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      Review: Learning ‘English,’ When Your Accent Is a ‘War Crime’

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      In a rich new play by Sanaz Toossi, four Iranians and their language teacher find second selves in a second tongue.If you’ve ever tried, as an adult, to learn a new language, you know how painful it can be; it’s bad enough to hear yourself mangling Italian, but worse to hear it mangling you. For those of us accustomed to sounding sharp with our words, it can come as quite a blow to discover the shabby figure we cut in the ill-fitting suit of someone else’s.How our mother tongue gives us voice yet limits our world — and how a new tongue expands that world yet may strangle our voice — is the subject of “English,” a rich new play by Sanaz Toossi that opened on Tuesday at the Linda Gross Theater. Both contemplative and comic, it nails every opportunity for big laughs as its English-learning characters struggle with accents and idioms. But the laughter provides cover for the deeper idea that their struggle is not just linguistic.The play, a coproduction of the Atlantic and Roundabout theater companies, is after all set in Iran in 2008, against a backdrop of travel restrictions and family separations. Each of the four students prepping for the Test of English as a Foreign Language, or Toefl, at a storefront school in Karaj, a city of two million not far from Tehran, has a different reason for enrolling.For the cheerful 18-year-old Goli (Ava Lalezarzadeh), the promise and pleasure of new opportunity is reason enough. “English is the rice,” she explains in the inadvertent poetry of the partially fluent. “You take some rice, and you make the rice whatever you want.”But the others are more ambivalent. Dignified Roya (Pooya Mohseni) is there only because her son, who lives in “the Canada” with his wife and daughter, has insisted she speak English if she wants to live with them. He will not have his daughter’s assimilation threatened, he has warned, by a grandmother cooing in Farsi.If Roya is angry about this situation, she mostly suppresses the feeling, leaving her son hilariously passive-aggressive voice mail messages in which she offers evidence of her growing fluency. “I know all the numbers now,” she tells him. “Forty-three. Five hundred and thirty-eight. And seven.”But for Elham (Tala Ashe), anxiety is upfront: Having failed the Toefl five times, she must pass it if she wants her provisional acceptance at an Australian medical school to become official. When the Toefl teacher, Marjan (Marjan Neshat), tells her that “English isn’t your enemy,” she answers, “It is feeling like yes.” Her accent, she adds, is “a war crime.”Marjan learned English during nine years spent living in Manchester, England, gradually experiencing the way the fog of alienation can give way, through language, to the thrill of connection. Now that she is back in Iran, though, her English is eroding at the edges, at least in comparison to that of the fourth student, Omid (Hadi Tabbal), whose accent is minimal and vocabulary exceptional. Playing a game in which everyone must name items of clothing as quickly as possible while tossing a ball, he wins handily, wowing the others with “windbreaker.”Tabbal, left, plays the standout student in the English class taught by Neshat’s character. We understand her fluency (nine years in Britain), but there’s a mystery behind his (where did he learn the word “windbreaker”?).Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesOver the course of 22 scenes representing lessons, office hours and smoke breaks during the six-week course, we get to know all five characters well, and yet they also remain as stubbornly enigmatic as people do in real life. Their progress, too, is unpredictable, their skills sometimes stalling, then bounding forward, with new words and seemingly new ideas emerging.Not that we are told this; we just see it happen, thanks to Toossi’s clever theatricalization of the process. (When the characters speak English, they do so haltingly and with an accent; when they speak Farsi, which we hear in English, it’s swift and unaccented.) Even Elham, her W’s no longer sounding like V’s, and her tempo improved from largo to allegretto, is eventually able to pose a challenge to Omid’s fluency.The mystery of that fluency (why does he know “windbreaker”?) is one of the more obvious tensioning devices in a play that, despite its pleasures — but also at the root of them — has a somewhat schematic structure. Like a lifeboat movie, it features the immediate and broad differentiation of characters, their shifting alliances in the face of a looming threat and an eventual resolution involving the revelation of lies and someone cast overboard.Nor are its themes entirely novel; the drama of superimposing one language on another is at the heart of works as widely varied as Brian Friel’s “Translations” (in which a 19th-century cartographer is charged with rendering Irish place names in English) and the hyper-asterisked Leo Rosten novel “The Education of H*Y*M*A*N K*A*P*L*A*N,” set among immigrants in a night school English class and turned into a musical in 1968.But the delicacy of Toossi’s development handily makes up for both problems, especially the hysteria of lifeboat melodrama; in a recent interview in The New York Times, she told my colleague Alexis Soloski that “writing a trauma play makes me want to dry heave.”So in dealing with characters who could easily be exoticized in their chadors, Toossi has chosen instead to focus on their familiarity; like most of us, they deal less with the disaster of geopolitics than with an atmosphere of mild if daily discomfort. As such, the insights here are deep but never shattering, as when Roya perceives the crucial distinction between the verbs “visit” and “live” in one of her son’s messages. If the world’s happiness does not depend on it, a grandmother’s does.The director Knud Adams gently underlines the calm, almost classical rhythms of Toossi’s writing. Chopinesque piano solos play between scenes. As the play contemplates the question of language from several angles, the cube-like set, by Marsha Ginsberg, slowly rotates, offering in turn a street view of the building, the classroom interior and an entry portico. The cast is uniformly excellent, in a suitably unshowy but fully lived-in way.Too much delicacy has a way of wearing thin, though; with its refusal of trauma and even climax — the romance, if there is one, is buried — “English” begins to feel a bit overlong despite its moderate running time of an hour and 45 minutes.Still, the longueurs are worth it, forcing the audience into a useful position of slight non-fluency. We don’t always know what is going on in the play, as we don’t in the world either. And as each character struggles to decide whether to become another person by mastering another language, we are asked to consider whether we in the English-speaking West are not just cultural imperialists but linguistic ones as well. And whether, perhaps, those are really the same thing.EnglishThrough March 13 at the Linda Gross Theater, Manhattan; atlantictheater.org. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. More

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      ‘Writing a Trauma Play Makes Me Want to Dry Heave’

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      The playwright Sanaz Toossi on her two comedies about Iranian women, both debuting this season: “English” and “Wish You Were Here.”“Writing a play is a terribly embarrassing thing,” Sanaz Toossi said. “The only way you get to the finish line is if you genuinely love what you’re writing about. I guess I love writing about Iranian women.”Toossi, who completed an M.F.A. in dramatic writing at New York University in 2018, is making a double debut this spring, with “English,” in previews now and set to run through March 13 at the Atlantic Theater Company, and “Wish You Were Here,” which is scheduled to begin previews on April 13 at Playwrights Horizons. Both plays are set in Karaj, Iran — “Wish You Were Here” in the late 1970s and ’80s, “English” in the present — in classrooms and living rooms mostly populated by women.“I feel like your relationships with other women are the most profound and the most devastating of your life,” she said on a recent freezing morning at a diner near the Atlantic. Toossi had dressed against the cold in layered scarves and sweaters. Around her neck hung a gold necklace. The pendant? Her own name in Farsi.“I’m a basic Iranian girl,” she joked.Toossi, 30, grew up in Orange County, Calif., the only child of Iranian immigrants. She fulfilled a pre-law major at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and was accepted to several law schools. Somehow she couldn’t make herself go. Instead she began writing plays, which she hid from her parents. (Her mother, sensing Toossi had a secret, assumed she was pregnant.) Those first plays were terrible, Toossi said. But then she began writing about the people she knew — Iranians and Iranian Americans — and the plays got better.From left, Tala Ashe, Hadi Tabbal, Marjan Neshat, Ava Lalezarzadeh and Pooya Mohseni in “English,” set in a class for English-language learners.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesNow she writes comedies, which are also, arguably, tragedies. “English,” copresented with the Roundabout Theater Company, and set in a class for English-language learners, explores the ways in which language and identity intertwine. “Wish You Were Here,” written as a gift to her mother, follows a group of friends through the upheavals of the Iran-Iraq War. Both plays interrogate the losses — real and symbolic — that come when characters can’t fully express themselves.“Sometimes I’m talked about as a writer who writes political content,” she said. “It just means that I write Middle Eastern people. And those people have not been on our stages very often.”Over coffee and eggs, Toossi — anxious, glamorous — discussed language, representation and the comic potential of bleeding onto the furniture. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.Were you raised speaking Farsi?We were not the Iranians who were like, “We’re in America now.” I grew up naturally bilingual. I’m a writer now. I make my living in the English language. And my Farsi gets worse every year. It’s painful for me. I wonder if my kids will know Farsi. I did work with a Farsi tutor. I went in thinking, I’ve got this. You’re going to love me. She goes, “Your grammar is very bad.” I was like, OK, that’s great. Tear me a new one, girl.These two plays are about Middle Eastern characters. Is that typical of your work?The family drama I’ve just finished, it’s about Southern Californian Iranians. Everything else has been set in Iran. What happens if I show up with a play about three white girls? Will anyone want to do it? Even if it’s really good? Sometimes I worry that I am the right kind of Middle Eastern. When the Muslim ban [Donald J. Trump’s 2017 executive order that at first barred nationals from seven majority-Muslim countries from entering America] was enacted, I felt a shift. Middle Eastern artists have been knocking at the door for a really long time. People finally started listening.So you worry about being pigeonholed?If all that ever gets produced of my work is just my stories about Middle Eastern people, I don’t think I would ever be upset. But there’s always the worry that I am in the person-of-color slot in a season. It starts to feel a little icky. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop writing about Middle Eastern people until it doesn’t feel special. It feels special right now to have — especially in “Wish You Were Here” — these Iranian girls onstage. It’s a little bit about politics, but it’s mostly about them trying not to period on a couch. Maybe that won’t feel special in 30 years, and that’s fine, too.You have said that “Wish You Were Here” is for your mother. Whom is “English” for?“English” is for me. I had to write it. I wrote it as my thesis. I was really angry that year. After the travel ban, I white-knuckled it for two years, and I wrote “English” because I was furious with the anti-immigrant rhetoric. I just wanted to scream into the void a little bit. It’s a huge thing to learn a different language, a huge thing to give up that ability to fully express yourself, even if you have a full command over language.I was about to graduate. I wanted to be a writer, and it also probably came out of my own insecurities that I would never actually have the words to say what I wanted.What does it mean to present these plays to mostly white, mostly American audiences?The most meaningful responses for me have been the first-generation Middle Eastern kids who come to see “English.” I feel like they’re totally in it with me. Our white audiences, it’s tricky. There is laughter sometimes where I do not think there should be laughter. The accents get laughs. And it’s really uncomfortable some nights. I think the play takes care of it in a way. The pain is so real at the end of the play that I don’t think anybody’s laughing. But it is not easy.Why have you written these plays as comedies?I’m not a political writer. I’m not a public intellectual. I am, at my core, someone who loves a cheap laugh. I would fling myself off this booth to make you laugh.Both “English” and “Wish You Were Here” are sad. “Wish You Were Here” is more obviously sad. But writing a trauma play makes me want to dry heave. I just think it’s so flattening. It doesn’t help people see us as three-dimensional. I just can’t do it. And I don’t think it’s truthful. I don’t think that’s how life works.Politics come into the room, and you’re still trying to make your best friend laugh, or you’re still annoyed that you perioded on the couch — it’s all happening at once. Do people think that Middle Eastern women are huddled under a chador, like, bemoaning our oppressions? Pain looks different than how we think it looks and also joy is always there. Kindness is always there. There’s so much laughter through it. More

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      ‘Barococo’ Review: Fop Till You Drop

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      Happenstance Theater traps five pretentious aristocrats in a comedy of bad manners that could use more luster and more bite.Playing parlor games, dancing the minuet, making snide comments — aristocrats sure do know how to party. But there’s always a chance that by the end of the night someone will lose their head …The dandies and dauphins of the 1 percent prance to 59E59 Theaters for Happenstance Theater’s “Barococo,” A satire of upper-class privilege zhuzhed up into an often absurd comedy of manners, “Barococo” has fun and laughs, but doesn’t always have the glamour you’d expect from this exaggerated snapshot of genteel life.The play’s title is a portmanteau of “Baroque” and “Rococo,” the 17th- and 18th-century periods of ornate European art, fashion, architecture and music. “Barococo” takes place during a soiree hosted by the noble Dauphine Marionette (Sarah Olmsted Thomas). In attendance are the self-important actor Astorio Cavalieri (Mark Jaster), the pretentious Duc Leslie Pamplemousse de Citron-Pressé (Alex Vernon), the petty elder Countess Olympia Stroganovskaya (Sabrina Selma Mandell) and the vacuous outsider Baroness Constance Blandford Plainview (Gwen Grastorf).Luccio Patatino von Dusselkopf (Caleb Jaster) serves as the entertainment, accompanying the party games with the sounds of Handel and Bach on harpsichord and cello.Happenstance, a Washington-based physical theater troupe, devises productions with its cast, and there’s no plot to speak of in this brief 65-minute show, directed by the company members Jaster and Mandell.We simply watch these daft noblemen and women play charades, dance and trade riddles in a desperate attempt to stave off ennui. Leisure is a trap — literally. It soon becomes clear that these aristocrats are unable to leave the party.So the surprise of “Barococo” is how it actually resembles Sartre’s “No Exit,” or, more fittingly, Luis Buñuel’s surrealist film “The Exterminating Angel,” which was recently adapted into an opera. There’s the same idiocy and, sometimes, cruelty beneath the fawning and posturing. Somewhere outside this room is the real world, where finery and foppishness won’t save these characters from an uprising of the plebs.The actors distinguish themselves through affectations: a raised eyebrow, a bow, a giggle, a swept leg, a daintily dropped handkerchief, a cleared throat. Pantomime and awkward silences are emphasized more than dialogue, and to great comedic effect — the show really takes off during an extended silent sequence in which the partygoers gorge on an unseen feast; outrageous feats of physical comedy soon devolve into violence and then total chaos.As the Dauphine and Cavalieri, Thomas and Jaster make starving for attention into a show of flamboyance — she tittering shamelessly and he performing a full actor’s warm-up for a simple game of charades. Grastorf is a worthy straight woman, her bearings painfully stiff and face twisted into an expression of constant bafflement.From left: Vernon as a pretentious duke, Mandell as a petty countess, Jaster as a pretentious actor and Thomas as the hostess of the soiree.Richard TermineAnd yet, for a show all about excess, the production is oddly spare. The set design is virtually nonexistent — unadorned floors and walls dotted with a harpsichord, some stringed instruments, a fencing sword mount and a table with quills and an inkwell. In a program note the directors write that they chose this minimalist approach “to focus on period restraint, manners and style,” but the empty space feels like too stark of a contrast; some embellishments would do the production good.The same can be said of Daniel Weissglass’s austere lighting and the costumes, designed by Mandell. The cuffs and collars and doublets, and curled and powdered wigs, are perfectly serviceable but could use more rococo ornamentation, with brighter colors, opulent fabrics and jewels.The script itself could use some trimmings, too. There is plenty of delicious humor to chew on at “Barococo.” But more context on the outside world, and the lives of these characters, might individualize the gossip and quibbles, and give the satire more bite. Right now the show is little more than rich people dawdling and preening on a stage.BarococoThrough March 6 at 59E59 Theaters, Manhattan; 59e59.org. Running time: 1 hour 5 minutes. More

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      ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’ Postpones Broadway Reopening Until April

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      The musical, which closed temporarily last month as the Omicron variant spread, had hoped to reopen in March.The Broadway musical “Mrs. Doubtfire,” which closed temporarily last month as Omicron battered New York, announced Friday that it would postpone its reopening until April 14, a month later than anticipated, to give the theater economy a bit more time to rebound.“The good news is that it looks like the virus is calming down, but there are still a lot of unknowns,” said the show’s lead producer, Kevin McCollum. “It was just clear that April was a better time to open, given the trends with tourism, and thinking about when families and groups will start to feel comfortable.”The hiatus left the show’s cast, crew and musicians without work (at least at “Doubtfire”), but McCollum said he thought it was the best way to attempt to preserve their jobs longer term. And on Friday, he said he had invited the entire cast to return, and was hopeful that they would do so.The musical, adapted from the popular 1993 film, has traveled a bumpy road: After an out-of-town run at 5th Avenue Theater in Seattle, it began previews on Broadway on March 9, 2020, just three days before the coronavirus pandemic forced all theaters to close. After a 19-month hiatus, the show resumed previews last October and opened Dec. 5, to mixed reviews, just as Omicron was causing cases to spike again.“If there was an award for worst timing for a producer, I will take that award,” McCollum said. “My timing was terrible.”But McCollum said he believes that the show will work if given a chance, and that he is committed to trying to preserve the jobs of his company, many of whom have been working on the show for several years.“The easiest path would have been to say, ‘OK, we’re done,’ but the show was telling us we’re not done,” he said. “We just never got our sea legs because of Omicron.”One additional advantage to reopening in April: Tony nominators and voters who did not catch the show before it began its hiatus on Jan. 10 will now have another chance to do so before casting their ballots. (This year’s Tony calendar has not yet been announced, but the season is expected to end in late April, followed by nominations, voting and an awards ceremony.)“Mrs. Doubtfire” was written by Karey Kirkpatrick, Wayne Kirkpatrick and John O’Farrell, and directed by Jerry Zaks. A second production of the show is scheduled to begin performances in Manchester, England, in September.“Mrs. Doubtfire” was the first of three Broadway shows to announce a temporary closing as the Omicron surge caused audiences to dwindle — “To Kill a Mockingbird” closed on Jan. 16 and said it would reopen at a different theater on June 1, while “Girl From the North Country” closed Jan. 23 and said it hoped to reopen in the spring. (Six other shows closed for good.)Unions representing actors and musicians did not immediately respond to requests for comment on the “Mrs. Doubtfire” plans. D. Joseph Hartnett, the stagecraft department director at the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE), said that his union, which represents stagehands, had not had yet heard from the show and “presumes the production has and still is officially closed.” More

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      Interview: Beware, the Zombies are here

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      Paper Mug Theatre’s Seb Gardner on Steve and Tobias Verses Death

      We first come across Seb Gardner and Paper Mug Theatre last summer with I Lost My Virginity To Chopin’s Nocturne In B-Flat Minor. Since then they have clearly been busy, as they already have two new shows ready for the stage. The first of which is Steve and Tobias Versus Death.

      Originally planned for the now cancelled Vault Festival, this zombie apocalypse horror is now heading to The Pleasance in March. And of course, with ET being big fans of horror (well, some of us are, others are just scaredy cats), it seemed a great time to chat with Seb about the show, and ask, will there be plenty of fake blood flying around? We also discuss I Lost My Viriginity and what they have planned for the rest of 2022.

      Steve and Tobias Versus Death plays at The Pleasance between 15 and 19 March. You can book tickets here. More

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      Interview: In the End Zone with Pravin Wilkins

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      Playwright Pravin Wilkins on his play Moreno

      Theatre503’s International Playwright Award really is an incredible thing; how this tiny pub theatre manages to attract entries to its bi-annual award from all around the world really demonstrates just what a reputation it has.

      And of course, it’s always great to see many of the shortlisted plays finding their way onto the stage in the coming year or two. Which brings us nicely to Moreno, 2020’s winning entry, which will be making its stage premiere in March.

      This debut play by Pravin Wilkins brings the world of American football to 503’s stage, although it isn’t so much about the sport (the stage just isn’t big enough for a game of American football after all), but about the fallout caused by the actions of one player: Colin Kaepernick is the man who first took the knee and started a movement, but at great personal cost.

      With such a heated topic at its core, we jumped at the opportunity to chat with Pravin, to find out more about the play and what brought him all the way to this little pub theatre in Battersea.

      How did you even hear about Theatre503’s International Playwright Award in the first place? And is it something you will be telling everyone to get involved in for its next edition?
      I came across Theatre503’s International Playwriting Award on Playwrights’ Center, a resource that many playwrights use to keep up on submission opportunities. Of the numerous open submissions I have sent my work to, Theatre503 far and away offers the most complete package, from the perspective of a playwright. It’s already something I’m telling my playwright friends to send in work for, especially as submissions for the 2023 award have recently opened.

      Has winning the award helped with your work back at home in Pittsburgh?

      To put it simply and honestly, not yet. I expect the boost to my playwriting career will really start when the play does go up at Theatre503 and people have a chance to see my work fully realised on the 503 stage. Since I won the award in 2020, some exciting opportunities have arisen – yet, with COVID-19 pushing theatre into relative dormancy in the US until quite recently, I’ve mostly been on my grind as an educator and organiser, preparing for this moment.

      Moreno is your debut play: is 503 getting the world premiere? And will you be here to see it happen?

      I’m thrilled to say that Theatre503’s production will be the world premiere and I will be travelling to London for some rehearsals as well as previews and performances.

      The play is set in the world of American football: were you ever worried that doing this would alienate audiences from outside of the US?

      Not at all. I recall when I was younger, the film Invictus, which centered around rugby, was quite popular in America, although the sport is not widely viewed there. I feel this is because that film, much like Moreno, is not solely about the sport, but about the people who play the game and the politics they must deal with as national (and sometimes international) figures. The personal drama between the characters in Moreno is universal, and the broader conversation about racism in sports and societal structures at large extends far beyond the borders of America, as these issues affect every nation in the world.

      Oscar Russell is credited as “football coach” for the play, which seems an intriguing addition; does that mean we might get to see a quarterback getting sacked on stage (have you seen how small 503’s stage actually is!)?

      I won’t speak to exactly what you will see (although, as a former defensive player, who doesn’t love to see a quarterback getting punished??), but some elements of the game will be represented onstage and Oscar’s professional support was instrumental. He helped our actors immensely with the task of embodying each character’s particular role and position. Additionally, Nancy Medina (Director) and Ingrid Mackinnon (Movement Director) have done a masterful job in making these moments work on the small stage at the 503.

      Colin Kaepernick’s career seems to have been seriously curtailed by his taking the knee: is this something you wanted to address in your play – that politics and sport are not always easy bedfellows?

      Yes, Colin Kaepernick’s career was cut short because of backlash from NFL owners and management along with many fans, media personalities, and indeed the former President himself. But politics, especially the politics of race and class, cannot be separated from sports, or, frankly, any part of society. These issues are universal: Kaepernick taking a knee during the national anthem in protest of police brutality did not bring politics to sports, it brought up the fact that it’s already there. Being the messenger of necessary but unwelcome truths is indeed a tall task, and a dramatically charged situation that Moreno explores.

      From our viewpoint on this side of the world, it felt like American football showed a very racist core with its spectators. Would that be a fair assertion, or was it just a microcosm of what was happening across the country?

      I don’t like to paint with a broad brush, but I will say that the hate and vitriol coming from NFL fans certainly drowned out the support and love for Kaepernick amidst his protest. If you were to go to an NFL or a Sportcenter comments section on a social media article about Kaep from around that time and just check out the hateful things people were saying… it was despicable. People were demanding he never be allowed to play again, some even posted videos of themselves burning his jersey. Yet, with the election of Trump, a famously vile torch-carrier of racism, I think we saw clearly illustrated that there is indeed a deep and enduring white supremacist element all across the country. So yes, the response of NFL fans to Kaepernick’s protest reflects a broader attitude across America.

      Taking the knee became very political both in America and the UK, with various politicians coming out for and against it, most famously Trump himself. Is it still talked about much in America, and is it still causing such division?

      The symbol of taking the knee not only continues to be widely discussed, but it has come up again in a tangible way with Eminem’s kneel during the Super Bowl LVI Halftime Show receiving both praise and criticism from both sides of the political spectrum. Moreover, athletes across the world – from soccer players on the US Women’s National Team, to Olympic fencers, to European footballers – have taken a knee during performances of songs celebrating national pride at major global sporting events: this has become a universally understood symbol of protest against injustice, particularly racial injustice. The Monday after the Super Bowl this year, MSNBC commentator Joy Reid wore a Kaepernick jersey as she and a co-host spoke about the halftime show and the ongoing lawsuit by former NFL coach Brian Flores alleging hiring discrimination. So yes, both the symbolic statement of taking the knee and the substance behind it remain highly relevant and continue to reveal divisions in American society.

      Do you feel that the racism around the booing is the same in America as in the UK? Do you feel it has made a difference at all, and is it something that will ever change?

      I don’t know enough about sports in the UK to comment on whether the reaction of fans to players’ races or their stances on racial issues are the same as they are in the US, but I believe it is fair to say racially-charged jeers come from the same root, regardless of the accent in which they are shouted. And while you can’t really get a booing crowd to stop booing, you can influence who makes up that crowd and how they view the players who make their entertainment possible. This change will occur if the NFL and other large sports organisations focus more on diversity in hiring at the uppermost levels, along with more outreach to fans from Black and brown communities. Because of people like Brian Flores, a former NFL head coach who is fighting right now to hold the league to account for likely subverting rules designed to bring more people of colour on as coaches, there is the possibility that things will improve. But with Colin Kaepernick’s NFL career effectively snuffed out by almost-certain collusion among NFL owners (who paid an untold sum to Kaepernick to keep the details of the court case under wraps), it is clear that progress will be slow and often hindered by reactionary forces.

      What’s next for you? Is sport something you would like to centre future plays around, or will you be stepping into new fields for your next work?

      I love sports, but for me it moreso is social movements that are at the centre of my work. The setting of American football is simply one arena in which these conflicts play out. Most recently, I have been interested in labour movements and the history of American unions. I am working on two projects in this vein: first, a play centring on a group of fictional university campus workers in San Diego, California who must consider bucking their union representation when it appears their leaders are colluding with administrators; second, a TV drama set in late 1800s Chicago, covering the events that culminated in the Haymarket Riots and the unjust execution of four anarchist labour organisers. The aim of the former is to spotlight and investigate the burgeoning modern revival of unions; the latter, to pay homage to the workers and organisers of generations past, whose struggles are inextricably linked with ours. Someday, however, I am sure I will return to sports – maybe I’ll write something about basketball.

      Our thanks to Pravin for his time to chat to us. Moreno opens at Theatre503 on 1 March, and then plays until 26 March. Further information and booking via the below link. More

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      Looking Straight at the Struggles of Old Age

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      In two Paris theater productions, there’s no sugarcoating the physical decline that comes at the end of a long life.PARIS — There is something piercing, almost brutal, about watching someone struggle to walk, eat or even sit down. When faced with the physical decline that often comes with old age, many of us instinctively avert our eyes. In Paris, however, two theater artists are forcing audiences to look.In “A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad,” a new play by the writer and director Carole Thibaut, the members of an extended family gather around their ailing matriarch — who may or may not have passed away. And mortality looms even larger in “A Death in the Family,” a new play by the British playwright Alexander Zeldin, which is primarily set in a French nursing home.If there is such a thing as an overly naturalistic play, “A Death in the Family,” which had its premiere at the Odéon-Théâtre de l’Europe, may represent it for some people. In truth, nothing much happens for long stretches. Zeldin convincingly portrays daily life, down to the bland furniture and wall colors, in an institution for residents at the end of their lives: The most dramatic event of all awaits, but in the meantime, the days must be filled.There are slow, silent meals, and group activities to make viewers in good health wince — especially those closest to the actors, in seats onstage. Is it compassion we feel as we watch the residents working hard to follow basic dance movements to a children’s song? Or panic, at the thought of a potential future we would rather ignore?Zeldin has experience when it comes to discomfort. The “Inequalities” trilogy he created between 2014 and 2019 (composed of “Beyond Caring,” “Love” and “Faith, Hope and Charity”) turned the spotlight on casualties of government austerity policies in Britain, including workers with insecure contracts and homeless families. His work found eager audiences abroad, and an invitation from the Odéon led him to stage his first production in French — a language he speaks fluently.Marie-Christine Barrault in the foreground with, from left, Mona, Ferdinand Redouloux and Catherine Vinatier in “A Death in the Family,” written and directed by Alexander Zeldin at the Odéon-Théâtre de l’Europe.Simon GosselinThe realities of old age have been in the spotlight lately in France. This month, the government began an investigation into one of the country’s largest nursing home providers after a journalist published a book accusing the company of mistreating residents.For the theater world, the upheaval caused by the pandemic has provided unlikely opportunities to reconnect with older audiences. In summer 2020, the first professional performance after France’s stringent initial lockdown was held at a nursing home in Chalon-sur-Saône, in the east, and a number of performers have brought readings and small-scale performances to hospitals.With “A Death in the Family,” Zeldin has done the reverse, bringing older people to perform in one of Paris’s most prestigious playhouses. He and his team did extensive research in local nursing homes, and out of 13 roles in the play, a handful are taken by older amateur performers. (Eight actors alternate in these parts.) This is no walk in the park in a pandemic: The premiere had to be postponed three times because of coronavirus safety measures.Other than the fact that the amateurs have fewer lines than their experienced colleagues, it is nearly impossible to tell the two groups apart, with strong performances across the board. On the night I attended, Francine Champion — making her stage debut at the age of 93 — caught the eye as one of the nursing home residents. So did the veteran actor Annie Mercier, while Nicole Dogué and Karidja Touré brought touching empathy to their roles as nursing assistants.One resident serves as the main character: Marguerite Brun, who is introduced at her overwhelmed daughter’s home. Zeldin’s typically sharp and economical dialogue fails him in some scenes involving Marguerite’s family, with lines that don’t land quite as naturally in French as they do in his English-language productions. Still, casting Marie-Christine Barrault, an Oscar nominee in 1977 for the film “Cousin Cousine,” as the initially prickly Marguerite was an inspired move. Her radical vulnerability as the character declines, especially in the nearly silent scene in which Dogué gives her a bed bath with a kind, unspoken sense of intimacy, is likely to linger in many people’s minds.“A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad” attempts to portray many generations at once.Jean-Pierre Estournet“A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad” lacks the laser directorial focus of “A Death in the Family,” but it is far less bleak. The imminent death of the main character, Galia, is treated as an opportunity for her family to rally and find meaning in their shared history, however painful.As Galia, Monique Brun is the glue that holds the cast — and the performance — together. She spends much of the show in a red armchair center stage. Her deep, exuberant voice projects no self-pity, even when she may be speaking from beyond the grave, since the timeline is blurred. Yet she is deeply affecting, too, when she gets out of the chair at night and walks slowly and stiffly, reminiscing quietly with one of the loves of her life.“A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad” is a little chaotic when it comes to the rest of the characters, perhaps because it attempts to portray so many generations at once — and to tie them to real historical events, like the rise and decline of the local coal industry. The production has been in Paris at the Théâtre de la Cité Internationale, but it was inspired by the history of the city of Montluçon, in central France, where Thibaut has been the director of the Théâtre des Îlets since 2016.Years of research went into this ambitious project, and plenty of details ring thoughtfully true, like the death of Galia’s fictional parents during World War II. During one interlude about the city’s economy, tiny bottles of local wine are even handed out to the audience. But the dialogue doesn’t quite flow, with tonal changes, heavy-handed voice-over commentary and tangential stories about, for instance, one granddaughter’s anger at the casual misogyny of the older men in the family.It’s all believable, and Thibaut has been a major voice for feminism in the French theater for years. Yet “A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad” has more emotional heft when it focuses on the rite of passage underway for Galia and her family. Like Zeldin, Thibaut doesn’t shy away from portraying death, and however hard it is to look, there may be closure in following them down that path.A Death in the Family. Directed by Alexander Zeldin. Odéon-Théâtre de l’Europe, through Feb. 20.A Century — Life and Death of Galia Libertad. Directed by Carole Thibaut. Théâtre de la Cité Internationale, through Feb. 26. More

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      5 Monologues, Each a Showcase for Asian American Actors Over 60

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      “Out of Time” at the Public Theater is intended to showcase the talents of older actors. “People want to dismiss your stories,” the show’s director says. Not here.They might be asked to play a person lying in bed, dying of a stroke, or someone’s horrible mother, or a beloved grandparent struggling with dementia.“Commercially speaking, ‘old Asian lady’ is a huge amount of my opportunity,” the actor Natsuko Ohama said recently. “I like being ‘old Asian lady.’ But it has its limitations.”The director Les Waters became even more acutely interested in those kinds of limitations as he was watching a dance performance choreographed by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker at the Skirball Center in 2020. The dancers in it, he recalled, were “older than usual.” He was struck by what he saw.Waters, who most recently directed Lucas Hnath’s “Dana H.” on Broadway, and Mia Katigbak, the co-founder of the National Asian American Theater Company, had met a few years back at a festival and had agreed to work together at some point. Three years later, they were together at dinner, and Waters could not help but share what he called “an insane directorial megalomaniac’s vision.”What if there was a show that started at night, ran until the morning, and featured a succession of talented older actors telling stories — demonstrating just how much they were capable of?“Out of Time,” which began performances Feb. 15 at the Public Theater, is not quite as ambitious as that original vision. But it is intended to showcase the talents of older actors all the same. It will feature five performers delivering five new monologues — centered on themes like memory, parenthood, and identity — in a show that will run roughly 150 minutes. All the playwrights and all the actors are Asian American. And all the performers are over 60.Ohama is performing a 40-minute monologue by the playwright Sam Chanse.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesKubota will perform Naomi Iizuka’s monologue, about a man much like the playwright’s father.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesIt is a first, officials at the Public maintain, even if the first is a tad specific: The first production in New York theater to be written by five Asian American playwrights for Asian American actors over the age of 60.“This is to say: ‘Older people in the theater exist,’” Waters, 69, said of the production’s purpose. “We’re here, we’re underused and we have experience.”“As an old person myself, I find people want to dismiss your stories — I did it to my parents all the time,” he added.“Hyper-consciousness” in casting these days means you’ll often see one old person featured in an ensemble, making for “its own kind of tokenism,” said Katigbak, who is 67.“This project addresses that,” she added, “because it centers the old character, the old actor.”The message will be purposefully reinforced by the fact that the actors will be giving long, demanding monologues, some of which run more than 40 minutes and approach 5,000 words.In her monologue, Anna Ouyang Moench, who wrote the 2019 Off Broadway play, “Mothers,” captures a grieving documentary filmmaker dealing with both personal loss and professional rejection.Naomi Iizuka’s piece features an elderly Japanese man who loves Scotch and hates jazz, while Sam Chanse introduces audiences to a novelist who is giving a speech at her alma mater despite (or in spite of) having apparently been canceled by the students she is addressing.“We’ve always had limitations — at every age — just being Asian American,” Leong said.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesThe playwrights also include Jaclyn Backhaus, whose breakout work “Men on Boats” was a 2015 Off Broadway hit; and Mia Chung, whose “Catch as Catch Can” will return next season, after a 2018 New York premiere.Waters and Katigbak said the playwrights were not given specific prompts, except that their monologues should be “of the moment.” Given that they were created during the pandemic, isolation — and an examination of how loneliness metastasizes and manifests when family and friends all but abandon you — pervades almost all of the works.In a round-table discussion earlier this month, the actors said that living through the last few years has made them intimately familiar with the feeling.“My mother, who turned 97 in August, sits at home and watches TV all day because all her friends are gone,” said Glenn Kubota, who will appear in Iizuka’s monologue. “To see what she has to do on a daily basis just to amuse herself is really eye opening. I’m getting a glimpse of what maybe I will be facing 10, 20, years from now.”Many of the works are also at least somewhat autobiographical. And a few of the playwrights, who are all younger than 60, have created characters that resemble one of their parents. In some cases, in the process of acting, editing and rehearsing, the characters have evolved as their creators have reflected more deeply on themselves and those close to them.The monologue by Iizuka, whose well-regarded “36 Views” opened at the Public almost two decades ago, features a Japanese man who, in peeling back the layers of his life, recounts the time a bomb fell on his house leading him to wander around Tokyo and end up inside a candy shop.Iizuka said the character is strongly influenced by her father, who died in December 2020. “It’s about trying to find joy and pleasure, but also running up against your own mortality,” she said.She shared photos of him with the show’s creative team, who in turn provided them to Kubota. Iizuka said the actor has an “uncanny ability” to capture her father’s “feisty, tart-tongued humor.”“I’ve found this process incredibly nourishing,” she said.Kubota noted that the script had changed considerably — from a first draft he felt was filled with anger to the one he is now performing that mostly expresses love.“Hopefully I can do her work justice,” Kubota said, “because I’m going to be talking about her father in front of all of these people.”As co-founder of the National Asian American Theater Company, Katigbak helped get the project off the ground.Nina Westervelt for The New York Times“Every time I work on something new,” said Wolf, “I do think about generations of minority performers who, for whatever reason, were marginalized.”Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesSince the emergence of the coronavirus pandemic roughly two years ago, the number of documented episodes of race-based hate toward people of Asian descent have soared, leaving Asian Americans in New York and beyond to endure what has at times been daily dread about their own safety and also the well-being of their older parents.The monologues mostly avoid racial animus and lean toward more universal themes. Even still, Katigbak emphasized that in “Out of Time,” audiences will hear the universal stories through Asian American voices — a rarity in the theater, even in 2022.“We’ve always had limitations — at every age — just being Asian American,” Page Leong, who last performed at the Public in “Too Noble Brothers” in 1997, said of the roles that come to members of her community. “It’s also connected to being relegated to being the surgeon or the lawyer.”Rita Wolf, who has had roles in Richard Nelson’s recent plays, including “The Michaels,” said, “So much of it is about opportunity.” She added: “Every time I work on something new, I do think about generations of minority performers who, for whatever reason, were marginalized. And I think about how they did not have opportunities to do something like this.”Ohama is performing Chanse’s work, “Disturbance Specialist,” which recently clocked in at 40 minutes and 21 seconds and 4,998 words. She joked about doing such a piece at her “advanced age,” since it takes hours and hours of memorization.“When you are our ages, life is there inside of you, so we don’t have to worry about the acting so much,” Ohama said. “But what is concerning to the older actor generally is: Do I know my lines?”“We have dedicated ourselves to this art form,” she added, “and the thing about us older people is we don’t get a chance to show that very often.” More