With a title like Disgraced, you aren’t in for a warm fuzzy singalong. Winner of a 2013 Pulitzer Prize, Ayed Ahktar’s powerful drama portrays a slow slide into catastrophe as Pakistani-American Amir self-destructs over questions of race, religion, identity, and assimilation. Forcefully directed by Timothy Douglas, this taut play forces the conversations one would rather avoid.
The premise is a tad obvious, with its cereal-commercial diversity cast. Nehal Joshi plays the swaggering but insecure corporate lawyer Amir, disillusioned with his roots and his faith. Ivy Vahanian flitters and exhales as his red-headed gentile artist wife Emily. A little neatly, Amir disclaims Islam while Emily extols its ascetic virtues and cornerstone importance in her art, in fact, all art. Their counterpair is pompous art dealer and acerbic New York Jew Isaac (played with droll confidence by Joe Isenberg), and his wife Jory (Felicia Curry), Amir’s confident, competent African-American law colleague. Curry’s comic timing is a standout. With all the racial and religious boxes represented, the play commences.
The opening and closing scenes are a little overstuffed and tidy, but forgivable for serving the meat of the drama – the dinner party ostensibly to celebrate Emily’s inclusion in Isaac’s Whitney art show. If machinations to get the friends to the table were obvious, the consequent implosion is not. From witty repartee between elites self-congratulating for cliché-busting conversation, the banter quickly devolves into raw and base revelations. Ahktar drives home the point: Untouchables still exist in our society. Even as they dress like us and assimilate, these strivers will never be accepted. We know this. Deep in their hearts, they know this too. Acceptance brings darkness.
As Amir devolves before our eyes, Ahktar’s hones the razor’s edge of causation: Is it Amir’s deeply buried internal demons that ruin him, or society’s judgment? Is it his Islamic origins that foment a violent climax, or his self-loathing? A standout line when Jory baits Amir about his mentor and partner avoiding his calls: “He thinks you’re deceptive.” It’s the chicken-or-the-egg that captures the play’s core. Is the partner quick to judge Amir for his origins, for his mis-association with a controversial imam? Or does the partner perceive Amir’s roiling conflict and repressed gratification in the roar of his suppressed tribe? As Joshi’s Amir teems with contradiction, it’s hard to tell. As the play inexorably shatters the life of every character, there are enough plot points to keep the audience pondering the same of each. Was it the influence of religion or culture? Was it circumstance beyond their control? Was it his or her own personal traits? What, ultimately, leads to individual disgrace?
Tony Cisek’s upper east side apartment is a fabulous backdrop for all the unfabulous fallout, proof that the ivoriest of towers can’t insulate a soul from its internal demons. Toni-Leslie James’s costume design complements the chic set, with Amir’s pantless attire in scene one a sly foreshadowing wink to the split between his naked soul and his cloak of Western couture.
Akhtar has received accolades for giving Muslim Americans a voice in the theater. Disgraced is the most produced new play on professional stages this season and an HBO adaptation is underway. Whether you agree or disagree with its characters and outcomes, Disgraced is worth a listen.
Disgraced is playing at Arena Stage at the Mead Center for American Theater from April 22 through May 29, 2016 (1101 Sixth St. SW, Washington DC 20024). Running time: 90 minutes without intermission. For information or tickets call 202-488-3300 or click here.
Photo credit C. Stanley Photography
