, a stabbing spree—without losing her grip on the wry humour they have in common.

The central tale is the exception, its characters casually grim and its denoument unexpectedly shocking. The mood of the room changes instantly – Phil Jupitus pulled a similar trick last year in his Dickens readings when he deployed Nancy’s murder from Oliver Twist. The writing is not in Dickins' league, but Ferguson’s delivery is better.

While The Plan doesn’t transcend the limitations of solo theatre, it is a very strong production. Ferguson doesn’t offer a portrait of death, but a highly enjoyable guide to dying: how it’s done, and how to do it well.