There are not many privileged people who can be embalmed in their workplace. Gonzalo Torregrosa has this luck. He dies in the office of his funeral home and, when the body has not yet cooled, the workers are already whispering, arguing and scheming how to survive the imminent change of command of the company or its possible closure.
Dámaso (Carlos Areces), the deceased's right-hand man, is the most manipulative. He wants to prevent the deceased's daughters from converting the facilities into a gym and, in the process, become the director. So, when talking to the widow (Ascen López), he does not hesitate to invent conversations that never took place with Torregrosa: that if he saw the funeral home as his legacy, that if he planned to raise his salary...
And, while the funeral preparations are being made, a dissatisfied employee (Adriana Torrebejano) due to the late boss' tendency to grope her ass, outraged by the custom of speaking well of the dead, seeks testimonies to lead a
With Muertos S.L., Alberto and Laura Caballero, the untouchable creators of Here there is no one who lives, La que se cerca and El pueblo, propose on Movistar Plus a thirty-minute comedy that understands from the beginning the speed at which the jokes must move , the ups and downs of the characters and scenes: agile but cautious.
A funeral home, furthermore, gives a lot of itself, as Alan Ball already knew when writing Six Feet Under, especially if the black humor is brought to the local scene, with Salva Reina as a driver given to shenanigans, Diego Martín as a son-in-law from the Josef Ajram school, Amaia Salamanca as the former apprentice and now nemesis of Areces who is very comfortable with his character, and other secondary characters who help turn Muertos S.L. in its own ecosystem.
It makes sense that Alberto Caballero wrote the following in December: “At this point, having other formats that are much more comfortable to write in, and better paid, the miracle is that you continue to have LQSA.” In Muertos S.L., as happens in Netflix's Alfa Machos, both he and his sister feel freed from the pressure to fill minutes: it is unnatural to have to write comedy episodes that last more than an hour (and even 45 minutes). ).
And, without rushing, without having to force the joke to fill an impossible footage (which, it must be admitted, gave away that miracle that was No One Lives Here), both his sense of humor and the interpretations are calibrated, avoiding falling into the tawdry histrionics of LQSA.
May success allow them to continue producing short formats: it is difficult enough to find real comedies (that is, not hybrids) that are solvent and funny to lose talent in the past and outdated demands of free-to-air television.
