Our relationship with death is our relationship with truth. In this ambitious two-hander, Zoe works tirelessly to repackage mortality. You'll hear snappy taglines, meaningless ad-speak, and saccharine sentimentality - all designed to make the horrible palatable by disappearing it entirely. But is there enough chocolate in the world to make the pill of death go down smoothly?

At her side, the reasonable foil to her charming avoidance, is her husband Steve, played with ease by Devon Sands. His death is both the beginning and end of the story, and his presence offers a meaningful calm to the unfolding calamity. Sands uses his comedic chops to voice BOB, the Siri-like AI that has all the information and none of the answers. The writing of the trio is clever: Zoe is the breaking heart, BOB is the helpless brain, and Steve is the mortality that neither one can solve.

Kristy Woollam plays Zoe with heart and humour, and her endearing performance is the central pillar of the production. After all, the story of death is the story of life, and the story of life is, ultimately, a love story. The sincerity and affection at the heart of this play is what makes it all work.

In my mind, the script could benefit by clarifying what, precisely, Zoe's business does to a corpse. The slogans are clever, but they somewhat shroud the particulars of the biz.

The play is quite generously peppered with funny lines and sly jokes - though the vulnerability of the performances might keep you from laughing too loudly. The script remains true to its cause; it doesn't offer you an easy out. No slogan, no revelation, no artistic cop-out arrives to offer consolation. It will also spare you fruitless discussions about the plausibility of an afterlife; that's not the point. The point is the body on the table.

A Curated Exit is a smart, witty play with no small serving of artistic gumption. It's touching. It's a little rough around the edges. It's worth seeing.