The Green Line
Photo: Jeremy Mimnagh
In Arms Theatre Company, Factory Theatre, and Buddies in Bad Times Theatre/ The Green Line, written and directed by Makram Ayache, Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, closes Oct. 4.
The Green Line, written and directed by Makram Ayache, came into town with great expectations having won several best play awards, and most notably, having been selected as a finalist for The Governor General’s Award for Drama.
The play is certainly built on a gutsy premise, given that homosexuality is strongly condemned in the Arab world and can even lead to death. For Ayache, however, his Arabness and his queerness are centre points to his writing.
The Green Line contains scenes of sharply written dialogue interpolated by lyrical monologues which, when taken together, give the effect of heightened language.
This almost poetic nature of the play is reflected in Anahita Dehbonehie’s arresting set – a large tilted square platform in the middle of the stage surrounded by hanging strips of green, silver and brown Mylar that collectively represent lush foliage.
There is a modernism that takes away from the impressionistic aesthetic of the set. Two small grainy video screens have surtitles, one in English and the other in Arabic, the latter being the translation of the work by Hiba Sleiman. Which begs the question, are they really necessary?
This is a play that is awash in symbolism which you feel the moment you see the minimalist set and begin to hear repeated references in the script particularly to the Phoenix. From the onset, you are aware that The Green Line runs deep and that there is a rich vein of themes both within and beneath the stories that we see unfold before us.
Yara and Mona
The Green Line
Photo: Jeremy Mimnagh
The Green Line is set in Beirut, Lebanon in both 1978 and 2018 and moves between the two timelines.
In 1978 the brutal Civil War between the Christians and Muslims continues to ravage the city with east and west Beirut separated by the Green Line, so-called because vegetation is starting to grow amid the devastation.
Yara (Basma Baydoun) and Mona (Zaynna Khalife) meet at university and from their monologues we know that they are immediately attracted to each other although on the surface they become close friends. While Mona realizes that they are in love, Yara refuses to believe that their relationship is anything other than friendship, but it is a losing battle.
Yara’s most beloved possession is a Phoenix necklace that her mother gave her to symbolize hope and eternity. Yara has been living in a Palestinian refugee camp with her mother and life has been hard. She is soon to be married which will give her mother security, a marriage we assume has been arranged, and which she accepts.
Mona has a mission. Her mother felt that she was the one who would achieve education and success and therefore would be able to get herself and her brother out of Beirut.
We should mention Dehbonehie’s tasteful mini skirt for Mona and cute skirt-shorts playsuit for Yara, both straight out of the late 70s. Even Beirut during a war had style,
In the meantime, Mona’s brother Naseeb (Oshen Aoun) who sees himself as head of the family since their parents were killed, is obsessed with finding official documents that prove that they own land in the mountains. Their apartment will then be sold, and they’ll move to the safety of the mountains, cutting short Mona’s university education.
Naseeb represents the worst of Arab patriarchy.
In the 2018 timeline, Rami (also played by Aoun) an openly gay Canadian, finds himself in a gay bar where he is picked up by a very persistent drag queen called FiFi, whose real name is Zidan (Waseem Alzer). FiFi’s drag costume is a Phoenix.
Rami describes how his father was so supportive when he broke up with his boyfriend just by listening to him pour out his grief and now he was in Beirut to bury him. Never once in Canada had his father mentioned any connection to Lebanon, yet he wanted to be buried here.
His father also left Rami a mission to fulfill – to find a house pictured in a photograph and return a necklace in the shape of a Phoenix.
Zidan cleverly works his way into Rami’s life and affections, and promises to help him find the house. In the meantime, a loving relationship begins to grow between the two.
Rami and Zidan
The Green Line
Photo: Jeremy Mimnagh
Even as the The Green Line is unfolding before us, we are already asking ourselves questions and making judgments as the heart of the play reveals itself.
There has to be a connection between Naseeb and Rami because the same actor plays both characters.
In 1978, Arabic women were not in a good place in terms of liberation, and that is still true for many of them today. Why has the playwright made this aspect such a prominent part of Yara and Mona’s love story?
We know from some hints in Zidan’s speeches that life for a gay man in the past was very dangerous, and life is not necessarily a bed of roses now which makes Zidan a symbol of both resilience and defiance for queerness.
The Green Line divided two warring factions, but it is also a metaphor for dividing people by the passage of time, for dividing people over individual beliefs, and for dividing people by strength of will.
This is a play about loss, about trauma, about memory, about identity, about conflict. It is also about people caught up in the forces of war, and the forces of war within themselves. Intergenerational responsibility, friendship, and loyalty all play a part. And the ultimate question is raised – just how far would you go for love?
Given Canada’s diversity we can now mount ethnic plays with the real thing, as it were, and three of the cast are actually Lebanese Canadian. The actors themselves must have felt a special kinship to the play which in turn added a sense of emotional authority to their characterizations. The fourth actor, Alzer, is a Palestinian based in New York who would have brought his own personal “Arabness” experience to the play.
The character of Yara calls for restraint and acceptance and Baydoun is charm and grace personified. She is the island of calm admit the sturm und drang of Mona’s life. It is impossible not to fall in love with her.
Mona is a much more emotional character, but at times Khalife is almost too emotional to the point of hysteria – but then she also has a brother who’s trying to destroy her life. Khalife skilfully plays the role with nonstop nervous energy, a person whose life is in turmoil on all fronts.
Alzer is a hoot, initially playing the gay stereotype to the hilt, bitchy lines and all, and getting the laughs he richly deserves. His Fifi talks to talk and walks the walk, and it’s a piece of delicious writing on the part of Ayache.
When Zidan finally takes over, the overt gayness is still very evident in the ironic humour and zippy one liners, but an underlining layer of seriousness and caring is also evident. All in all, Alzer steals the show.
The most remarkable feat of acting, however, comes from Aoun who literally plays two different characters who bear no resemblance to one another. It’s astonishing but Aoun becomes unrecognizable when he switches between the two.
His Rami is confident but not showy. He might project a quiet personality, but it comes from strength and not weakness. He has a quiet sense of humour with the ability to laugh at himself as well as at others. He also exudes a great deal of charm and warmth, even sweetness.
Naseeb on the other hand is a terrifying monster who is utterly dismissive of his sister’s pleading to finish university. The cold dictate in his voice brooks no disobedience. Where Rami is loose and relaxed, Naseeb is taut, and rigid, using his arms like a semaphore to underline his commands. He moves faster than Rami with frightening coiled intensity, and he even seems inches taller.
Talk about acting skills, I predict a brilliant career for Oshen Aoun.
And a final thought about The Green Line.
Taken altogether, Ayache has written a compelling narrative, even at times a shocking one, but one that leaves you knowing you have experienced the work of a master playwright.