Theatre in Review: The Invisible Hand (New York Theatre Workshop)

	Usman Ally and Jameal Ali. Photo Joan Marcus

Free market economics meets jihad in The Invisible Hand, a tense and thoroughly original political thriller from Ayad Akhtar. The author gives his ripped-from-the-headlines premise a novel twist that allows for scene after scene of nerve-wracking suspense combined with commentary that, unusually for an American dramatist, illuminates the poisoned relationship between the West and the Islamic world.

The tension begins seconds after the lights come up on Nick Bright, an American employee of Citibank, who is being held hostage by a group of Pakistani insurgents for his role in a proposed water-privatization scheme. As the cerebral, ever-professional Nick coolly tries to explain, he is not worth $10 million (his proposed ransom) on the open market, especially since his kidnapping was an error. (He was mistaken for his far-more-powerful boss.) He tries to negotiate down his ransom to a more manageable number, but his words fall on deaf ears. At the same time, his situation is becoming increasingly desperate, especially after he encourages one of his guards to speculate on the local potato crop, an episode that infuriates his captors, who see it as an example of usury. Even so, they don't fully realize that a capitalist snake has already invaded their Allah-centered paradise.

To break this deadlock, Nick makes a radical proposal: He will teach his captors the tools of speculating in futures, using their insider knowledge of terror-related events to buy low and sell high; later, he schools in them in the technique of shorting an investment. In a passage that is both gripping and darkly amusing, Nick, who isn't allowed to touch his laptop, barks out orders to Bashir, his confederate in the trading scheme. Bashir reacts with astonishment and high anxiety as he moves around large amounts of cash, nearly rebelling when Nick tells him to get out when money remains on the table; within a matter of minutes, the group is wealthier to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Suddenly, all that disgust about usury is a thing of the past.

But as Nick's efforts bring him closer to that magic $10 million number, he becomes increasingly afraid that he has made himself too valuable to be let go. Also, as he notes, money changes those who come in contact with it, and soon he finds himself caught in the middle of a power struggle between Bashir and Imam Saleem, the group's leader, over some mysterious withdrawals from proceeds of the deals. As the betrayals pile up, the question of whom to trust becomes ever more urgent. Nick instructs the others in Adam Smith's concept of the invisible hand, noting that the market is stabilized by the convergence of the self-interests of the players; maybe so, but the conflicting agendas of the characters in The Invisible Hand show every sign of leading to chaos and bloodshed.

Akhtar carefully freights his tale with multiple ironies that add to the volatility of the situation. Nick's closest relationship is with Bashir, a native of the UK who grew up enraged at his father's kowtowing to white culture. He compares his role in the Pakistani insurgency to that of the many Brits and Americans who joined up in the Spanish Civil War. (We are also reminded that Ronald Reagan once called the Taliban the moral equivalent of our founding fathers.) Bashir insists, "Sometimes a revolution is violent and sometimes the peace can come only after the violence," but peace in his corner of Pakistan remains a distant possibility at best. Nick counters Bashir's critique of capitalism, observing that it tends to bind countries together -- or, as he puts it, "Very few wars have been conducted between countries with McDonalds." It isn't long before Bashir, whose disgust at capitalism rivals that of the most hardened Marxist, has concluded, "He who controls the currency controls the power."

The Invisible Hand is typical of Akhtar's work in that it is both fast-paced and carefully constructed; Ken Rus Schmoll's production capitalizes on these virtues, capturing the full vigor of the play's arguments while keeping us perpetually on edge about Nick's fate. (A number of scenes of real or implied violence sent waves of anxiety into the audience at the performance I attended.) Justin Kirk is a thoroughly convincing Nick, rattling off economic theory with élan even as he schemes to live another day; he is especially powerful when, enraged, he details the havoc his kidnapping has presumably unleashed in his family. Usman Ally's Bashir begins in a constant fury, gradually modulating his manner as he grows closer to Nick and revealing a new and unexpected ruthlessness when the situation calls for it. Dariush Kashani's Imam Saleem switches disconcertingly between a serene certainty in his faith and a chilling belief in the use of violence. Jameal Ali is solid as the guard who lives to regret his befriending of Nick.

A bold play requires a bold production design, which is exactly what it gets here. In Riccardo Hernandez's scenic design, the action unfolds in a nearly bare concrete room dominated by a low ceiling of corrugated metal that extends into the audience, creating the necessary sense of claustrophobia. (Act II begins with a scenic coup de théâtre, not to be revealed here, that signifies Nick's changed status.) Tyler Micoleau's lighting grazes this surface and the matching back wall to good effect, creating a series of clinical, almost abstractly beautiful, looks during the scene changes. Leah Gelpe has provided an unusually subtle sound design, emphasizing Nick's sense of isolation with a range of low-level effects (voices, drones, bombs, machine guns) placed just within earshot. ESosa's costumes are also fine.

With Disgraced running on Broadway and The Invisible Hand at New York Theatre Workshop, Akhtar is one of the very few American playwrights capable of addressing many of the central issues of the post-9/11 world. That he also has a solid grasp of classical playwriting technique is our good fortune. The Invisible Hand is gripping and disturbing in equal measure; it ends with a twist that appears to determine Nick's fate, but, really, it resolves nothing. As Bashir notes, the streets outside are red with blood and there's every indication that they will continue to be so for a very long time.--David Barbour