“I’m Pehrzheean!” actor Maz Jobrani declares in one of his Axis of Evil stand up comedy routines. To find out how “Pehrzheean” Jobrani really is, I sent him an email asking if ever puts raw eggs on his rice.
“What red-blooded Iranian doesn’t?” was his reply.
Later I met Jobrani in person. He’d invited me to watch his performance at Punchline, the illustrious San Francisco comedy club that has also hosted Chris Rock, Ellen Degeneres, Dana Carvey, Margaret Cho, Dave Chapelle, Rosie O’Donnell, and Robin Williams. Afterwards, we met in a nearby pub. Jobrani was in a sprightly mood. He had just stepped down from the stage, leaving Presidents Bush and Ahmadinejad with egg on their faces, and the audience still writhing with laughter.
It turns out, Ahamadinejad and Jobrani go way back:
“My dad was in New York on business in late ’78,” Jobrani explained. “My older sister and I went to an international school. The school was closing down for the winter holidays. Also because of the protests there had been some power outages. My dad sent for me, my sister, and my mom to join him in NYC for two weeks. We really didn’t think we’d be gone for good. I think people thought things might get better. To give you an idea of how much we planned to return, we actually left my baby brother back in Iran.”
“So what happened to your brother?”
Jobrani’s reply, “Today he is known as President Ahmadinejad.”
For the record, Jobrani was just kidding.
Teasing aside, Jobrani adds, “In reality we got the poor kid out 6 months later, and here we are almost thirty years out of Iran. I always say we left for two weeks and stayed for 28 years.”
Years later, each “brother” went on to start his own Axis of Evil comedy group. To see which one has had the most success, I googled both Maz Jobrani and Ahmadinejad. The score: Maz Jobrani 42 google pages, Ahamadinejad 38. Try it!
By this measure, the phenomenal success of Jobrani’s Axis of Evil comedy group ranks him as the most influential Iranian-American today. To show that this is not an exaggeration, one need only point to the millions of dollars of media airtime this artist has single handedly racked up for free, undoing the negative image of Iranians in the American mind. Dr. Jaleh Pirnazar, once Jobrani’s Persian Studies professor at UC Berkeley, astutely notes, “Even if the money was somehow available, who could have organized such an extraordinary task?”
I asked Jobrani how, as a political science major, he came to take Persian Studies at Berkeley.
“Since I came to America at the age of 6, I never really learned how to read and write Farsi. But I always spoke it at home, so I spoke it fluently. Well, when I started at Berkeley I signed up for beginning Farsi, in the hopes of learning the basics—alphabet, reading, writing. On the first day, the teacher went around the class and tested us to see if we spoke Farsi well. There were other Iranians in the class who dumbed down their Farsi in order to stay in the class. I, not knowing that I’d be moved up, spoke fluent Farsi with the teacher. He in turn moved me up to Dr. Pirnazar’s class. It was a challenge because I had to learn how to read and write on my own in order to catch up with the level of her class. I struggled through the semester, but Dr. Pirnazar was very cool and made sure I got through it.”
Having survived a semester of Dr. Pirnazar, Jobrani tested his courage with a language he could learn from scratch: Italian.
“From the moment the teacher came into the class and said, ‘Mi chiamo Francesca. Come ti chiami?’ (my name is Francesca, what’s yours?) I was in love with the language.”
Later, Jobrani went to Italy on a study abroad program. “Italians are very much like Iranians,” he observes. “Food, family, long naps in the middle of the day…It’s now a fantasy of mine to someday own a place out there where I could spend several months at a time sipping wine and conversing in Italian.”
Why Italian? I asked. Besides Jobrani, I know quite a few Iranians with Italian sounding last names—Fooladi, Milani, Kiani—but none has gone so far as to actually study Italian.
“I was…a big fan of the Godfather,” says Jobrani.
I think he’s serious. Francis Coppola’s brilliant filmmaking aside, Jobrani refers to his own father as the “Godfather” type. Not in the outlaw sense, but as someone people can rely on for help. According to his son, Mr. Jobrani Sr. is the kind of Tabrizi Iranian who gets offended if people who could use his help don’t let him know their need. He has been particularly generous to Iranian expatriates who found themselves in a financial bind after the revolution. Hearing Maz speak of his father, I wonder if the archetype he means is not the Godfather, but the Iranian strong protector persona, the pahlevaan.
Mr. Jobrani Sr. started his career at an electric power facility in Iran. He got the job because he was the only applicant who had the bulk and strength to pick up the massive iron-core transformers and fit them into place. Endowed with brains to outrival even his brawn, Mr. Jobrani Sr. quickly moved up the ranks to become one of three partners in the business. Later his two partners dropped out, leaving him as sole owner. When electric power was nationalized in Iran, he became a government contractor providing electricity for the country.
Almost six feet tall and in great physical shape, the son expresses his own pahlevaan sense of community in a modern context. Jobrani uses his considerable artistic ability to defend the image and honor (gheirat) of his countrymen in the West. In a humorous foretelling of a future as an artistic pahlevaan of sorts, teenage Jobrani’s first time on stage was his lead role in a Marin County Redwood High School production of The Batman Musical and Comedy.
I asked Jobrani, “As an experienced Batman, how do you rate the various interpretations by Clooney, Keaton, and West?”
“As a kid I loved the Adam West Batman. It was fun and campy. Always seemed strange that he had a slight belly going. After all, Batman was supposed to have 6 pack abs. West made him seem more like a normal dude who liked to wear Spandex. When the films started I was in my late teens and really enjoyed the Michael Keaton version. I think he did a good job showing a troubled Batman. He’s really a fantastic actor. That was my favorite.”
For a while there was speculation that Batman Begins 2 would star Robin Williams. Had things turned out that way, Williams would have been the second internationally known actor/comedian graduate of Marin County’s Redwood High to be in a Batman production. I neglected to ask if Jobrani and Williams have met, or discussed their high school alma mater. I did ask him though about his work with actor Sean Penn and director Sydney Pollack in the 2005 thriller The Interpreter. Jobrani played a sympathetic character as secret service agent Mo[hammad].
“I was very pleasantly surprised to see the final cuts and find that the Mo character is indeed important throughout… It was great to have a character like that of Middle Eastern descent that meant something [positive] to the film…I wish there were more parts like this in film and TV. I’m pushing for such things every day.”
Jobrani began his professional acting career relatively late. He was 26 years old when he told his parents he was going to drop out of the Ph.D. program at UCLA, to pursue his acting dream. From his comedy routines one gathers Jobrani’s parents would have preferred their son to continue with that Ph.D. program. Doctor, lawyer, dentist, engineer, Jamba Juice franchise owner—anything but the arts. But then how could they know their Maz had the potential to become a world class actor? Today at 35, Jobrani reveals the liberating excitement of this career decision in stories about his work:
“My experience with Penn was a really good one…[he] invited a group of the younger actors out to watch a good friend of his play music one night. That was an amazing night, as he was sitting with some secret service agents who he’d been in touch with for the role. I went over to say ‘hi’ to them and befriended one of the agents, who later took me to lunch in town. Always cool to be in an unmarked car that can turn on its sirens to get through traffic from time to time. As I was saying ‘hi’ to the secret service agents and Penn at this table, I looked up and another friend of Penn’s was walking toward us. It took me a second to register, but it was Al Pacino. He walked right up to the table and introduced himself. I almost lost my mind as I was standing there just looking like one of the guys shaking hands with Al.”
Here’s the actor still getting jazzed about being on the set:
“My first day on the set [of the Interpreter] I was waiting for Sydney]Pollack to go ‘who’s this guy? I wanted]the other bald goateed guy, not this one….’ However, he was very nice and made me feel comfortable—that is, until I had to do one of my first speaking scenes.
“I had a scene where I was supposed to be doing surveillance and looking through some binoculars into someone’s house. Then I was supposed to mumble some lines to myself as I looked at this guy through the binoculars. Well, I did the scene, mumbled the lines, and then heard Pollack’s voice come through a walkie-talkie they’d put in the car with me for him to give me direction. He said something like ‘Give the line less emphasis.’ So I did take 2 with less emphasis. Then his voice came back on the walkie, ‘You need to be more casual.’ I tried more casual. Take 3...take 5…this went on for about 7 or 8 takes.
“We moved on from that day and I felt more and more comfortable with Pollack. A year or so later when I saw the film, that scene was cut…I had a feeling it would be.”
Expecting to see Jobrani in a blockbuster any day now, I asked, If he could play a Star Wars character who it would be?
MJ: R2D2.
AS: Why R2?
MJ: He was always up to some goofy mischief, getting people into trouble and joking around. However, when it came time to save the day he could always be counted on. If It weren’t for him, none of the other characters would ever have prevailed—and yet he had a fun air to him.
AS: Which Star Wars character wouldn’t you play?
MJ: The Emperor. He had really bad skin.
AS: Speaking of bad skin, except for Xerxes, there isn’t a single Persian—out of a million—in the movie 300 who shouldn’t sue his dermatologist. Do I take it that Xerxes is the only Persian you would play in that movie?
MJ: I never saw 300. I saw Sin City and really enjoyed it. Someone told me that Frank Miller made some racist remark in a radio interview about Middle Easterners not having the knowledge to build airplanes and yet they flew those planes into the twin towers on Sept 11. I believe he was responding to the criticism of his film from the Persian community. If he did indeed say these words, then I don’t think I would have wanted to play any one of his characters in 300—good skin or not. However, I do have an idea for a sequel called 600, where a Persian dude buys a 600 series BMW—black—and goes around looking for Spartans to run over. It’s called The Persian Estrikes Back!
AS: Estarring who?
MJ: Estarring who? Estarring me, of course!
Spartans, there’s no need to run and hide. Even during his Batman days the gentle Jobrani drove the family’s hand-me-down Honda. He is a peace-loving, secular Muslim devoted to his secular Christian Indian wife. He has nothing but kind words even for his in-laws. Jobrani does, however, have a childhood bone to pick with the school bully.
6th grader Jim Jevonan used to tease little Maz about being Iranian. Things never got violent, however. “He was a 6th grader and I was a 4th grader,” Jobrani says. “He chose not to beat me up and I didn’t try to fight him since he was bigger than me. Just became material for the future.”
Indeed it did. Jobrani’s crowd-gathering charisma, compelling warmth, and sensuously animated stage presence, is secretly energized by a powerful angst characteristic of the most fearsome comedy. In my memory only Eddie Murphy—in his earlier days—has savaged racism with such glib intelligence. Eddie Murphy spoke in a time when anti-black racism was in retreat. Maz Jobrani takes the stage while anti-Iranianism is on the rise. That takes courage of a rarer sort.
As the evening wrapped up at the pub with Maz Jobrani, his friends and admirers, a friend of Jobrani’s father came up to him for Persian hugs and kisses. “I spoke to your father in Iran,” this friend whispered to the artist. “And he is very, very proud of you.”
As are we all, Maz.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Friday, October 05, 2007
The Real Story
The Iran Agenda The real story of U.S. Policy and the Middle East Crisis.
By Reese Erlich
2007 PoliPointPress
Journalist Reese Erlich grew up in Los Angeles just south of UCLA. As a child he used to walk up Westwood Boulevard toward Westwood village, past a stockbroker’s office and the Crest movie theater. At the time there was no Tehrangeles. The Westwood legal offices I visited last year to fix my Iranian passport mess used to house the ultra-right-wing John Birch Society. As an aborigine of sorts, Erlich has no grievances against the Iranians who have colonized the Westwood of his childhood. On the contrary, he seems to delight in the cultural upgrade. His latest book, The Iran Agenda: the real story of U.S. policy and the Middle East crisis, should however give the American reader a nostalgic lump in the throat. Not because of old memories of a neighborhood now transformed; but because this seasoned journalist writes in a tradition now mostly abandoned by the US media. Trustworthiness.
Erlich identifies his sources by name, and gives references which independently corroborate his statements. By contrast the average American’s perception of Iran has been largely defined by “unidentified sources.” The Iran Agenda begins in the real Tehran bazaar where Erlich--along with actor Sean Penn and columnist Norman Solomon--had put their journalistic “boots on the ground” to report on the Iran situation. Erlich mentions other American reporters in Iran, but he observes, “Most American reporters I met saw Iran as an evil society and a danger to the United States. While many expressed disagreement with President Bush’s policies, they believed Iran was developing nuclear weapons that threatened America. In short, their views tracked the political consensus emanating from Washington. Rather than proceeding from reality, they filtered their reporting through a Washington lens. When a Washington official makes a statement, even a false one, the major media dutifully report it with few opposing sources.”
Of course this is not news to we Iranians. The value of The Iran Agenda is its usefulness as a tool of argument in discussions with curious Americans who ask us to be their tour guides on the Iran subject. Most educated Iranians carry an overall knowledge of the Iran-US quarrel, from Mossadegh’s overthow, to the hostage crisis, to the US Navy’s shooting down an Iran Air passenger jet. The Iran-Iraq war, NPT, human rights violations, student protests, worker’s union discontent, Ganji, Ebadi, Ossanlou, are all swimming somewhere in our data base. But it takes a professional like Erlich to organize these floating facts into an engaging story with a strong moral. To undo years of skilful propaganda, equal skill is needed. And Erlich is certainly a talented story teller.
While he informs us that the Kurdish PJAK guerrillas are supplied by the US and Israel, Erlich simultaneously evokes a feeling of action and travel reminiscent of the colorful adventures of Tintin:
“The PJAK camps are located in inhospitable terrain. During winter months, the snowy roads are accessible only on foot or by tractor. Luckily the snow hadn’t yet blanketed the area, and we drove up easily—if slowly—over winding dirt roads. Suddenly, young women in green pants in the distinctive Kurdish head scarf were walking along the road. They were female guerrillas. PJAK claims its troops are almost 50 percent women.”
Erlich’s very brief history of the Kurds updated me on some interesting statistics. For example, I was under the impression that Kurds were mostly Sunnis. This is true in general, but in Iran 50% of this minority is Shiite. This figure makes a difference in my thinking on the Kurdish issue.
Erlich goes on to remind his readers of other ethnic minorities, the Azeri, Baluchi and Arab Iranians, who could destabilize the Iranian regime. Little of this is intelligently discussed in the US media. For obvious reasons even the Iranian media tend to keep the lid on news of ethnic unrest.
Not all of Erlich’s criticism targets mainstream media. He has harsh words of advice for Iran’s exile media in his native Westwood backyard. He mentions Amir Taheri’s infamous false report about a Majils law requiring Iranian Jews to wear a yellow stripe on their clothing. “With each phony or exaggerated story,” Erlich warns, “the LA newscasters and commentators [who continued to play the story long after it was falsified] think they are helping the popular struggle against the Iranian government. But repeated over time, the distortions discredit the exile media and, by extension, all exile opposition.” Erlich describes another, bitterly funny incident--the Hakha affair-- as being “something right out of the Keystone Kops.” I can't find a web link that explains this fiasco nearly as well as Erlich's narrative.
Clarifying his own agenda in writing The Iran Agenda, Erlich says, “…I personally don’t trust mainstream politicians, lobbyists, and think tank gurus to resolve anything soon. Nor do I trust the clerics in Tehran to stop their belligerence. A pro-peace, pro-democracy movement exists within Iran. I think people in the United States need to build one as well.” It seems Westwood had earthy, smart people long before Iranians arrived.
By Reese Erlich
2007 PoliPointPress
Journalist Reese Erlich grew up in Los Angeles just south of UCLA. As a child he used to walk up Westwood Boulevard toward Westwood village, past a stockbroker’s office and the Crest movie theater. At the time there was no Tehrangeles. The Westwood legal offices I visited last year to fix my Iranian passport mess used to house the ultra-right-wing John Birch Society. As an aborigine of sorts, Erlich has no grievances against the Iranians who have colonized the Westwood of his childhood. On the contrary, he seems to delight in the cultural upgrade. His latest book, The Iran Agenda: the real story of U.S. policy and the Middle East crisis, should however give the American reader a nostalgic lump in the throat. Not because of old memories of a neighborhood now transformed; but because this seasoned journalist writes in a tradition now mostly abandoned by the US media. Trustworthiness.
Erlich identifies his sources by name, and gives references which independently corroborate his statements. By contrast the average American’s perception of Iran has been largely defined by “unidentified sources.” The Iran Agenda begins in the real Tehran bazaar where Erlich--along with actor Sean Penn and columnist Norman Solomon--had put their journalistic “boots on the ground” to report on the Iran situation. Erlich mentions other American reporters in Iran, but he observes, “Most American reporters I met saw Iran as an evil society and a danger to the United States. While many expressed disagreement with President Bush’s policies, they believed Iran was developing nuclear weapons that threatened America. In short, their views tracked the political consensus emanating from Washington. Rather than proceeding from reality, they filtered their reporting through a Washington lens. When a Washington official makes a statement, even a false one, the major media dutifully report it with few opposing sources.”
Of course this is not news to we Iranians. The value of The Iran Agenda is its usefulness as a tool of argument in discussions with curious Americans who ask us to be their tour guides on the Iran subject. Most educated Iranians carry an overall knowledge of the Iran-US quarrel, from Mossadegh’s overthow, to the hostage crisis, to the US Navy’s shooting down an Iran Air passenger jet. The Iran-Iraq war, NPT, human rights violations, student protests, worker’s union discontent, Ganji, Ebadi, Ossanlou, are all swimming somewhere in our data base. But it takes a professional like Erlich to organize these floating facts into an engaging story with a strong moral. To undo years of skilful propaganda, equal skill is needed. And Erlich is certainly a talented story teller.
While he informs us that the Kurdish PJAK guerrillas are supplied by the US and Israel, Erlich simultaneously evokes a feeling of action and travel reminiscent of the colorful adventures of Tintin:
“The PJAK camps are located in inhospitable terrain. During winter months, the snowy roads are accessible only on foot or by tractor. Luckily the snow hadn’t yet blanketed the area, and we drove up easily—if slowly—over winding dirt roads. Suddenly, young women in green pants in the distinctive Kurdish head scarf were walking along the road. They were female guerrillas. PJAK claims its troops are almost 50 percent women.”
Erlich’s very brief history of the Kurds updated me on some interesting statistics. For example, I was under the impression that Kurds were mostly Sunnis. This is true in general, but in Iran 50% of this minority is Shiite. This figure makes a difference in my thinking on the Kurdish issue.
Erlich goes on to remind his readers of other ethnic minorities, the Azeri, Baluchi and Arab Iranians, who could destabilize the Iranian regime. Little of this is intelligently discussed in the US media. For obvious reasons even the Iranian media tend to keep the lid on news of ethnic unrest.
Not all of Erlich’s criticism targets mainstream media. He has harsh words of advice for Iran’s exile media in his native Westwood backyard. He mentions Amir Taheri’s infamous false report about a Majils law requiring Iranian Jews to wear a yellow stripe on their clothing. “With each phony or exaggerated story,” Erlich warns, “the LA newscasters and commentators [who continued to play the story long after it was falsified] think they are helping the popular struggle against the Iranian government. But repeated over time, the distortions discredit the exile media and, by extension, all exile opposition.” Erlich describes another, bitterly funny incident--the Hakha affair-- as being “something right out of the Keystone Kops.” I can't find a web link that explains this fiasco nearly as well as Erlich's narrative.
Clarifying his own agenda in writing The Iran Agenda, Erlich says, “…I personally don’t trust mainstream politicians, lobbyists, and think tank gurus to resolve anything soon. Nor do I trust the clerics in Tehran to stop their belligerence. A pro-peace, pro-democracy movement exists within Iran. I think people in the United States need to build one as well.” It seems Westwood had earthy, smart people long before Iranians arrived.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Benedictus, the play
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Screenwriting (chapter 7), says “In the theater, the playwright is God.” In screenwriting, on the other hand, the prevailing theology is that the director is God. The play Benedictus is about a Muslim and a Jew meeting in a Christian monastery, yet ironically God’s meddlesome hand has been slapped away. Displaying artistic chutzpah, the creators proudly declare that Benedictus has been put together by committee. Instead of the expected chaos however, a curious Darwinian order emerges from the multiplicity of perspectives.
Benedictus is a collaboration of Iranian, Israeli and American artists. This composition in itself immediately gives form to what the play will be about: the Iran-US-Israel conflict. I had hoped a less obvious theme would assert itself, but though one can occasionally negotiate with God, there is no arguing with reality. Subtlety takes longer to evolve.
The character Ahser Muthada, an Iranian born Israeli arms dealer, projects the Israeli point of view. Ben Martin, traumatized into alcoholism by his experience as a hostage in the 1979 US embassy crisis, is the American. Ali Kermani, an out-of-power Iranian reformist president, takes on the burden of being the Iranian. The three come together in Rome, each with their own agenda. Muthada is there to beg safe passage out of Iran for his Jewish Iranian sister He has good reason to fear for her safety because the US is only hours away from invading Iran. Kermani is in a position to help her, but won’t do so unless he gets what he wants: a secret meeting with a US official who can help stop the war. That would be the alcoholic Ben Martin, who is now a US ambassador. Kermani believes Muthada can set up such a meeting, and is in a sense holding Muthada’s sister hostage.
But nothing is as it seems, as they say. Plot twists reveal surprising hidden motivations, and in the tradition of sophisticated drama, each character sees the others more clearly than he sees himself. For example Kermani’s plea to save Iranians who would die in the impending war are countered by Muthada’s reminder that Kermani isn’t as concerned with life when it comes to the Islamic regime’s support of terrorism, and the brutal suppression of internal dissent.
Sadly, Kermani does not put up a worthy defense. This is partly because the Islamic regime’s position is difficult to uphold in the first place. Another reason is that the collaborating artistic team is composed of Iranians, Israelis, and Americans who disagree with the regime. The main reason however is artistic: Al Faris who plays Ali Kermani is not in love with his character. His comfort zone in Bendictus is the introverted, opaque type who, in his self righteousness, considers his opponents beneath emotional sharing. Though the Kermani character is certainly an upgrade from the terrorist types Feris has sometimes portrayed in mainstream films, he has to labor to operate outside those familiar unemotional parameters.
Ali Pourtash, on the other hand ingeniously lodges his character, the Israeli-Iranian Asher Muthada, into our hearts and minds. Muthada throws his arms around Kermani when they first meet in the secret negotiations chamber at the Benedictine monastery. They were childhood friends in Iran before the revolution. They played soccer on the same team. They spent time together in the Shah’s prisons. All those memories are embraced in Muthada’s wrap of his arms around his old friend. For Muthada, Kermani has the smell of home, of youth, adventure, idealism. The sight of his old friend takes him back to the time when they both Looked hopefully to the future instead of bitterly into the past. Muthada is reluctant to let go the hug. Kermani, on the other hand, hesitates to embrace Muthada. Something inhuman has occupied his soul, or perhaps the emotionally genuine Muthada had misunderstood Kermani’s calculating friendship all along.
Of course Muthada is not naïve, though he wishes he lived in a world where he could be. Like a loyal traditional wife Muthada even remembers what foods Kermani likes. The wealth Muthada has accumulated as an arms dealer is the result of his shrewd and non-judgmental assessment of human realities. While the young Kermani rose to power by exploiting idealism, Muthada could not pretend to transcend his fellow man; he got rich participating in the genuine savagery of our human nature.
All this and more is reflected in the brilliance of the Muthada characterization both by the writer Motti Lerner and by the actor Ali Pourtash. While Faris performs his actor’s duty and gets some sympathy for his character’s Islamic background, Pourtash, with openhearted humor, lavishes nuances on his Jewish character. Muthada’s unabashed solution to his national vs. religious identity issue is, “Who ordered Kosher?” This he blusters at the Benedictine nun attendant who has respectfully brought him a tray of food.
While the play was being created, there were intense moments of political disagreement between the various factions of the artistic team. It seems Faris wished his character could be portrayed as more trustworthy. Perhaps this is the directorial error that weakened this actor’s commitment to the Muslim character. The biggest mistake however, was made by Iran. Iran’s representative of the ITI (International Theatre Institute) turned down an invitation by the project’s initiator, Roberta Levitow, to participate. It seems Iranian resident artists felt a collaboration “is not possible at this time.” The opportunity for more input from the Iranian Muslim point of view was therefore squandered in mistrust. This was two years ago. Today, as war with the US creeps closer, the seriousness of such negligence in appreciating the communication power of art is more apparent.
Of course, not everyone can benefit from communication; sometimes art is just therapy. The American in the play, Ben Martin, is psychologically devastated by his experience as a hostage. His captors at the US embassy in Tehran used to click empty guns against his temple. Earl Kingston, who portrays Martin, does such an adept job of projecting this trauma that one wonders if the man is psychologically fit to be in any decision making loop regarding Iran. Benedictus is meant to suggest questions, and one question Martin’s experience raises is what share of Israel’s fear of Iran’s hostile posture is due to the trauma of the Nazi Holocaust.
Benedictus succeeds as entertaining and thoughtful theatre; its failures are the failures of our time not of the artists. Therefore its flaws are just as watchable as its strengths. Founding artistic director Torange Yeghiazarian and director Mahmood Karimi Hakak have delivered a work of high artistic quality. This includes attention to details sometimes neglected, such as music and sound design. Mitchell Greenhill starts the mood with melodic Middle Eastern flavored music, but as war nears he greatly enhances the foreboding developments with disturbing cello notes.
Ultimately though my favorite statement in the play is delivered by set designer Daniel Michaelson. Ostensibly to make the small stage appear bigger, he has created a physical perspective by converging the lines of the stage walls towards a vanishing point. At this singularity there is a door where the players enter into the secret negotiations chamber to hammer out deals. Of all the multiple ideological perspectives presented in the play, this singular physical point, the entrance into the negotiating room, represents the unifying principle of Benedictus. Michaelson seems to be saying, “There’s the place where peace begins.”
Benedictus is a collaboration of Iranian, Israeli and American artists. This composition in itself immediately gives form to what the play will be about: the Iran-US-Israel conflict. I had hoped a less obvious theme would assert itself, but though one can occasionally negotiate with God, there is no arguing with reality. Subtlety takes longer to evolve.
The character Ahser Muthada, an Iranian born Israeli arms dealer, projects the Israeli point of view. Ben Martin, traumatized into alcoholism by his experience as a hostage in the 1979 US embassy crisis, is the American. Ali Kermani, an out-of-power Iranian reformist president, takes on the burden of being the Iranian. The three come together in Rome, each with their own agenda. Muthada is there to beg safe passage out of Iran for his Jewish Iranian sister He has good reason to fear for her safety because the US is only hours away from invading Iran. Kermani is in a position to help her, but won’t do so unless he gets what he wants: a secret meeting with a US official who can help stop the war. That would be the alcoholic Ben Martin, who is now a US ambassador. Kermani believes Muthada can set up such a meeting, and is in a sense holding Muthada’s sister hostage.
But nothing is as it seems, as they say. Plot twists reveal surprising hidden motivations, and in the tradition of sophisticated drama, each character sees the others more clearly than he sees himself. For example Kermani’s plea to save Iranians who would die in the impending war are countered by Muthada’s reminder that Kermani isn’t as concerned with life when it comes to the Islamic regime’s support of terrorism, and the brutal suppression of internal dissent.
Sadly, Kermani does not put up a worthy defense. This is partly because the Islamic regime’s position is difficult to uphold in the first place. Another reason is that the collaborating artistic team is composed of Iranians, Israelis, and Americans who disagree with the regime. The main reason however is artistic: Al Faris who plays Ali Kermani is not in love with his character. His comfort zone in Bendictus is the introverted, opaque type who, in his self righteousness, considers his opponents beneath emotional sharing. Though the Kermani character is certainly an upgrade from the terrorist types Feris has sometimes portrayed in mainstream films, he has to labor to operate outside those familiar unemotional parameters.
Ali Pourtash, on the other hand ingeniously lodges his character, the Israeli-Iranian Asher Muthada, into our hearts and minds. Muthada throws his arms around Kermani when they first meet in the secret negotiations chamber at the Benedictine monastery. They were childhood friends in Iran before the revolution. They played soccer on the same team. They spent time together in the Shah’s prisons. All those memories are embraced in Muthada’s wrap of his arms around his old friend. For Muthada, Kermani has the smell of home, of youth, adventure, idealism. The sight of his old friend takes him back to the time when they both Looked hopefully to the future instead of bitterly into the past. Muthada is reluctant to let go the hug. Kermani, on the other hand, hesitates to embrace Muthada. Something inhuman has occupied his soul, or perhaps the emotionally genuine Muthada had misunderstood Kermani’s calculating friendship all along.
Of course Muthada is not naïve, though he wishes he lived in a world where he could be. Like a loyal traditional wife Muthada even remembers what foods Kermani likes. The wealth Muthada has accumulated as an arms dealer is the result of his shrewd and non-judgmental assessment of human realities. While the young Kermani rose to power by exploiting idealism, Muthada could not pretend to transcend his fellow man; he got rich participating in the genuine savagery of our human nature.
All this and more is reflected in the brilliance of the Muthada characterization both by the writer Motti Lerner and by the actor Ali Pourtash. While Faris performs his actor’s duty and gets some sympathy for his character’s Islamic background, Pourtash, with openhearted humor, lavishes nuances on his Jewish character. Muthada’s unabashed solution to his national vs. religious identity issue is, “Who ordered Kosher?” This he blusters at the Benedictine nun attendant who has respectfully brought him a tray of food.
While the play was being created, there were intense moments of political disagreement between the various factions of the artistic team. It seems Faris wished his character could be portrayed as more trustworthy. Perhaps this is the directorial error that weakened this actor’s commitment to the Muslim character. The biggest mistake however, was made by Iran. Iran’s representative of the ITI (International Theatre Institute) turned down an invitation by the project’s initiator, Roberta Levitow, to participate. It seems Iranian resident artists felt a collaboration “is not possible at this time.” The opportunity for more input from the Iranian Muslim point of view was therefore squandered in mistrust. This was two years ago. Today, as war with the US creeps closer, the seriousness of such negligence in appreciating the communication power of art is more apparent.
Of course, not everyone can benefit from communication; sometimes art is just therapy. The American in the play, Ben Martin, is psychologically devastated by his experience as a hostage. His captors at the US embassy in Tehran used to click empty guns against his temple. Earl Kingston, who portrays Martin, does such an adept job of projecting this trauma that one wonders if the man is psychologically fit to be in any decision making loop regarding Iran. Benedictus is meant to suggest questions, and one question Martin’s experience raises is what share of Israel’s fear of Iran’s hostile posture is due to the trauma of the Nazi Holocaust.
Benedictus succeeds as entertaining and thoughtful theatre; its failures are the failures of our time not of the artists. Therefore its flaws are just as watchable as its strengths. Founding artistic director Torange Yeghiazarian and director Mahmood Karimi Hakak have delivered a work of high artistic quality. This includes attention to details sometimes neglected, such as music and sound design. Mitchell Greenhill starts the mood with melodic Middle Eastern flavored music, but as war nears he greatly enhances the foreboding developments with disturbing cello notes.
Ultimately though my favorite statement in the play is delivered by set designer Daniel Michaelson. Ostensibly to make the small stage appear bigger, he has created a physical perspective by converging the lines of the stage walls towards a vanishing point. At this singularity there is a door where the players enter into the secret negotiations chamber to hammer out deals. Of all the multiple ideological perspectives presented in the play, this singular physical point, the entrance into the negotiating room, represents the unifying principle of Benedictus. Michaelson seems to be saying, “There’s the place where peace begins.”
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