Tag Archives: Niraj Chag

THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA

★★★★

Barbican

THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA at the Barbican

★★★★

“a high-spirited, multi-coloured and absolutely joyous interpretation”

Written thirty years ago and set half a century ago, Hanif Kureishi’s “The Buddha of Suburbia” still contains a lot that is still true about Britain today. In Emma Rice’s adaptation (co-adapted by Kureishi) the reality is expressed through comedy and, like all the best fables, the seriousness of the message hits hardest when delivered in kid gloves. A ‘rite of passage’ story, it is part fairy tale and part social realism. Directed by Rice, too, it has slightly less of the creative chaos that is usually on offer, resulting in a beautifully slick production; but is still packed with magic, joy and the anarchic fun that has become her trademark.

If there is any doubt about the setting (though Rachana Jadhav’s authentic set design and Vicki Mortimer’s period costume should instantly quell them), the protagonist, anti-hero and narrator – Karim – immediately sets us straight. It is the eve of Thatcher’s rise to power and Karim introduces himself to the audience with an assured swagger that belies someone still trying to find their feet. Dee Ahluwalia, as Karim, mirrors those qualities with an ease and stage presence that belie his experience. A lithe figure, he guides us on his journey with a clarity of storytelling that casts out any need to be familiar with the original novel.

He whisks us back further to 1976 and into the bosom of his extended, mixed-race family. Karim is desperate to escape suburbia, although by the looks of things there is plenty going on in his neck of the woods. Sex is available on tap, it seems, but I guess he’s looking for something deeper. Cue his headlong dive into the world of theatre, for which the words ‘frying pan’ and ‘fire’ come to mind. Beneath the social commentary, it is the characterisation that brings the show to rich, colourful life. With some multi-rolling and swift doubling up, the impressive ensemble cast portray a host of exuberant, eccentric personalities whom we grow to love despite – or because of – their flaws. All of them are caricatures, but all have a striking individuality.

Karim’s father Haroon (the acrobatic Ankur Bahl) is a Muslim from Bombay who has turned to Buddhist teachings as a means to seduce the hippy housewives of Southeast London. Katy Owen plays the hard-done-by wife. Owen reappears as aspiring actress Eleanor, hilariously pretentious, upper-middle class but wanting to ‘get down’ with the common people. We meet Matthew Pyke, the theatre director from Hell. A lot of fun is had during the rehearsal scenes which are a master class in parody. The shagging and the shenanigans, mainly expressed through slap-and-tickle use of bananas and melons, start to get a bit limp through repetition. Thankfully, though, the acute character observations hit home more than the party-popper punchlines. Karim has escaped his roots, but his yearning to retrace his steps brings us full circle. Meanwhile, childhood friend and nymphomaniac, Jamila, has been married off to arranged husband Changez (Simon Rivers in brilliant self-deprecating form); while Karim’s first crush, Charlie (a tongue in cheek Tommy Belshaw), has achieved rock star success and made the move to LA… and tragedy. Uncle Anwar and Aunt Jeeta are still getting by at the grocery stall, until Anwar pops his clogs and Jeeta finds a new lease of life (Rina Fatania gives a star performance in a flourish of irreverent self-parody and comic timing).

It is all pinned together with a pulsing soundtrack that takes in the Bee Gees, T. Rex, The Velvet Underground, Bill Withers and Joni Mitchell – among many others. A perfect mixtape that could have been whisked out of a Ford Capri’s cassette player. But beneath the party atmosphere, the darker undercurrents start to slip through – especially in the second act. Racism and violence crescendo from their background drone to become an explicit comment in the narrative. It is evocatively staged, but somehow the reality of its menace doesn’t quite break out of the party mood. Perhaps because all too quickly the show plunges back into celebratory mode with a hastily assembled, feel-good finale.

“Buddha of Suburbia” is a collaboration with the Royal Shakespeare Company, but it seems that Emma Rice has been calling the shots. It is a high-spirited, multi-coloured and absolutely joyous interpretation, that Kureishi is obviously proud of. The Rice magic still sparkles and dazzles, and we leave the theatre with a bounce in our step and a 120bpm inner rhythm coaxing us to raise our arms and punch the air. A terrific night at the theatre.


THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA at the Barbican

Reviewed on 30th October 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Steve Tanner

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

KISS ME, KATE | ★★★★ | June 2024
LAY DOWN YOUR BURDENS | ★★★ | November 2023

THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA

THE BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA

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The P Word

The P Word

★★★

Bush Theatre

THE P WORD at the Bush Theatre

★★★

The P Word

“To see the moments of queer joy that are portrayed here is truly a pleasure”

 

The P Word, written by Waleed Akhtar, finds itself caught in the space between a two hander and a series of monologues. The play remains grounded, however, by its layered character and their wit.

Bilal, played by Akhtar, details to the audience his experiences as a British Pakistani man in the gay dating scene. He lets his prejudices, fatphobia and islamophobia in particular, be known early on, as well as sources of their internalization. Zafar, played by Esh Alladi, arrives onstage mid-trauma: engaged in an unsuccessful bid to seek asylum in the UK, his partner murdered, his life endangered by a homophobic father were he to be deported to Pakistan. The play only kicks into gear, however, when the two characters bump into one another in the middle of Soho during Pride.

The set, designed by Max Johns, is minimal and elegant. A raised, circular, rotating platform, carries the characters temporally through the play. Each half of the platform tilts in the opposite direction, and LED light illuminates the outline of each semicircle, enclosing Bilal and Zafar in their disparate experiences for the first half of the play. Small compartments built into the set facilitate quick changes, allowing both actors to remain onstage for the duration of the play. These transitions, however, can feel rushed, more marked than they are performed.

Before Bilal and Zafar meet, they communicate exclusively in parallel monologue. Most of the unseen characters in Zafar monologues—a stranger, his mother, a healthcare worker—make their presence known through voiceover. Akhtar steps outside of Bilal’s character with more regularity, voicing his hookups and co-workers, lending his monologues the quality of a one-person show. This particular directorial choice by Anthony Simpson-Pike could be intended to further distinguish Bilal and Zafar’s narratives, but it results in a garbled theatrical language. The formal discrepancy, along with the duration of the parallel monologue sections, lends a dragging and uneven quality to the first half of the play, despite strong performances from Akhtar and Alladi.

Even after Bilal and Zafar have had their chance encounter and begin to share scenes, these parallel monologues persist. The two characters frequently break from engaging moments of dialogue to speak directly to the audience, halting the pace of the second half. The P Word finds its emotional core within the extended and mostly uninterrupted scenes between Bilal and Zafar. Bilal confronts his internalized prejudices, while Zafar begins to heal from the murder of his partner, Haroon. These scenes are both tender and emotionally fraught, blissfully banal and high stakes. To see the moments of queer joy that are portrayed here is truly a pleasure.

In The P Word’s final moments, following a somewhat sensationalized and romanticized conclusion, the world of the play briefly cracks. Though the break seems to be inspired by works such as Jackie Sibblies Dury’s ‘Fairview’, it reads more like an admission than it does a true confrontation, inadvertently letting the audience and performance off the hook.

 

 

Reviewed on 14th September 2022

by JC Kerr

Photography by Craig Fuller

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

 

Favour | ★★★★ | June 2022
Lava | ★★★★ | July 2021

 

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