This is more than just a spread. This is Haft Shin, the symbolic table arrangement of Iranian New Year's Nowruz festival. Everything that appears has a symbolic purpose. Sumac represents a new day, garlic represents health, and apples represent beauty.
In the Olney Theater Center's play Avaaz, Roya's story is told in a one-person play, written and starring Shayan, and these table accents depict important moments in her life. It will serve as a touchstone, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. “Beauty” refers to her time working at the Beauty Palace Salon in Los Angeles' “Terangers” neighborhood, or Westwood. For Iranians, Roya says flippantly, everything is a palace, even the dentist's office.
Shayan's Roya moves through life with a quick wit, casual and understated humor, and a generous spirit of hospitality. She puts viewers at ease with razor-sharp (and sometimes groan-inducing) sarcasm, even during the show's heaviest moments. In Loya's world, activists are politicians without jobs. The first date set up by her parents is a “fact check.” Her time with her son resembles the Iran hostage crisis (“I was a hostage. He was in crisis”).
But her cynical façade masks the scars of a troubled life, and as the show explores deeper, we get glimpses of her abusive marriage and the imprisonment and death of her crusading father. (Designer Amit Chandrashakhar's moody lighting cues smartly transition between “Avaaz's” tenser and sunny moments). Loya, who also serves as a cultural ambassador, acknowledged Iran as the driving force behind everything from guitars to chess and offered a glimpse into the Iranian Jewish immigrant community that surrounded her after she arrived in the United States.
The real-life Roya remained silent about her past until Shayan decided to interview her. And in her play it becomes clear that he has come to understand and admire her as a complex survivor. But it's not easy to understand. “Avaaz” I refuse to put Roya on a pedestal. As the play draws to a close, Loya worries whether Michael, with whom she has recently been estranged, will show up at the Nowruz celebrations.
According to Loya himself, the two have been at odds over Michael's queer identity (Loya insists he's fine with Michael being gay, but wants him to be quieter about it). (Allege), she persistently blames Michael for his weight. Michael's father becomes a sporadic figure in Michael's life after his parents separate, and their issues culminate in a powerful scene in which Loya tearfully struggles with her forced roles as both mother and father. reach.
Shayan has an engaging and relaxed rapport with the audience, bonding enthusiastically with the other Iranians in attendance and resembling a typical conversation between two sets of arranged parents. Involves strangers in order to recreate the moment. He invites the audience to join Loya in a traditional Persian dance (similar to the Macarena, but sexier and with her shoulders raised more, which Loya encourages).
Their troubled relationship has apparently come to some kind of understanding. The real Roya was on a Sunday afternoon, and after the play ended, she proudly appeared in the audience and was enthusiastically introduced to the audience. Even as “Avaaz” nears its end, that sense of relief begins to take shape. Shayan has one more trick up her sleeve and transforms into herself leaving Roya's character behind. His final solo dance feels defiant, celebratory, and free.
Avas, runs through April 7 at the Olney Theater Center in Olney, Maryland. Approximately 90 minutes without a break. olneytheater.org.