Theatre in Review: Duke & Roya (Lucille Lortel Theatre)

	Jay Ellis, Stephanie Nur. Photo: Jeremy Daniel

We have so many playwrights whose idea of politics extends only to personal identity issues that one is instinctively grateful to Charles Randolph-Wright for tackling the thorny subject of the American misadventure in Afghanistan. It is, therefore, doubly confounding that he chooses to tell his tale through the filter of romantic comedy. It's a bizarre melding of format and subject matter, seemingly designed to comfort rather than provoke. At the same time, a much darker and more complex reality lurks in the background. A potentially powerful story is hobbled by its fidelity to genre conventions.

Duke & Roya asks the question: Can an earnest Afghan feminist and an American hip-hop star find happiness together? In 2017, Duke shows up at the Air Force base in Bagram to entertain the troops. Roya is his appointed translator, and the play wastes no time in getting down to cute banter between them. "Don't let my being a hip-hop superstar intimidate you. It's cool. I'm used to it. I'm normal," he says, offering up his idea of charm. Pouring cold water on his overtures, she replies, "I am not intimidated, and the concept of dating here is irrelevant because most marriages are arranged." It is early days, however, and even the most naive playgoer knows that the story is far from over.

They become emotionally engaged when Duke recklessly persuades Roya to take him off the base for a tourist trip. As a safety measure, she must dress as a man, a fact mostly lost on Duke, who sees the entire episode as a lark. Brutal reality sets in when a stopover at a tea shop is interrupted by a terrorist bomb. Both survive, Duke with minor injuries, but a chain of events is put into motion that will make Roya's presence in her home country untenable.

Much happens in Duke & Roya -- separations, accusations, murky connections -- all unfolding against the deteriorating situation in Afghanistan. Through all of it, Randolph-Wright struggles to convince us that Duke and Roya are a romance for the ages. Quite apart from the fact that they spent little more than a week together -- a fact even noted by Roya -- what do they have in common? She is an independent, freethinking woman in a tradition-bound society, committed to creating educational opportunities for young girls; whether disguising herself as a man, refusing to marry, or fighting for her feminist ideals, she risks her life daily. (She also bucks tradition by working with the US military as a translator, a decision that will ultimately do her no favors.) In contrast, Duke is something of a professional fraud, the expensively educated son of politically connected lawyers, who makes a mighty nice living by feigning ghetto attitudes onstage. He makes noises about Roya steering his work in a more honest direction, but that proves to be a pipe dream. Even Duke's savvy mother, Desiree, asks, "Do you love her? Or do you love the idea of her?"

Rather than answering any questions, a side trip to Dubai only confirms one's sense that the relatively empty-headed Duke is no match for Roya. However, it does add a contrived comic subplot involving Desiree in an interlude with Sayeed, Roya's father and mentor. Left offstage (and conveniently out of the drama) are Sayeed's wife and other daughters, whose fates are rarely considered.) The play's falsely happy wrap-up, set several years later, skirts the obvious problems -- including lingering trauma and a difficult cultural adjustment -- that the characters would most likely have to face.

Jay Ellis, whose work has mostly been in film and TV, has a nice presence, and he performs Duke's occasional numbers well, but he is hard-pressed to convince us that he is the right man for Roya; indeed, his charm often comes across as evidence of his immaturity. Much better is Stephanie Nur as Roya, her politely amused manner only barely hiding a steel-trap determination. (The latter quality is especially helpful when she is suspected of aiding terrorists.) Dariush Kashani has charm to spare as Sayeed; he also conveys with considerable moral authority Sayeed's outrage when the US fails him and Roya, leaving them stranded in a country that views them as traitors. As Desiree, Noma Dumezweni is so commanding that one sometimes forgets the play is about Duke and Roya; her talent demands more challenging roles.

Wilson Chin's set design, framed by pitted concrete pillars, has the right war-torn quality, with Caite Hevner's projections filling each stage picture with compelling images of mountains and starry skies; she also supplies graphics for the concert scenes. Amina Alexander's lighting is alternately stark and flashy, working with Taylor J. Williams' sound design on the upsetting bombing sequence. Sanowber Sabrina Spanta's costumes deftly contrast Duke's studied (and costly) casual looks and Desiree's carefully tailored ensembles with Roya and Sayeed's everyday Afghan wear.

Duke and Roya gets points for tackling an unusual and important subject, but its treatment is too glossy, too determined to please. It dawdles too much on its frankly unbelievable central relationship, leaving no room in the rushed second act to plausibly deal with the cloud of suspicion plaguing Roya and the ultimate fate of her family. There's no way to spin a feel-good story out of a country riven by religious fundamentalism, random violence, and social chaos. Like Duke's hip-hop act, it never feels quite honest. --David Barbour