The issue of whether the cyborg Kath is showing signs of humanity cannot be dismissed outright; it becomes another of this play’s intriguing mysteries. Presumably it is from a successful career in advertising but it seems like a fairly significant and particularly relevant point to leave unclarified, especially as it is such a contrast to everything else we learn about her.

It's Farr’s first play for over a decade (during which he’s written for ‘Spooks’ and adapted ‘The Night Manager’ for BBC1, among other things) – and it deserves an equally thrilling follow-up. Ti Green’s set design gives the drama a spatial layering that brings clarity to the story’s past-present structure: a frame for the virtual reality sections, and distinct platforms for the various phases in Kath’s life, along with deft scene changes using video, designed by Sarah Readman, and sound, by Ben and Max Ringham. The entire cast does a great job to support the story, given that there are rapid character switches at certain times.

The tech supports framing moments, including quite literally framing the AI Kath, but also more subtly throughout. At this stage the plot of the daughter’s emotional wrangles is overtaken by that of the mother running through her past life, though the sparing use of 1960s and ‘70s music evokes the time perfectly.

Directing his own work (here in collaboration with Alice Hamilton), he sets up dance-like patterns between actors and seems to choreograph silences. David Farr, who adapted both The Night Manager and the Midwich Cuckoos for TV, is the pen behind this piece of near sci-fi which explores how artificial intelligence is shaping our lives and deaths. How you respond to David Farr’s drama about a former Sixties radical who cheats death by turning herself into a cyborg depends, to a large extent, on whether you are a fan of Adam Curtis, the man responsible for those relentlessly quirky documentaries about society and its ills (cue archive film of SS men playing backgammon to the sound of Doris Day’s Que Sera, Sera). Her only accompaniment is the cellist Gemma Rosefield, the composer and performer whose music heightens the most dramatic moments of the evening.

The link to the present is a touch tenuous, but on the stage the two settings are constantly rubbing shoulders with each other in the revolving doors of a confusing narrative. It dwells on the edges of possibilities, almost leaving the spectator to fill in the blanks while they are left to make sense of what this story is actually about. There’s an ethereal, Don DeLillo quality to these opening minutes, setting a lethargic pace for the play to explore its Big Questions.

Or is this a story of financial manipulation in which Kath has been persuaded to leave all her millions to a “future life” company promising eternal, virtual existence? You can change your choices at any time by visiting Cookie preferences, as described in the Cookie notice. Travelling to the small town of Taos to identify the body, she discovers Kath has become embroiled in a shadowy enterprise, offering Sam an unimaginable chance to rebuild their broken relationship. However, Farr’s writing and plot design manage to build their own spot in the fictional universe, resulting in a text that, though not exceptional, achieves to create a much enjoyable and interesting ride as well as bonding a connection between the viewers and many of the roles – no matter how loveable or obnoxius (seriously, you want to throw the lead’s mother out of the window) they are.I am equally drawn to Gemma Lawrence’s portrait of Sam and sympathise with all the emotions that come with discovering that your dead mother is not as dead as you thought. Through a series of flashbacks, we discover more about the rebellious free-spirited Kath and her life before and after marriage to Sam’s father, including a truly heart wrenching Sliding Doors moment. It could be a beautiful exploration of grief and how our modern lives inhabit a digital world that leaves footprints behind forever. Because really, this is a play about love and betrayal, and the way that selfishness clouds us to the needs of those closest to us. As an artist she needs to follow her own vision, but sometimes she is merely selfish – as in her infidelity because ‘the opportunity was gaping’, and in her refusal to do the work she is being paid for because she doesn’t feel like it.

David Farr’s new play is a brave experimental piece of sci-fi in theatre, one not usually attempted. These are the first words that Sam (Gemma Lawrence) speaks to her mother Kath (Eve Ponsonby) in over three years. To transform a genre that is commonly associated with cisgender masculinity into a queer extravaganza is no easy task. Set against the backdrop of modern America, A Dead Body in Taos is part mystery, part sci-fi epic and part love story, that leaves the audience wondering whether, in the 21st Century, freedom is something we should run to or escape from. Rachel Halliburton has been a theatre critic for 20 years, writing for publications including the Evening Standard, the Independent and the Arts Desk.Director Rachel Bagshaw has assembled a top notch, versatile cast who play their multiple roles with relish, and Ingrid MacKinnon’s movement direction is spot on. Enough dives headfirst into the cesspool of misogyny, sexism, and racism faced byfemale police officers, delving into the intricate ways discrimination and corruptionmanifests within the police force. The treatment of her lovers and an angry reaction to a bizarrely out of place scene at a meditation commune all just make us like Kath less and less. The use of abstract artist Agnes Martin’s connection with Taos is a neat device to illustrate the lens through which Kath sees the world and the world sees her.