I haven’t read Hanif Kureishi’s well received 1995 novel on which his new play is based, but although he sometimes evinces a sharp turn of phrase and an astute awareness, the page to stage transition (in a co-production between the National Theatre and Tara Arts) proves disappointing.
At least partially autobiographical, it follows Sevenoaks born and raised student Shahid Hasan who comes to London in 1989 to pursue his education and literary aspirations but naively gets sucked into the world of extremists. Torn between family ties (his proud widowed mother and louche, drug-taking older brother Chili), his predatory white lecturer in post-colonial literature Deedee (who embodies the hedonism of Western liberalism and inspired him to apply to the college) and the increasingly violent activities of the fundamentalist students who have appropriated his room for their inflammatory anti-racist meetings, he’s a storm-tossed cipher without much will of his own.
Kureishi’s characters come across not only as stereotypes but frequently as mere mouth pieces for the various views he wants to put across. So on the one hand we get accountancy student Hat whose father owns the local takeaway, militant Chad who used to be called Trevor and flies into a rage whenever anyone uses his real name, and Irish-accented Zulma who keeps her head covered but can’t resist peeking when their jihadist leader Riaz is forced to relinquish a Paul Smith shirt and partially strip in her presence. On the other, there’s spliff-smoking Deedee offering readily available sex and Chili’s Pakistani wife who turns up like a fashion-plate to offer advice.
The Satanic Verses are burned before our eyes, but arguments are never fully explored and, under Jatinder Verma’s direction, the clumpy scenes, awkward dialogue and mixed acting styles fail to cohere as either political or comedy drama.
At least partially autobiographical, it follows Sevenoaks born and raised student Shahid Hasan who comes to London in 1989 to pursue his education and literary aspirations but naively gets sucked into the world of extremists. Torn between family ties (his proud widowed mother and louche, drug-taking older brother Chili), his predatory white lecturer in post-colonial literature Deedee (who embodies the hedonism of Western liberalism and inspired him to apply to the college) and the increasingly violent activities of the fundamentalist students who have appropriated his room for their inflammatory anti-racist meetings, he’s a storm-tossed cipher without much will of his own.
Kureishi’s characters come across not only as stereotypes but frequently as mere mouth pieces for the various views he wants to put across. So on the one hand we get accountancy student Hat whose father owns the local takeaway, militant Chad who used to be called Trevor and flies into a rage whenever anyone uses his real name, and Irish-accented Zulma who keeps her head covered but can’t resist peeking when their jihadist leader Riaz is forced to relinquish a Paul Smith shirt and partially strip in her presence. On the other, there’s spliff-smoking Deedee offering readily available sex and Chili’s Pakistani wife who turns up like a fashion-plate to offer advice.
The Satanic Verses are burned before our eyes, but arguments are never fully explored and, under Jatinder Verma’s direction, the clumpy scenes, awkward dialogue and mixed acting styles fail to cohere as either political or comedy drama.
