Theatre in Review: Shesh Yak (Rattlestick Playwrights Theater/LaiLou Productions)

	Zarif Kabier. Photo: Sandra Coudert

Shesh Yak begins in 2010, as the Syrian people are beginning to rise up against Bashar al-Assad's regime. Jameel, a youngish Syrian now living in New York, greets his guest, Haytham, one of his countrymen, who lives in Washington, DC, where he works as a teacher. Haytham has come to the city to appear on a talk show panel. ("I'm here to rally support for the Free Syrian Army," he insists, later on, when the situation has turned dire.) There is plenty of small talk, reminiscences of the old country, a game of backgammon, and several cups of tea. Keep your eye on the latter, because after one of them Haytham passes out. When he wakes up, he is tied to a chair and blindfolded. From time to time, Jameel stuffs Haytham's mouth with a rag.

And that's when it becomes clear: In trying to dramatize the turmoil of modern Syria, the playwright, Laith Nakli, has come up with Death and the Maiden.

Actually, Ariel Dorfman, who is of Argentine and Chilean descent, wrote Death and the Maiden as a parable of his fellow citizens trying to live with the brutalizing memories of dictators and their atrocities. If you saw the Broadway production, you'll remember Glenn Close as an increasingly unstable woman, once a political prisoner, who, when she encounters Gene Hackman, becomes convinced he is the doctor who presided over her rape and torture, and holds him hostage, threatening to offer evil for evil, as her husband, Richard Dreyfuss, stands by helplessly. There is also a film version, starring Sigourney Weaver, Ben Kingsley, and Stuart Wilson.

I didn't find Death and the Maiden to be totally convincing, possibly because of its cast and Mike Nichols' direction. But it is a generally well-regarded play, so it's a surprise to see its situation and dramatic arc replicated here so closely, albeit with a cast of two rather than three. Thus, Haytham, all trussed up, is a captive audience for Jameel's lengthy and tortured explanation for his acts, which has to do with a supposed past encounter between them. (Among other things, you are asked to believe that many years later, Jameel recognizes Haytham, who has clearly aged, at first sight.) Haytham must also endure having a cigarette put out on his chest and a knife wielded in his face -- and Jameel often grabs Haytham's bad leg and subjects it to horrifyingly painful clutches. Jameel increasingly unravels as he tells his tale, looking more wild-eyed and cackling ever more loudly.

I can't say much more about the plot, except to note that there is more to Haytham than first appears, and Jameel edges ever more closely to a nervous breakdown. If you're hoping to understand something about the cauldron of tribal rivalries, religious hatreds, and despotism that is modern Syria, you've come to the wrong place. On the train to the theatre, I read two stories in the Times that proved far more illuminating about that beleaguered nation. Instead, the author wants to probe the question of whom revenge destroys the most -- he who receives it or he who seeks it out. But he has chosen an overfamiliar format, with a plot and characters that compare poorly with the model from which it is drawn. If Shesh Yak was ever going to stand on its own as drama, it would require a far better constructed setup; more detailed and nuanced characters (and much more information about them); and dialogue that isn't so wooden.

Bruce McCarty's direction proves to be of remarkably little help. The early scenes are intentionally full of pleasant banalities, but we should feel a slight sense of something being off. Instead, Zarif Kabier's Jameel is so jittery and prone to barking laughter that he all but telegraphs his intention. Nakli, who also appears as Haytham, lends a natural gravitas to the character. But neither is really believable and the overwrought, borderline-hysterical treatment of such painful material is distressing, although not in the way anyone associated with the production intended.

John McDermott's apartment setting is awfully downmarket given Jameel's profession -- "I write for TV. Mostly humanizing terrorists. They think they should do that but they always go back to doing what they really want." --but perhaps this is a lie also. In any case, Peter West's lighting provides a beautifully understated dawn effect across the play's final quarter. Lisa Renee Jordan's costumes feel right for the characters. Janie Bullard's sound design provides evocative examples of Syrian music, as well as an effect that I think is a Muslim call to prayer, and news broadcasts from Syria. There is no projection designer credited, but somebody provided video to go along with the sound of television news.

Shesh Yak is the saddest kind of theatre experience: a work by a real professional (Nakli has extensive acting and writing credits, including the annual Arab-American Comedy Festival) who bravely gambles on difficult, almost incendiary, material, and comes up snake eyes. Shesh Yak is, by turns, brutal, grim, and deeply felt. It is, however, never compelling, disturbing, or illuminating. After a while, I felt like I was sitting in Haytham's chair.--David Barbour