Yasmina’s Necklace

Or: Kibria' Watahamul

In Rohina Malik’s tender comedy about looking for love in the Muslin world, silences provide the most eloquent parts of the script. It’s the moments when the conversation fails, or when sudden fissures loom that the air becomes taut. The story of two damaged souls pushed together by their respective parents in hopes that the jagged edges will match up, Malik’s work reminds me of a mid-century comedy with wacky parents, a helpful but goofy priest—or Imam in this case— and a friction that grows into an affinity. Except that one party carries the ashes of a brutalized country and a dismembered culture in her hands. Which is not like a sixties comedy at all.

That’s Yasmina (Susaan Jamishidi) who’s the odd duck out there. An Iraqi refugee, for whom it seems no good deed has ever gone unpunished, she has resettled in Chicago with her father Musa (Rom Barkhordar), to pursue her art, use her English to advocate for other Arabic-speaking refugees, and keep her personal life shuttered around the horrors she has witnessed. Not so fast! The Marriage Plot strikes again! Musa and Imam Kareem (Allen Gilmore) have already brokered a potential marriage with Ali (Amro Salama) and Sara (Laura Crotte) for the hand of their damaged goods son Sam (Michael Perez). Sam’s been dealing with a lot of first world problems (but, the big ones, like discrimination, depression, and divorce) and wants nothing to do an arranged marriage. But, true to form, Yasmina is just the one to turn his life back to good. The question is, can he do the same for her?

It’s so refreshing to move into Malik’s world, where Muslims of all stripes (Black, Hispanic, Arab) tackle questions of faith and culture, rejoice in blessings like a good barbecue or a Picasso statue, and have nothing to do with terrorism whatsoever. Moreover the parents delightful, especially Salama and Crotte’s tag team action (both actors marvelously present in their own rights, together unstoppable) or Barkhodar’s dual action of pushing Sam alone with his daughter and then bursting into the room at the least sign of impropriety. Still, there’s something a little stiff in the execution, just like in a sixties courtship comedy, where motions to leave the room are not only contrived but contrived. Moreover, it’s a good story but not a fresh one. Replace Iraqi Muslim’s with Polish Jews and it would fit almost exactly the same into a Chicago of fifty years ago, twists and all.

Except of course, that there’s no character I can think of quite like Yasmina. Her stories, hard but unblinking looks into the nightmare she’s escaped, are the moments of jaggedness, where there is just too much to say and where the playwright tells them so eloquently through silence. There Malik carefully cradles the pride and horror of living through the past decade in Iraq and Syria, will proudly presenting us with a proud and indomitable character, given a weight and subtlety by Jamishidi. Perez is also a little tight around the collar for much of the play, save for when he slips into Spanish (joshing his mother and putting the moves on) when he gets a spring in his step and an infectious earnestness. He and Jamishidi work well together, both as caustic young people butting heads from very different cultures and in tiptoeing around romance.

A favorite brick jokes between the two is the argument over the Picasso statue in Daley Plaza. Is it the artists abstract rendering of the one girl who said no to him or an afghan wolfhound? It’s a fine joke shared between two people with a sympathy between them, that also skates around the thin ice of each of their lives. Giving a warning that cannot be spoken, or posing a question too delicate to be phrased, the place where Malik’s drama burns brightest.