A dreadlocked ringmaster tells a misfit girl to flee the land of the corporate zombies, where businessmen in masks and suits sprawl half dead before tombstones made of suitcases. And she does, committing suicide to descend from the ceiling of the venue’s big top tent to the underworld circus of the fully dead, whose acts include suicides hanging themselves from trapezes and a drowned sailor and his wife contorting through a boneless, weightless sexual dance. Later, a troupe of dead brothers make brilliant use of a trampoline and an oversized photo frame, and a phalanx of hellish Liza Minnellis reenacts Cabaret with flaming chairs. The creative team of Suzanne Bernel, Kevin Bourque and Neal Everett put on quite a show. The 26 performers and seven piece band are fantastic, and fantastically served by Heather Goodman and Mary Anne Parker’s costumes, which have the bravado to make an outfit out of an Elizabethan collar, feathers, a bikini top and knee socks. (The production was born at Burning Man.) And because the stage rotates, there’s not a bad seat in the house, even out in this ex-cornfield east of Chinatown.