BEIRUT – When it comes to human vice, the case has been amply made that satire is a sharp tool for ridicule. “Ziyarat al-Sayed al-Wazir” (“The Minister’s visit”), a political burlesque that premiered at Masrah Babel Wednesday evening, is a case in point.
Written and directed by Hisham Zinedine this comedy lampoons people’s blind submission to their political leaders in an age of “Arab rage.”
The play is set in an unknown Lebanese village, where residents are waiting the visit of the Minister (Michel Abi Hachem). The action opens upon lifeless figures – some human, others human-sized effigies – pinned on a clothesline, like laundry hung out to dry, which circles the entire theater space. The stage is bare save for a pair of drums – which a Lebanese audience would associate with dabke – and a toilet.
Ziad Ahmadi’s festive circus music arises from the PA system and, on cue, the actors come to life, mechanically marching about the stage. They all gather behind one, unnamed character (Rabih Ayoub), who tells them that the Minister came over to his place and used his toilet, triggering coos of fascination and admiration from the crowd.
Apeing “Sidna,” (“Our Sir”) Ayoub recites the questions the Minister put to him. “What’s your name? How many children do you have?” Each question is echoed in reverential tones by the other seven cast members. They stand motionless, some holding dolls, clearly meant to accentuate the residents’ (thus the masses’?) mindlessness.
This brush-with-greatness tale arouses the jealousy of the others, who begin to long for another of the Minister’s visits. Their anticipation is cheerful as drummers pound-out a dabke rhythm to which the others applaud, sing and dance around the stage.
The Beckett-like first half of the play, during which the characters await the Minister, revolves around their growing anticipation of the great man’s arrival. The play reaches its climax when Our Sir (black-clad, wearing sunglasses) finally arrives, walking in from the back of the theater.
The brightly clad characters’ excitement turns into hysteria as they rush about aimlessly. Each of the Minister’s slow steps up the stairs to the stage makes them tremble with fear.
The Zaim (“Lord” in Lebanon’s feudal vernacular) inspires such awe that the people can only stare at him, speechless. After a few seconds of stammering – to which the audience bursts into laugher – Ayoub’s character is able to welcome the Minister.
The theme of this satire is explicit. “People,” as one character (Rami Abu Hamdan) puts it, “are donkeys” (“hmar” being a common insult hereabouts).
Zinedine emphasizes the common people’s unshakable loyalty to their rulers with the sarcastic leitmotif of the play – “With our soul and our blood, we sacrifice ourselves for Our Sir.”
The characters in this type of absurdist theater are not meant to ring true, of course. The play examines ordinary people’s inability, and unwillingness, to stand-up to dictatorship and Zinedine’s depiction of his characters as narrow-minded buffoons simply underlines the unthinking servitude common folk display to their political representatives. You may not be able to empathize with these characters, but it’s hard not to sympathize with them.
These characters exist not as distinct individuals but as facets of the group. Only two figures – those portrayed by Ayoub and Hisham Khadaj – are individually animated. The others generally move about like automatons.
The characters are depicted as silly and devoid of opinions or ideas. During one character’s account of the Minister’s most recent visit, he describes how he was asked his opinion about something. “As you like,” he replied.
Zinedine’s writing is deliberately accessible to the public, festooned with slogans – “People don’t aspire to rule,” for instance – to stick in the mind. It is a mixture of satire and earnestness a socio-political profile packed with metaphor and inside jokes.
Mocking citizens who challenge their leaders’ authority, Khadaj’s character refers with disdain to the current revolutions in Libya, Yemen and Bahrain. In what seems a wink at events in a neighboring country, he says “Sss – “ as if to add another country to the list, hesitates, and says “Sudan.”
Grotesque scenes and irrational behavior are followed by moments of intimacy – usually around the onstage toilet. In one of these, the characters of Abu Hamdan and Amal Talab dream about the comfortable life they would have in the city, Beirut, should the Minister grant them his favor.
The awkwardness of this moment of intimacy is emphasized by the sentimental music and lighting of the two figures on the darkened stage.
Zinedine’s play mocks people’s tendency to cultivate personality cults – they so idolize the Minister that to see him urinate is considered a privilege. The common folk are mesmerized by the idea of an almighty figure with the power to appear and fulfill their lives with jobs and children – the Minister advises his constituents on how they should have children.
The playwright is to be credited not only for challenging the subservience underpinning mass politics hereabouts but also for tackling the psychological and cultural roots of such behavior.
In one scene, a husband is (hilariously) rude to his wife, demanding that she not speak a word. Later on, the same character fawns, submissive, before the Minister. Changing the culture of submission the political realm, Zinedine seems to suggest, requires changes to the patriarchal familial structure.
When the curtain figuratively falls on the show, many eyes in the audience fall upon the high-ranking state administrator sitting in the front row. When the lights come up, many audience members stand in line to greet him.
“Ziyarat al-Sayed al-Wazir” continues at Masrah Babel, near AUH, until April 15. For more information, please call 03-88-60-92.
A version of this article appeared in the print edition of The Daily Star on April 15, 2011, on page 16.
Link here
