Sama Mousavi and Mahsa Ershadifar in ‘Anahita’s Republic’, Photo by Taylor Long
At once, we are immersed in opulence. Sim Suzer’s luxurious set transforms the Factory Theatre’s Studio into a luxurious family compound in Tehran. A vast stone courtyard leads up to a richly decorated office teeming with flowers and flanked by decanters of expensive liquor. It’s almost possible to forget the draconian world looming beyond the foliage; though the spectre of prison—even death—always haunts the characters of Anahita’s Republic.
Presented by Bustle & Beast, this world premiere of Hengameh E. Rice’s thriller is a solid and stylish effort. It takes some time for the story to properly take hold. When we first meet Anahita (Sama Mousavi) and her brother Cyrus (Fuad Ahmed), the tension between them is undermined by some unmotivated, stagey blocking. I imagine Director Brenley Charkow intends to infuse the dialogue with some visual interest, but the actors, though suitably compelling, don’t seem quite comfortable enough with the environment or their movements.
Anahita runs the family business while Cyrus, a mid-level member of parliament, is the male face she uses to engage with the political and business world. As a woman in Iran, she needs him to facilitate her power plays. In this private space, though, she is confidant in her subversion—parading about in her swimsuit; smoking and drinking and negotiating for women’s political liberation.
When Omid (Mahsa Ershadifar), the daughter of a business partner, arrives with secrets and threats, tension ramps up quickly. There is palpable frisson in the odd circumstances of her presence and the uncomfortable juxtaposition her chador creates with Anahita’s exposed skin. Her shrouded figure reminds us of women’s restricted position within the culture. Rice gives the two of them some banter regarding the contrasting merits of exhibitionism and modesty.
The dramatic fireworks really start to go off once Omid’s father, Masood (Omar Alex Khan) appears on the scene. He wants to protect his daughter, but his traditional ideals—an arranged marriage and cloistered life—conflict with Anahita’s progressive crusade. An emotional and physical tug of war plays out between them. The fraught dynamic between Khan and Ershadifar is, for me, the most compelling aspect of this production. Both the script and their wounded faces paint a heartbreaking portrait of Omid’s mother—a woman whose revolutionary spirit got her killed.
As the play draws to a close, the intensity between Mousavi and Ahmed increases. We discover a history of painful loyalty, sacrifices and desperate scramblings for the future. The finale never quite hit the same emotional peak as the pivotal moment between Omid and Masood, though it has a satisfying, haunting symmetry.