We muse little on the cult of death in 2013. Instead of funerals, everyone is invited to attend a celebration of life. But a funeral is what it is. A memorial service. A remembrance of a soul gone from this earth.

As we enter the theatre, fog is everywhere. A man in a top hat wanders and mutters. There is a printed card on my seat which reads: "All kinds of black fur and seal-skin are worn in deep mourning." Now the man climbs up near the balcony and he keens: "Listen to the little lady!" The little...