Instead, Princes of Darkness is filled with misguided interruptions-- there's no momentum, no action, and no interest. In fact, Connington spends more time adding eyeliner and swapping cloaks than he does actually inhabiting these famous characters--a surprise, given his performance in last year's Zombie. As Connington-as-Lucifer-speaking-about-Hamlet puts it, in his most eloquent moment (and that's not saying much): "What is this meaningless procession of empty activities that we call our lives? Wake. Eat. Work. Sleep. Then wake--and it starts all over again. what does it mean? Nothing. Nothing at all."
The play succeeds as a call to action, but not the political sort that Connington hints at when he shouts that we would do a better job of ruling this corrupt world than these shallow men and this absent God. Instead, after sitting through pretentious renditions of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" and the wan humor of Lucifer's phone conversations with an ex-girlfriend ("I'm dead... no, literally dead, so how can we have a relationship?"), the audience is eager to produce their own theater. After all, Satan, wouldn't anything be better than your version of theatrical hell?