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A CurtainUp Review
Shesh Yak
By Elyse Sommer
That's when that backgammon inspired title reveals itself as a metaphor for quite a different game. In this game each roll of the dice is an act of unbearable cruelty and painful remembrance. Mr. Nakli's story telling device of bringing together two Syrian men rooting for the success of the uprisings known as the Arab Spring has a worthy enough purpose: To make us see that the cruelties and subsequent obsessions with revenge perpetrated in all lengthy sectarian conflict will never heal and bring real peace unless we can put our rage at unforgivable acts against us and our loved ones to rest. Coming to the Rattlestick Theater in 2015 when Syria is beset by intransigent conflict, in a disastrously intransigent Shesh Yak promises to offer a ripped from the headlines timeliness. But as the promise of the 2011 rebellions hasn't been fulfilled, neither is the play's promise of relevant insights. Both men are excited about the escalating fight for freedom. Jameel is excited that a mutual friend has arranged for Haytham to spend the night in his Manhattan apartment to participate in a TV panel after having just delivered a passionate speech at a DC rally. However, it's pretty quickly obvious that these men have more than their enthusiasm for the brewing rebellion in common. Unfortunately, the past connections that it seems the older man has tried to forget and the younger one can't forget or forgive, don't add up to a convincing, and genuinely compelling drama. The violent revenge scenario that follows the never played Backgammon game is weighed down by too many not equally gripping stories exchanged stories. The undercurrents beneath the initially affectionate getting-to-know each other beginning make for a too obvious and often too confusing shift to the hellish main event — Haytham's waking up from a much needed nap (it's not clear if Jameel slipped something into his tea) to find himself tied and gagged by his host. Haytham's ordeal and Jameel's metamorphosis from oddball tics (like his inappropriate bursts of laughter) allows Mr. Nakli to make his point about how the sinned against often themselves become sinners. However it's executed with an excess of hard to watch, heavy-handed physical abuse. Ymeel's admission that when he gets nervous he tends to say things that aren't really funny, apply to Mr. Nakli's attempts to lighten things up (for example, a flat-footed bit of business about George Clooney's possibly being a Syrian-American). Consequently, the play feels endless even at just 75 minutes. And, when this vengeful confrontation finally ends in a hokey glow of light you're left exhausted, unpersuaded and unsatisfied. Unlike the tense and timely hostage situation in Ayad Akhtar terrific tense and timely Invisible Hand which had an all too brief recent run at the New York Theater Workshop, this two-hander entraps rather than engages us in these two traumatized men's relationship with each other or their feelings about their homeland. It doesn't help that the performances are more serviceable than memorable and that as directed by Bruce McCarty, there's not enough differentiation between what's mere warmup and relevant dialogue. John McDermott does his best to add some atmospheric touches (Lke a big hookah on the window sill) to Jameel's depressingly dreary apartment. The brick wall it faces unfortunately symbolizes the brick wall the concept of burying hatred and dissension within and between countries
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