Basma Baydoun and Zaynna Khalife in The Green Line | Photo by Jeremy Mimnagh
The narrative structure of the The Green Line greatly appeals to me—that juxtaposition of past and present running in tandem, where fragments of story gradually reveal their connection and finally land on a moment where people, separated by time, and even death, are made whole. Characters’ poetic interiority, where they examine their situation and connect to each through shared monologue, is a dependable device that serves the lyricism well.
Presented by In Arms Theatre Company and the MENA Collective, in association with Factory Theatre and Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, writer-director Makram Ayache’s ode to queer love and resilience amidst the tumult and legacy of war is sincere and heartfelt, though it frequently fell flat for me. As the story and production have many striking, resonant qualities, it’s worth celebrating those and unpacking why I felt so often removed.
Anahita Dehbonehie’s set is a forceful element of production. A raked concrete slab dominates the stage, its tilted angle asserting the precarious safety and psychological stability of the characters. Cinderblocks, rubble and billowing mist spill out from underneath—the physical devastation of war. Chains and foliage, intertwined, rise up from here—representing the green line of demarcation separating Beirut’s Muslim West from Christian East during civil war. The chairs, a comforting symbol of domesticity, are frequently toppled over and righted again as our characters struggle to maintain some semblance of acceptable life amidst violent chaos.
In 1978, Mona (Zaynna Khalife) is studying to be an architect, a builder of homes, when she strikes up a friendship with fellow student, Yara (Basma Baydoun). This connection quickly develops into a more intensely intimate bond which is complicated by Yara’s upcoming engagement to a man and Mona’s brother Naseeb’s (Oshen Aoun) intention to move them out into the relative safety of the mountains, away from political conflict.
Aoun also plays Rami, a gay Arab man who has come to Beirut in 2018 to honour familial connections. While this causes some initial confusion, we quickly understand the dual timeline and casting. In a gay club, he becomes infatuated with a drag performer who goes by the name Fifi (Waseem Alzer), whose phoenix persona is tied to a keepsake that guides Rami, a charm he wears around his neck. Out of the costume and make-up, Fifi reveals himself as Zidan and the two embark on a late night journey into Beirut as lovers. Their dynamic is fraught with potentially alienating differences of attitude, but their shared humanity ultimately holds fast.
The scenes set in the past are largely defined by a stagey, gestural quality that serves the poetic artifice, but somewhat diminishes their dramatic heft. I felt always at a distance from Yara and Mona’s doomed love and Naseeb’s angst, their conflicts urgently demonstrated, but not quite felt. Though Khalife’s guttural grief during the play’s most appalling event is truly devastating. The scenes between Rami and Zidan seemed, on the whole, more consistently authentic. Ironically, the most flamboyant amongst the characters, Alzer’s Zidan, is the most persuasively nuanced—holding so many compelling contradictions where the others feel more transparent. There is such a haunting blend of tension, affection and scorn in his pet name for Rami—“foreigner.” And his anecdote about a boyhood hunting trip with his father is some of the play’s finest, understated writing.
The dialogue is repeated in text throughout, in both English and Arabic, on a pair of projection screens above the set. While accessibility is the prime purpose, Christopher-Elizabeth’s surtitle design—which features imagery of the titular green line of vegetation—also contributes to the mythic atmosphere, as if the drama is unfolding as written fate.
Despite my nagging ambivalence, the final scene did land an emotional and thematic punch, a lyrical bridge over the story’s forty-year gap.
The Green Line
September 19 to October 4, 2025
Buddies in Bad Times Theatre
(12 Alexander St.)
90 minutes
Oshen Aoun and Waseem Alzer in The Green Line | Photo by Jeremy Mimnagh