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Kim Nelson and Benjamin Sutherland in Breathing Corpses at Coal Mine Theatre.

In Laura Wade's dark but often droll Breathing Corpses, a character is haunted by the smell of death – can't get it out of his nose, no matter how many times he blows it.

At the intimate Coal Mine Theatre on Thursday, the out-of-fashion fellow in front of me was drenched in Drakkar Noir, a scenester's fragrance in '85 but now the smell of sheer, unadulterated fear and continuing regret. So, the Breathing Corpses's character? I get him.

This reviewer isn't so sure he completely gets Wade's play, though. Yes, the circular five-scene narrative from the British playwright is cleverly conceived – a backward unwrapping of the plot. Yes, the acting is razor sharp. And, yes, director David Ferry's staging is assertive and lean. But not all of the characters ring true, and an "aha" moment as to the drama's meaning is elusive. Or, perhaps, purposely ambiguous.

The first scene is a queer one. Not because of the dead body in the London hotel room – that's fine – but because of the young chambermaid (played with mischief by Erin Humphry) who discovers the deceased guy. It's not the first time she's come across a tucked-in corpse, but, even so, her reaction is too idiosyncratic to be believed. She takes his hand in hers: "How old d'you have to be," she wonders aloud, "to get the brown spots?" She goes on to give the man a foot rub, reads his suicide note and ponders her own existence.

She doesn't so much disturb a possible crime scene as take a bath in it.

We are then presented with a middle-aged man (portrayed genuinely by Richard Sheridan Willis) who runs a self-storage business. His assistant begs him to look into locker B-16, from which a "funny" smell emanates. But the owner's wife Elaine just brought in bacon sandwiches, so the investigation can wait.

The life of Elaine (Severn Thompson) appears to be an aimless one. With her sons off to school, she's a semi empty-nester. She picks up a travel catalogue on her husband's desk. He's thinking of going to Moscow to fly an MiG fighter jet.

As for her, she sighs a defeated sigh and mentions heading home – "back in my box," as she puts it. Is this life at middle age? Half in the grave, dreaming of fighter-plane adventures, putting things – regrets, dreams and god knows what else – in storage lockers?

The third scene is a doozy. On an unbearably hot day in the city, the self-employed thirtysomething Kate is so irritated by her live-in younger boyfriend's yapping dog she gives it a good kick. Played with believable simmering rage from Kim Nelson, Kate was already in a foul mood because the day before she discovered a dead young woman in the park. All the police questioning was a big hassle. Caused her to lose a half-day's work.

Kate's right miserable, and she takes it out on her tightly-wired boyfriend Ben (the dynamic Benjamin Sutherland). He takes her punches – we see his bruises – but kicking his dog was too much.

Breathing Corpses, which premiered with a splash at the Royal Court Theatre in 2005, takes its title from Sophocles: "When a man has lost all happiness, he's not alive. Call him a breathing corpse."

What the playwright doesn't explain is why we lose happiness. Is it inevitable? Wade's drama is compact, not allowing for a lot of depth to the characters.

Maybe she thinks it's the human condition, that we are all boxed in and dying. That the smell of mortality, like the odour of Drakkor Noir, cannot be washed off easily.

Breathing Corpses runs through Nov. 13 (coalminetheatre.com).

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